Closer To Home
Closer to Home
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Synopsis: As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.
A/N: This was supposed to be something else ENTIRELY. But it just unravelled and here we are! Please, feel free to let me know your thoughts about it! B xx
--
Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t started with fireworks or dramatic confessions—it began like any other normal relationship: after drinks and a movie.
It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt heavier after long hours at your desk. You were finally wrapping up for the night, shrugging on your coat and slinging your purse over a shoulder. The clock had just ticked past 10 p.m., though it hardly felt late to you. Still, your shoulders sagged under the tension of the day—hours spent poring over intel, trying to uncover scraps of information that might help Sam and Bucky on their next mission.
“You shouldn’t be walking home alone.”
You looked up to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, his blue eyes shadowed but steady.
“It’s just a few blocks,” you replied, already bracing for the argument.
His jaw tightened—a subtle shift, but one you’d come to recognize as the start of his infamous stubborn streak. “Doesn’t matter. My ma would haunt me if I let you.”
That earned him a laugh. “Your 'ma' sounds like quite the character.”
“She was,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “C’mon, grab your stuff. I’ll walk you.”
You didn’t argue further, mostly because you were too tired to win, and partly because there was something oddly comforting about his protectiveness, even if it came wrapped in brooding silences and sharp glances.
Being around Bucky had taken some getting used to. You knew about him, of course—who didn’t? But nothing had prepared you for the sheer intensity of James Buchanan Barnes up close. His unrelenting stares, his quiet presence that somehow filled a room, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds on his shoulders.
When you’d first joined their team as the “girl in the chair” (a term Sam insisted on despite your repeated protests that you were, in fact, a woman), you hadn’t known what to expect. Your days as a research journalist had been left behind in favor of a role that felt more like a sidekick to two superheroes. Never the hero, always the support.
“It’s not nothing, though,” Sam had told you once, catching you mid-eye-roll during a particularly grueling debrief. “You’re saving lives too, y’know. Every name, every address you dig up? That’s someone else’s tomorrow you’re protecting.”
Still, the job came with its own toll: exhaustion, migraines, and a constant ache in your wrists from hours of typing. But it also came with a quiet sense of purpose—and Bucky’s occasional company.
At first, his silences had been intimidating, his brooding presence almost oppressive. But you met him with unwavering kindness—bringing him coffee when he looked like he needed it, or letting him retreat into your office to escape Sam’s chatter. Slowly, the silences grew shorter, and the stares softened into something more watchful.
Now, walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, the quiet felt less like distance and more like understanding.
“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “is this a one-time chivalry thing, or do I get an official escort service from now on?”
Bucky snorted. “You’re assuming I’m doing this for you.”
“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning. “Who else is benefitting from my safe arrival home?”
He glanced at you, a spark of humor flickering in his eyes. “Sam’ll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you. Man loves his lectures.”
“Ah,” you said, mock-serious. “So I’m saving you from Sam’s wrath. Got it.”
He didn’t answer right away, but his pace slowed slightly, his hand brushing the base of your spine as you turned a corner, like he was directing towards home. “Maybe I just like making sure you’re okay,” he muttered.
Your heart stuttered at his words, a quiet ache blooming in your chest, but you didn’t dare press him further. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile spark that had burned you one too many times before. It was safer to tuck it away, to pretend his words meant nothing more than what he’d said—a simple gesture of kindness, nothing deeper.
You were friends, after all... right? Or at least, friendly. He was kind to you, yes, but Bucky Barnes was kind in a way that felt carefully measured, like a soldier fulfilling his duty. He was a gentleman through and through, the kind who’d been raised to believe it was his responsibility to make sure no lady faced the dangers of the night alone.
“His mah would’ve expected nothing less,” you thought wryly, your lips tugging into a faint smile.
He was a man out of time, after all. Decades removed from the era he was born into, yet somehow still anchored there, even now. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rules he followed were the same ones ingrained into him all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to believe that than to let yourself hope he cared for any reason beyond habit or honor.
“Almost there,” he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His hand hovered near your elbow, steady and sure, as if ready to catch you should you stumble.
The steps to your door loomed far too quickly for your aching heart, bringing an abrupt end to your time with the brooding soldier. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your body was reluctant to leave his quiet, steady presence.
You paused on the final step, its height almost eliminating the difference between you and Bucky. It gave you just enough courage to look up at him, your fingers nervously twisting around the strap of your purse.
“Thank you, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
He dipped his head in a single nod, his icy blue eyes flickering down to meet yours. His expression, as always, was unreadable, cast in shadows under the dim streetlamp. “Anytime.”
The simplicity of his reply made your chest tighten. You nodded in return, swallowing hard as your heart hammered in your throat. Turning away from him, you fixed your gaze on your front door, willing yourself to move forward, to end the moment before it unraveled you completely.
Friends. That’s all this was. It had to be.
So why did it feel so wrong to turn your back on him? Why did it feel like you were forcing yourself to betray something deeper, something unspoken, simply by walking away?
Your hand was on the doorknob before you realized you’d stopped moving, the quiet war between your heart and your mind reaching a fever pitch. You squeezed your eyes shut, battling the urge that rose in you like a wave.
Don’t do it. Just go inside. Let him leave.
But the battle was already lost. Before you could stop yourself—before logic could wrestle control away from the reckless beating of your heart—you turned. Your feet moved without permission, carrying you back down the steps toward him.
It wasn’t a decision so much as a pull, steady and undeniable, the words slipping from your lips as if carried on a tide of longing you couldn’t resist.
“Would you like to come up for a drink?”
The words tumbled out unbidden, your voice trembling just enough to betray how desperately you wanted him to say yes.
His reaction couldn’t have been more Bucky if he tried. His eyes shifted, and you swore you could see every emotion flash through them—surprise, hesitation, something a lot like longing—before they settled back into the stoic mask he always wore. Quiet. Unimpressed. Broody. And yet…
“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”
A laugh bubbled up in your chest, shaky with relief, and you motioned toward your door. “Well, come on then. I’ve got a six-pack that’s been waiting for some company.”
His presence filled the small apartment in a way that made your breath catch, the air somehow heavier, more electric. How many times had your silly, stubborn heart conjured up this exact scenario? Late at night, Bucky standing just inside your door, peeling off his worn leather jacket and tugging off the gloves that shielded both metal and flesh. Then, as if he’d done it a thousand times, he’d settle into a corner of your couch, legs spread, shoulders sinking back into the soft fabric like he belonged there.
“There's Heineken, Bud, and Corona,” you said, your voice only slightly betraying your nerves as you toed off your shoes and dropped your keys and purse by the door. “I think I might even have some whiskey stashed away somewhere. What’s your poison?”
He hesitated for a moment, his gaze trailing lazily around the room before settling back on you. “I’ll have what you’re having.”
Your stomach flipped, and you nodded, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across your face. “Sure thing,” you said casually, though you were certain the flush creeping up your neck gave you away.
You turned toward the kitchen, your heart doing an embarrassing little leap as you busied yourself rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. The clink of bottles felt absurdly loud in the quiet apartment, every moment stretching with the weight of his presence just beyond your line of sight.
“Nice place,” he called from the living room, his tone casual but laced with something warmer.
“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing two beers and popping the caps off with practiced ease. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”
When you re-entered the room, there he was—exactly as you’d imagined so many times before. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gloves neatly set beside it, and Bucky himself sprawled out comfortably. His metal hand rested casually on his knee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours.
“Here you go, Mr. Barnes,” you said, forcing a steady smile as you handed him the green bottle.
“To your first visit,” you began, raising your own bottle in a toast. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered, taking in the sight of his broad frame on your couch, the casual way he sat, the sheer presence of him filling the space. Warmth pooled low in your belly, and before you could stop yourself, you added, “May it be the first of many.”
His smirk deepened at that, a flicker of amusement flashing across his features. He raised his bottle silently, going for a sip—but you stopped him, your hand darting out to rest on his.
“Wait!” you blurted, your palm lightly pressing against his larger one.
His frown was slight, his gaze shifting between your hands before settling on your face. “Why?”
“You have to look at me when we cheers,” you explained, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure of what you were doing but too far in to back out now.
His brow arched. “And why’s that?”
“Bad luck if you don’t. Years of it.” You shrugged, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of your own words but refusing to back down. “I mean, I can’t even count how many years... Probably best not to risk it.”
For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he chuckled, a soft sound that sent a flutter straight to your chest. “God knows I’ve had enough of that already, haven’t I?”
You giggled, your laughter bubbling out, light and carefree. The fact that he played along felt like a victory, a small but monumental crack in his stoic armor.
With a glint of something softer in his eyes, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze locking with yours. “Alright, doll,” he said, his voice quieter now, warmer. “Let’s do it properly.”
Eyes steady on yours, he clinked his bottle against yours, the sound sharp and satisfying in the quiet room. And then, he didn’t look away—not for a second—as he took a slow sip.
You followed suit, the contact between your eyes and his making your heart race so fast you thought it might burst. The heat in his gaze was steady, grounding, and yet it sent a thrilling, electric charge through you that made your knees nearly buckle.
“Better?” he asked, his voice low, the faintest curve to his lips as he lowered his bottle.
“Much,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.
The air between you seemed to shift then, heavier but no less comforting—a new tension that simmered beneath the surface. If Bucky noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, the way your breath hitched every time his hand grazed your knee as he reached for another beer, he never said a thing.
He was the perfect gentleman, as always. Even when you slid closer on the couch, settling beside him on the plush cushions - even though there were a whole three other seats available to you. Even when you turned toward him, resting your head on your palm, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his face while you rambled about the mission reports piling up on your desk. He didn’t even glance at your neckline when you leaned over him to grab the remote, though you couldn’t help but steal a quiet inhale of his scent—clean, warm, unmistakably him.
“Alright,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I feel like I’m torturing you by making you listen to all this. Do you feel like watching something?” Your tone was cheery, light, but your heart raced at the thought of sharing something as simple and intimate as watching a film together.
With your eyes fixed on the TV, you missed the brief hesitation in his expression—the flicker of doubt that crossed his face and quickly vanished. Yet, neither the guilt, the fear, nor the pain that lingered in his soul seemed strong enough to stop him from embracing what you offered so openly: a chance to simply be. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky seemed just a little less burdened by the shadows of his past, a ghost of his old self and a lot of his new one urging him to give in.
“What’s on Netflix?” he asked, his voice low and casual.
Your head whipped around so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “How do you know what Netflix is?”
His lips quirked into a rare, genuinely amused smile, the kind that made your stomach flip. “I’m old, but I’m not that old, doll.”
“You’re 106,” you shot back, arching a brow.
“And yet, I still know what streaming is,” he countered, the smile growing. “I’m not living under a rock.”
“Well, I am impressed, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, settling back into the cushions. “What else do you know about modern technology? Please tell me you’ve at least heard of TikTok.”
His expression shifted into something closer to a scowl, but the playful glint in his eye betrayed him. “I know about TikTok,” he said, sounding almost offended. “And dating apps. God, the horrors,” he added, shaking his head dramatically as he glanced at his phone like it was some sort of ancient relic.
You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. But beneath the humor, your stomach twisted with an unexpected knot. Dating apps?
“What about dating apps?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity in your voice was hard to hide.
Bucky groaned, slouching deeper into the couch as though the thought of them physically pained him. “I don’t know, doll. They just seem... unnatural. All these profiles and swiping left or right, like you’re picking a product instead of a person. Not my thing.” His voice held a certain distaste, and the casual way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from experience—or just his own strong sense of principle.
You bit your lip, trying to suppress the questions bubbling up inside you. Had he ever used them? Was he speaking from personal experience, or just from watching the chaos unfold around him? Your thoughts shifted uncomfortably, and you tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.
“I get it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s... kind of weird, honestly. It’s like shopping for a date, but with less... quality control.” You shot him a teasing grin, but the tightness in your chest was hard to ignore.
Bucky chuckled, the sound a low rumble that was soothing, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. I mean, if I’m gonna meet someone, I’d rather it be... I don’t know, real? Not behind a screen.”
For some reason, his comment made your heart stumble, a traitorous beat skipping out of rhythm. You quickly dropped your gaze to your beer, hoping the reaction wasn’t written all over your face. Was he hinting that he preferred real, in-person connections? That he’d rather... meet someone like that?
You cleared your throat, feigning casual interest to mask the swarm of uncertainty rising inside. “So, how would you go about it? Finding a date, I mean. Is Sam your wingman?”
Bucky nearly choked on his beer, shaking his head vehemently. “God, no! Can you imagine? He’s too busy being Captain America to care about my love life... except when he’s accusing me of flirting with his sister.”
The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and your chest tightened with something sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to chase it away. “I didn’t know you liked Sarah,” you said, and to your horror, the disappointment in your voice was impossible to hide.
Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. “She’s great,” he said with a thoughtful nod. Then his lips curved knowingly. “But not like that.”
The heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, and Bucky’s sly grin told you he’d noticed. Your relief collided with your curiosity, the two tangling into a dangerous need to know more. “Oh,” you started hesitantly. “So... if not her, then who?”
He took another sip of his beer, the pause deliberate. “Had one date with the waitress from that Asian place we always order from. It… didn’t go well.”
Your brows furrowed. “And you haven’t tried again since then?”
“Not really.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, the movement deceptively casual. “You know how it is these days—apps, algorithms, everyone judging you by a couple of photos and a bio. And who’s lining up to date a former assassin, huh? People know too much, too soon. Real connections don’t happen that way.”
The self-deprecating edge in his voice made your heart ache. You tilted your head, studying the way his vibranium fingers tapped lightly against the beer bottle. “Maybe,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the nervous thrum beneath your skin, “you’re looking in the wrong places.”
His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice low, almost daring. “And where do you think I should look?”
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, his attention. “Maybe a little closer to home,” you murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the beer bottle in your own hands.
The silence that followed was electric, charged with unspoken possibilities that hung in the air like static. His gaze lingered on you, steady and intense, and you could feel it even without looking up. It made your pulse race in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.
The truth was, you weren’t sure if you were just caught up in the moment—or if there was something more lingering in his words, in the way he was looking at you now.
You wanted to ask. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But a part of you hesitated, afraid of the answer. What if this was nothing more than friendly banter? What if pushing further shattered the comfortable connection you’d built?
“Closer to home, huh?” Bucky’s voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence but not the tension. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment, it felt like he was closing the space between you. “And what does that mean, exactly? You got someone in mind for me, doll?”
There it was—that nickname. The one you pretended to hate but secretly adored. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the corner of your mouth twitch, betraying the smile you tried to suppress. His voice was so close it warmed you from head to toe. “I’m just saying,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral, “maybe you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you.”
His lips quirked, his expression softening as if he’d caught onto something unsaid. “You think so?” Bucky asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.
You dared to turn your head and glance at him, and the way his blue eyes locked onto yours stole whatever breath you had left. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know so.”
The moment stretched between you, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. You swore he was leaning closer, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. And suddenly, the question burning in your chest felt inevitable.
“Bucky…” you began, voice trembling slightly, unsure of what you were about to say—or what he might say back.
“Yeah, doll?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, a thread of warmth in the charged air between you.
You hesitated, but the weight of your emotions was too much to carry any longer. “Is this a date?” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.
For a moment, his expression didn’t change, and then he shook his head slowly. “It’s not,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.
Your chest tightened, and the disappointment hit hard, like a blow you hadn’t braced for. You tried to mask it, but your face betrayed you, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the rejection. The ache in your heart grew with every second of silence that followed, the room feeling colder with each passing beat.
What you missed was the storm raging behind his steel-blue eyes—the internal battle he fought against his demons, the ones that screamed he wasn’t good enough for you. Wasn’t good enough for anyone. He’d carried those ghosts for too long to ignore them now. But he wasn’t blind.
He’d noticed the way your smile softened when it was meant for him, brighter and warmer than it ever was for anyone else. He’d seen how you fretted over him after missions, your hands fluttering with concern even at the smallest scratch on his skin. And he’d felt the hope radiating from you tonight when you’d invited him over, your words laced with a vulnerability you rarely showed.
Bucky knew. He’d known for a while. And that knowledge both terrified and thrilled him. Love, in any form, was fragile—he’d learned that the hard way. But tonight, sitting here with you, he realized he couldn’t keep running from the possibility of it.
He wanted you. Your laughter, your kindness, your stubbornness, your touch. He craved all of it. And maybe he didn’t deserve it, but for once in his long life, he wanted to try.
Bucky set his beer down, his movements deliberate, and leaned closer. His flesh hand brushed against the back of your arm and the touch sent a shiver up your arm.
“It’s not a date,” he repeated, voice low but filled with a quiet resolve that made your breath catch, hurt twisting at your heart.
Your brow furrowed, the downturn of your lips impossible to hide. “Heard you the first time…”
“This isn’t a date,” he pressed on. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he added, “But it could be.”
Your heart skipped, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline. “Bucky…”
Cutting through your hesitation, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, steady. “If you want this… if you want me, I’m yours. I want to try.”
The vulnerability in his voice left you breathless, stealing any coherent thought you might have had. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope blossomed in your chest, warm and radiant. You didn’t hesitate this time, your lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.
“Is this because you’re afraid of the apps?” you teased, the quip breaking the intensity just enough for you to breathe. But your voice wavered slightly, and your eyes glistened with the tears threatening to spill. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your virtue?”
Bucky chuckled, low and genuine, the sound sending warmth curling in your chest. “I’m not a damsel in distress, doll,” he said, his tone playful as his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively.
“And you’re also not the big bad wolf you think you are,” you countered softly, your voice tinged with both affection and defiance.
“Well, technically…” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “I am the White Wolf.”
You rolled your eyes, the tension breaking into something lighter, something safe. “He jokes,” you said, shaking your head. “He could be kissing instead…”
His grin softened, and for a beat, he just looked at you, his hand still lingering near your face. Then, as if your words had given him permission, he leaned in, closing the space between you in a way that felt both inevitable and extraordinary.
“Guess I’ll take your advice for once, doll,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips.
The moment his lips touched yours, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. His kiss was gentle at first, a question rather than an assumption, as though he wanted to be sure this was what you truly wanted. His warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, while his vibranium hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding him in the moment.
You sighed into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The movement drew him closer, and he obliged, deepening the kiss with a soft groan that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips were soft yet firm, moving against yours in a way that spoke of patience and restrained hunger, like he was savoring every second of this moment.
His vibranium hand finally moved, finding your waist with surprising tenderness. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his other hand through the fabric of your shirt, but it pulled you to the reality of him—both the man he was and the one he’d fought so hard to become.
When you parted briefly for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and brimming with emotions he didn’t have to say out loud.
“Doll…” he whispered, his voice rough and full of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
But you weren’t done. You weren’t ready to let the moment slip away. Sliding your hand from his neck to his jaw, you tilted his face back toward yours, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. He responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth moved against yours with more certainty, more passion.
The kiss deepened, growing warmer, more insistent. Your bodies angled closer together, his presence consuming your senses. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and the faint rasp of his stubble as it brushed against your skin only made the experience more intoxicating.
You weren’t sure how it happened—one moment you were pressed against the back of your couch, his hands and lips demanding your full attention, and the next, you were straddling his thighs. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your harsh breaths mingled, the taste of his tongue intoxicating and impossible to resist.
For all his claims of being a man out of his time, Bucky Barnes knew exactly how to touch a woman. His hands were a perfect dichotomy: one warm and strong, the other cool and unyielding, but both equally firm and commanding. His touch left no room for doubt or hesitation, responding to every unspoken plea you hadn’t yet found the words for.
And his kiss? God, his kiss. You could write sonnets about the way his lips moved against yours, the way his tongue teased and claimed you, coaxing a need from you that you hadn’t known you were capable of. None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of him, his body pressed against yours, solid and capable. The things it could do—what it was doing, what it promised to do—set your whole body alight with yearning.
You kissed him harder, deeper, needier, your hips moving instinctively against his. His groan rumbled low in his chest, a sound that only made you crave him more. But just as your movements grew more desperate, his vibranium hand clamped firmly on your hips, halting your rhythm. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, gentle but insistent, forcing you to break the kiss.
“Doll…” His voice was rough, laced with a warning that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.
You blinked at him, still dazed, heat crawling under your skin as you realized what you’d done. “Yes, I’m sorry, I know—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.
His breaths came heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as his steel-blue eyes bore into yours. The hunger there mirrored your own, and the restraint in his grip only made you want him more.
Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, your own need warring with the desire to break the tension. “Seems like I really am trying to steal your virtue, huh?” you joked, your voice light but shaky as you turned your head to press a soft kiss to his palm.
His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the hunger. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your jaw to trail gently along your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.
Your free hand wrapped around his vibranium one, your thumb tracing the grooves of the metal. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with promise as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching as his hands anchored you, holding you steady but never pushing. His restraint was palpable, and you knew without a doubt—if you wanted more, he would give it to you willingly. But only if you asked.
You wouldn’t, though. Not tonight.
Instead, you leaned in, brushing soft, sweet kisses against his lips, your movements unhurried and tender. Each kiss felt like a promise, an unspoken assurance that there was no rush, no need for anything more than this moment. It took superhuman strength—the kind he had—not to let it escalate.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and your cheeks warm. His eyes searched yours, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—made your heart swell. His thumb grazed your cheek, his smile soft and genuine.
“How about that movie?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.
You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of tension and filling the cozy space around you. “Alright, fine. Let’s find something to watch, then. Any preferences?”
“Anything but those baking shows Sam keeps trying to get me into,” he muttered, his lips quirking in faint exasperation.
A giggle bubbled out of you at the mental image of Sam dragging Bucky into a world of frosting, sprinkles, and delicate pastries. The idea was so absurd yet so perfectly Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble. “Deal. No baking shows.”
As the two of you settled back onto the couch, scrolling through movie options, the tension between you shifted again—this time, it was softer, lighter, wrapped in a warmth that felt safe and steady.
Bucky stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absently brushing against your shoulder as you leaned into him, your body naturally seeking his. And for the first time in a long time, you noticed something different about him. The shadows that usually haunted his expression seemed to have lifted, replaced by something quieter, something calmer.
Here, with you, Bucky wasn’t the broken soldier or the ex-assassin haunted by his past. He was just… himself. And in that moment, you realized that’s all you’d ever wanted him to be.
More Posts from Spookyreads and Others
A Day in the Life
won't even apologise for the bucky spree i've been on lately. have another one.
so i've been daydreaming about being bucky's housewife a lot, and i just wanted to write something about what a day in the life of bucky's housewife would be like. so here it is.
Content Warning: CEO!Bucky x Housewife!Reader, domestic fluff, slight angst but no conflict, sad!steve rogers but he'll be fine, dirty talk, smut (daddy kink, mommy kink, dom!bucky x sub!reader, handjob, fingering, role-playing, breeding kink, penetrative sex, lactation kink), aftercare, soft!bucky.
A handful of peanuts are put into a small container and slotted into the lunch bag, along with a homemade Italian sub sandwich, hummus, pita chips, and some strawberries which you cut to look like hearts. You also pack a bottle of peach iced tea which you've decorated with a few heart-shaped stickers, before zipping up the bag and giving it a proud smile.
The dishwasher behind you hums with the sound of the breakfast dishes being washed, and the smell of coffee from the thermos fills the air.
It's the start of a great day.
You light up when Bucky enters the kitchen in his suit with his briefcase in hand, shooting you a wink as he walks over. "Ready?" You ask him, pushing his lunchbag and thermos towards him.
"Mhm," He replies with a smile, walking over to give you a kiss. It's short and sweet and he rests his forehead against yours once he pulls away. "Don't wanna go."
"Then don't," You whisper coyly, holding onto the hem of his freshly-pressed suit jacket. "Call in sick and stay with me all day."
He chuckles at your words, pulling your body closer to his. "I wish I could, peanut, but I have that big meet-"
"Meeting with Mr. Barton, I know," You finish with an eye roll, before smiling up at him. "I made your favorite for lunch."
"I love you," Bucky mumbles, kissing you again. "Wish I could just take you with me. Sit you on my desk so I have something pretty to look at all day."
"But then all your coworkers would be jealous," You tease him.
"Oh, they would," He agrees with a smirk. "Jealous that I have the prettiest little wife in the whole world."
"Sap," You mumble, hitting his shoulder lightly. "What time will you be back?"
"Should be home by 6," He tells you, making you pout.
"That's so long away," You whine immaturely.
"Let me make you feel good, daddy," You whisper back as his hard cock pulses against your palm. You take it out of his pants before leaning forward to spit on it, making him shiver. Your spit and his pre cum mix together as you begin to stroke his length, making him shudder.
"I know, peanut, but time will fly by," Bucky promises you before kissing you again, deeper this time. His hands roam your waist before moving down to grab your ass, making your stomach flutter. You trail your hand down his chest until you meet his belt buckle, which you unfasten. "Baby, what're you doing?" He whispers, biting his lip when you slip your hand under his boxers.
He grabs the counter on either side of you, boxing you in as his jaw falls slack. "Oh, fuck," He groans, bucking his hips slightly. "Just like that, oh God, don't stop."
You move a little faster, knowing you're pressed for time and not wanting to make him late for work. To speed him up, you press your lips to his neck, taking advantage of how well you know his body and making him whine as you suck on his sensitive spot.
"Baby, fuck," He moans as his eyes roll back. "I'm gonna cum."
"Cum for me, daddy, please," You beg him playfully. "I need your cum."
Your words push him over the edge and before long, his seed spills out. Some of it shoots out onto your thigh, but the rest you catch in your palm as you continue to stroke him through his high. His dick throbs in your hand as his whole body shudders, grunts leaving his mouth. Once he's spent, you wipe your hand on a tissue, smiling up at him.
"You're so naughty," He utters lowly between heavy breaths, chuckling. "My naughty little girl, aren't you?"
"Can't help it, daddy," You say innocently while zipping his pants back up and buckling his belt. "It's your fault for being so hot."
Smirking, he pushes you against the counter before lifting up your short dress. "My naughty girl deserves to feel good, too," He mumbles, stroking your inner thigh.
"You're gonna be late, Jamie," You warn him, glancing at the clock on the wall.
"I don't care," He growls as he finds your heat, chuckling. "No panties. Just like I've taught you, hmm?"
Your breath shakes as he scoops up his cum from your leg, before using his free hand to spread apart your folds. With his eyes locked on yours, he rubs his cum over your clit, making your stomach flutter.
"James," You whimper, clinging onto the counter behind you.
"Shh, it's okay, peanut," He whispers softly as he continues circling your bud. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"So good," You reply weakly, lifting up your leg to give him better access to your pussy.
He moves his fingers down to your entrance, biting his lip when he feels your warm juices coating and soaking it. With ease, two of his fingers slip into you, making you wince at the width as he spreads you open.
"My pretty little pussy feels so fuckin' tight around my fingers," He groans into your ear. "Always so tight for me. Fuckin' hell."
He starts fucking his fingers in and out of you rhythmically, curling them upwards every so often and making you squirm. The knuckle of his thumb rubs against your clit, making your core burn with delight. You cry out loudly as he hits your spot deep inside you, making your legs shake.
"That's it, baby, sing for me," He grunts, fingering you faster. "Your moans are so fucking sexy. Fuck." He licks his lips as he watches your face contort in pleasure, a proud smirk blooming on his lips. "That's it. Breathe deeply for me, baby, deep breaths. That's it."
Your entire body feels like it's floating as he coaxes you to the edge, expertly playing with your pussy the way only he knows how. With a loud cry of his name, you throw your head back as the floodgates burst open.
"Cumming, daddy," You all but squeal as your cunt clenches around his fingers, juices flowing out of you.
"That's my girl," He praises you before kissing you deeply as you fly through your high. "Just like that, doing so well for me."
You breathe heavily as you slowly come down, your eyelids drooping with fatigue. Bucky wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder. The two of you stay in the blissful peace for a few moments, your hearts beating as one. He strokes your hair and you cling to his torso, never wanting to let go.
"Could stay like this forever," Bucky whispers, swaying you gently.
Looking over his shoulder at the clock, you sigh. "You're gonna be so late," You warn him.
"Just a few more minutes," He begs, holding you even tighter. You have no choice but to give in, obsessed with his smell and touch and embrace.
A few more minutes pass and you pull away, pushing his shoulders back. "Alright, bubba, you need to go," You say sternly. "You have to prepare for the Barton meeting."
He groans with an eye roll, but he knows you're right. Giving you another kiss, he pats your ass. "Alright. Alright, you're right," He utters with defeat.
You pick up his lunch bag and follow him through to the door to the large garage. When he opens it, cool air washes over you, making you shiver.
"What do you think?" He asks as he glances over the hooks of keys. "Who should I take out today?"
Thinking it over, you tilt your head. "Take Krissi- no, take Mason. He hasn't been out in a while; he's probably feeling neglected."
"You're right," Bucky mumbles, grabbing the keys to the black Maserati Ghibli.
"Here you go," You say sweetly, holding out his lunch bag.
"Thank you, peanut," He says appreciatively, leaning forward to kiss you. "I love you."
"I love you more, Jay," You reply sweetly, booping his nose.
"I won't be able to call you until 2 today, because of the meeting," He informs you, stroking your hip.
Pouting, you nod. "Okay, bubba," You reply, kissing him once more before he starts to walk away. "Good luck with Barton!"
"Send me pictures if you do end up going shopping with Wanda," He calls out to you as he walks past the row of cars to get to Mason the Maserati. "And if Coulson comes over to check on the security system, tell him to make a note of everything he does."
"I will," You promise, leaning against the doorway as he opens the car door. "Drive safe!"
"I love you, peanut," He says once more, blowing you a kiss before getting into the car.
You watch as the garage door opens and Bucky carefully backs out. He beeps the horn twice before driving away, and you wait until the garage door is fully shut before leaving, with a love-drunk smile on your face.
Bucky returns home at around 5:45, after rushing to get back to you. He parks the car in its spot in the garage before making his way into the house, the smell of your cooking immediately wafting over him and making his stomach grumble.
He wanders over to the kitchen where he knows you'll be, the sound of soft music and the blade against a cutting board inviting him in. "I'm home, peanut," He calls out, not wanting to scare the life out of you like he has done many times before when he walked in unannounced.
When he enters, he sees you at the counter chopping up tomatoes, but you're not alone. Steve is standing with his arm around your shoulder, watching closely as you finely cut up the salad ingredients.
You look up at him, your eyes lighting up. "Jamie!"
"Hey, baby," He greets you, walking over to where you and Steve are standing. He places his lunch bag on the counter before leaning forward to give you a kiss, pushing Steve off of you. Embracing you, he lifts you off the ground for a few seconds, holding you tight.
"Hi," You mumble with a wide grin once he puts you back down. "Missed you."
"Missed you more," Bucky replies sweetly before giving Steve narrow eyes. "I thought you were sick."
He shrugs sheepishly, leaning back against the sink. "Didn't wanna go work," He says casually.
Bucky raises a brow. "Probably not the best thing to say to your boss, punk."
"Where's my kiss?" Steve asks, returning to wrap his arm around your shoulder.
"Right here," Bucky replies, grabbing his chin and kissing his cheek before slapping him lightly. "Kiss my wife and you and I will have a problem, Rogers."
Laughing softly, you shake your head before gasping. "How did the meeting go?" You ask, returning to your salad cutting.
"It went great," He tells you proudly, shooting Steve a bitter glance. "Would've gone a lot smoother if my CFO was there, but we survived."
"Anyone can read out numbers," Steve claims flippantly. "You didn't need me."
"Idiot," Bucky mutters, before taking a few steps back. "I'm gonna go wash up. Back in ten."
Although he wants to be annoyed that he isn't getting the quality alone time with you that he's been looking forward to all day, Bucky can't be mad at Steve. Ever since the divorce proceedings begun, he's been sensitive and withdrawn, so you and Bucky have done your best to be there for him.
Once he's showered and changed into some comfortable clothes, Bucky returns downstairs where he can hear Steve's yelps. The kitchen is empty so he walks into the living room, where you're sitting on the couch with Steve's head on your lap while you tweeze his brows.
"Ow!" The blond cries, to which you roll your eyes.
"Hold still, Stevie," You mutter, concentrating on plucking the stray hairs. "It doesn't hurt that bad."
"Easy for you to say," He grumbles bitterly, wincing when you pull out another hair.
Bucky comes to sit behind you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Hi, peanut," He whispers into your ear. "How was your day?"
"It was good," You reply, pulling out another few hairs while Steve whimpers. "Didn't go shopping, but I did get lunch with Happy and May."
"You third-wheeled? How embarassing," Steve teases you, making you and Bucky roll your eyes.
"Did Coulson come over?" Bucky asks you, wrapping his arm around your waist.
"Not today," You tell him. "He called and said he's coming on Friday, instead."
"Really? This Friday?" Bucky asks you with a frown.
"Yeah," You confirm. "Why? Is that a problem?"
Bucky bites his lip. He was planning on whisking you away to Italy for the weekend on Friday morning to celebrate the anniversary of the day he proposed to you, but he can't tell you that.
"Uh, Fridays are statistically when most break-ins happen, so I don't want him messing around with the security in case he fucks the system up," He excuses quickly. "I'll call him later and ask him to come next week, instead."
Raising a brow, you let out a laugh. "Uh, okay then," You say, before patting Steve's shoulder. "All done, Rogers."
"Finally," He breathes out with relief.
"So, are you going shopping with Wanda tomorrow, instead?" Bucky asks, rubbing your shoulders soothingly.
"Uh, I don't know, why?" You question him while playing with Steve's hair. "Do you need me to get you something?"
He needs you to get your fucking nails done for the trip, but he can't tell you that.
"Yes, actually," He claims. "Uh, cufflinks. I need a new pair."
You turn to look at him, a look of dejection in your eyes. "Oh. Did- do you not like the ones I got for your birthday? Do you want me to exchange them?"
He inwardly curses himself at his blunder. Of course I fucking like the cufflinks with your damn initials on them, peanut. "Did I say cufflinks?" He asks, feigning confusion. "I'm such an idiot; I meant... tie. I want a new tie."
"You want a new tie?" You ask, while Steve, who knows of Bucky's plan, struggles to keep in his laughs.
"Yes, I want a new tie, and I want my pretty baby to pick it out," Bucky says firmly. "For the party next weekend."
"Oh, okay," You agree with a growing smile. "Then I'll buy you the best damn tie you'll ever wear."
"I know you will," He replies lowly, kissing your cheek.
"Shit," You hiss suddenly, pushing Steve off your lap. "I need to check on the food!"
With that, you rush into the kitchen, with Bucky following you in. "What's for dinner?" He asks, watching as you take a dish out of the air fryer.
"Fried chicken," You answer him with a grin. "And potato wedges."
While you mix the salad, Bucky comes up behind you, stroking your hips. His hand slips up your blouse, where he pulls down your bra cup and grabs your boob. With his mouth at your ear, he strokes his thumb over your nipple, making you shudder. "I wanna be inside you so bad, baby," He whispers, making you shiver.
"Jay," You whine, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Before he can do anything else, Steve walks in, making Bucky pull your bra back up and take his hands off of you. You catch your breath while looking down at the salad, trying to regain your composure.
"Smells incredible," Steve says with a grin.
"Could you grab the wedges out of the oven?" You request while continuing to mix the salad, to which he complies.
Bucky steps closer to you and gently grabs your hands, turning you to face him. "You go ahead and sit down at the table, peanut; Steve and I will dish up."
"No, bubba, you go sit down," You insist. "You've been working all day-"
"So have you, now go sit down," He repeats firmly. "Don't make me say it again."
Defeated, you give in, leaning up to kiss him quickly before making your way into the adjacent dining area. You take a seat at the head of the table and pour yourself some water before realizing there's no wine.
"Steve, could you go grab a bottle from the wine cellar?" You call out to the kitchen. "I hate going down there alone."
"Sure thing, ma'am," Steve replies, making his way out to you.
"Just grab whatever you want," You tell him nonchalantly as he treks over to the cellar door.
Sticking his head out the kitchen door with a dish cloth over his shoulder, Bucky raises a brow. "No, Steve - grab the '95 Sassicaia," He corrects pointedly, to which you roll your eyes.
"Pretentious dick," You mutter, making him walk further out into the dining area.
"Excuse me?" Bucky scoffs while Steve disappears down the stairs. "You love my pretentious dick."
Sighing, you nod and sit back. "I really do."
He smirks as he comes closer, standing over you. Slowly, he reaches his hand out and wraps it around your throat, tilting your head up. "You want it deep inside you, don't you?"
Letting out a shaky breath, you squeeze your legs together. You nod, bucking your hips up. "I do, daddy."
Leaning down, he tightens his grip on your neck, making your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about railing you all day. Can't wait to fuck your brains out tonight," He growls.
"Please," You sputter with wide eyes.
"Say it, baby," He orders you. "Tell me exactly what you want."
"I- I want daddy to fuck me," You let out weakly, clinging onto his wrist.
"Oh, daddy will, baby," Bucky coos softly, leaning forward to kiss you forehead. "Daddy's gonna fuck you so good tonight."
The sound of ascending steps from the cellar make him release your throat and step back, while you cross your leg over the other and feel your heart racing in your chest.
"Found the sassy shit you wanted," Steve announces as he enters the room, placing the bottle of Sassicaia on the table with a proud look.
"Thank you, Steve," You say graciously, giving him a polite smile while trying to get Bucky's dirty words out of your head.
Bucky and Steve get on with plating up and serving the food, and a few minutes later, you're all sitting at the table and digging in.
"So, how were your days?" Bucky asks you both. "Did you do anything besides annoy my wife, Rog?"
"Actually, I bought a car this morning," Steve says pointedly, making you frown.
"Steven, what have I told you? This is not the time for you to be spending money so carelessly," You scold him.
"I'm gonna sell the Ferrari, so it's fine," He defends himself. "Besides; Peg and I signed a pre-nup. I'm smart, and I'm safe."
"Still," You press sternly. "You're gonna be buying a new house, soon, and you know how much you love to renovate."
"Darling, relax," Steve says calmly. "I'm rich!"
"Peanut has a point, Rogers," Bucky adds curtly. "It's not a good look, going on a spending spree when you're supposed to be going through a divorce."
"I don't care how it looks," Steve retorts bitterly. "I just wanna leave that bitch and be done with it."
"Steve," You whisper with wide eyes, shaking your head. "Don't say that."
"Whatever. Everyone gets divorced nowadays; it's fine," He claims with a shrug, before giving Bucky a frown. "Did you guys sign a pre-nup?"
"Of course not," Bucky replies instantly.
"Really?" Steve asks, bewildered for a second before he relaxes. "Eh, makes sense. You two have always been horrifically in love."
"Peanut already knows that every cent of my money is hers," Bucky goes on to say, squeezing your hand. "We didn't need to sign anything to confirm that. And we definitely didn't need to prepare for a... I can't even say it."
"Yeah, man, how do you think I feel?" Steve asks with a dry laugh. "Fuckin' sucks."
"Anyway," You interject, sitting up. "More chicken, anyone?"
After changing the subject to a much lighter topic, the dinner continues. You share jokes, Bucky rants about his new, 'utterly incompetent' assistant, curses Peter for taking paternity leave and leaving him with the new incompetent assistant, and Steve makes false promises to cook for you next time.
"That was incredible," Steve groans as he puts down his knife and fork. "I haven't had a decent home-cooked meal in so long."
"You were eating my lasagne three days ago, you dramatic oaf," You point out with a laugh.
"Three days is a long time," He claims stubbornly.
Bucky reaches out to take your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. "It really was amazing, baby," He tells you earnestly. "Thank you for always feeding us so well."
"Of course, bubba," You reply bashfully through a grin. "I love making you food; you know that."
"And I love you," He replies lowly, kissing your hand again and keeping it close to his lips. God, he can't wait to see the look on your face when he flies you out to Italy. Lately, his bigger romantic gestures have been few and far between, and you deserve to be swept off your feet and spoiled rotten.
Watching the basic interaction between you both brings up feelings to the surface that Steve didn't even know were there. Suddenly, he's hit with a horrid wave of hurt, but he does he best to keep up a brave face.
You glance over at him and immediately, you can tell something isn't right. "You okay, Steve?" You ask him softly with a concerned look in your eyes.
He nods, avoiding your gaze because he knows it will only make him feel worse. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine, I just... Fuck," He mutters as his eyes tear up.
Getting up to your feet, you rush over to pull him in for a hug, holding his head to your torso as you feel your heart break. "It's okay to be upset, Steve. You're allowed to be upset."
"I'm not even, I... fuck," He utters with a scoff, shocked even at himself. "Shitting fuck. Why am I crying?"
"You're okay, my darling, you can cry if you need to," You mumble while Bucky begins to collect the empty dishes and take them back to the kitchen. Looking down at him, you bring up your thumbs to wipe away the stray tears from Steve's cheeks. "I can't even imagine your pain, but I promise you'll get through it. Jamie and I are here to help you through it. Never think that you're alone."
"I know. I'm fine, I swear," He claims with a sniffle, resting against you. "Too much wine, maybe."
Steve nods before pulling back and letting out a sigh. "Right. Enough of the dramatics," He states firmly.
You stay with him for a while, swaying him gently while Bucky clears the table. Once he's done, he walks over to join you, patting Steve's head. "You're gonna be more than okay, pal," He promises. "You're gonna be better. I know it doesn't seem like it now, but there is a way through this. We've got you."
"Anyone up for dessert?" You ask expectantly. "Mary-Ann made these cheesecake brownie things for some event at her daughter's school and had a bunch left over, so she gave us some."
"Mary-Ann, as in the one who's in love with your husband?" Steve asks with a raised brow as you make your way to the kitchen.
"The very same!" You call back with a laugh.
"She is not in love with me," Bucky argues firmly, sitting back down in his seat. "I honestly have no clue where this joke came from."
"Uh, it came from her obvious obsession with you," Steve says with a chuckle. "And it's not a joke, Buck-a-roo."
Once you've retrieved the brownies, you waltz back into the dining area. "Wanna know what she said when she gave me these?" You ask rhetorically, leaning down to utter with a sultry voice in Bucky's ear, "Make sure to let me know if James likes them; I know he's hard to please."
"James?" Steve repeats incredulously. "She called your husband James?"
"Calls him James," You correct him, putting the brownies down on the table. "Can you believe the nerve?"
"It's not that serious; not everyone wants to use a nickname," Bucky defends. "Some people I work with call me James."
"I have never even introduced you to her as James," You tell him. "Hi, Mary-Ann, this is my husband, Bucky. And what does she do? Calls you by my name."
"I think you oughta beat her ass," Steve suggests with a smirk. "Do it in front of her daughter for optimal humiliation."
"I might just," You mutter bitterly.
Bucky pulls you down onto his lap, gently biting your arm. "You have nothing to worry about, my baby."
You scoff at his words. "When did I say I was worried?" You ask him with a raised brow, before looking over at Steve. "Did I say I was worried at any point, Steven?"
"No, Mrs. Barnes, you did not," Steve answers you. "But, Mr. Barnes' comment does lead me to think that you might actually have something to worry about."
"Shut up, punk," Bucky grumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Pair of dumbasses, the two of you."
You lean forward to grab a brownie, before bringing to Bucky's lips. "Let's see if your secret lover's baking is better than mine," You say teasingly as he takes a bite.
Bucky slowly nods as he chews it, keeping his eyes on yours. Once he swallows, he lets out a hum. "You know what?" He asks. "I might just have to fuck Mary-Ann again, it was that good."
"Bastard!" You cry, hitting his shoulder while him and Steve laugh heartily.
"I love you," Bucky says as he prevents you from standing up by tightening his grip around you. "I love you, and this brownie sucks."
Steve grabs a brownie and takes a bite, his eyes widening as he chews. "Can you give me Mary-Ann's number?"
"Pricks," You mutter with an eye roll, before bringing the rest of the brownie in your hand up to your own mouth. You take a bite and, admittedly, it's pretty fucking good.
"What's the verdict?" Bucky asks curiously, bouncing his leg beneath you. "Good enough to let her off for being in love with me?"
"First of all, you just admitted she's in love with you, so Steve, I'd like you to make a mental note of that," You say, pointing at him. "And secondly, no. It's good, but mine would taste better - if I ever stooped so low as to make cheesecake brownies, that is."
Bucky grins at your words. "Now who's the pretentious dick?"
"Speaking of pretentious," Steve begins. "You coming to the party next weekend, peanut?"
"Don't call her that," Bucky cuts in with a tone of disgust.
"Oh, so you don't like it when someone else calls me the name that you use for me?" You ask him with a raised brow.
Narrowing his eyes, Bucky sighs. "Okay, so I see how that could be annoying."
"Thank you very much!" You exclaim with relief. "And thank you, Steven, for demonstrating it so well."
"Yeah, whatever, anyway, are you coming?" He presses expectantly. "It's gonna be at that hotel you like; the Gold Leaf."
"I guess I have to come, as Bucky Barnes' beautiful wife, and all," You say dryly with a shrug. "Might be fun - unless Graham's gonna be there."
"Ugh, he is," Bucky confirms with disdain.
"Fabulous," You sigh. "Always fun talking to him."
"If he says a single thing I don't like this time, I'm gonna be having words with him," Bucky says threateningly.
"Ooh, words," You repeat teasingly. "He must be so scared."
"Yeah, way to intimidate a guy for flirting with your wife," Steve adds with a snort.
"What do you want me to do?" Bucky asks incredulously. "Kill him?"
"Yes," You say curtly. "You should kill every man who even glances in my direction with less than pure intentions."
He narrows his eyes. "Believe me, peanut, I want to."
"On that note," Steve states, standing up. "I should go. It's getting late."
"Are you sure?" You ask, standing up too. "You don't want a coffee, or another drink?"
"Nah; I need to drive back," He tells you, stealing another brownie. The three of you walk to the front door which Steve opens before turning back to you. "Thank you for everything, sweetheart; dinner was great."
"Thank you for coming," You reply as he pulls you in for a hug. "You're always welcome here."
"Oh, I know," He says as he pulls away before grabbing Bucky for a quick hug. "I appreciate you both, very much."
"We love you," You tell him sweetly.
Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, holding you against his side. "You better be at work tomorrow, Rogers," He warns him.
"I will be," Steve promises with a wink, walking backwards. "And you two better have some mind-blowing sex tonight, for me!"
"Idiot," You say between laughs while Bucky rolls his eyes.
Steve stuffs the brownie into his mouth before giving you a wave and walking over to his car. Once he's driven off, you shut the door and lock it. Before you can even say a single word, Bucky throws you over his shoulder and begins to make his way to the staircase.
"Jamie!" You squeal with excitement.
"Been wanting you all day," He grumbles, spanking your ass as he jogs up the stairs. "Do you know how insane the thought of you makes me?"
"I have an idea," You tell him coyly while he takes you into the bedroom. He then drops you onto the bed with a thump, and is about to rip off your dress when you stop him. "Wait!"
Concern floods features as he moves back. "Is everything alright, peanut?"
"Yes, but just wait here," You order him, pulling him down onto the bed and standing up yourself. "I'll be two minutes!"
With that, you rush into the en suite, leaving a frustrated Bucky with a boner and a huff. "What are you doing, baby?" He calls out. "You better not be shaving."
"I'm not!" You promise, your voice muffled through the door. "Just give me a second; I've been waiting for this all day!"
Bucky lets out a sigh, lying back on the bed. His lips curl up with anticipation as to what awaits him; a night of pure pleasure. A few moments into his naughty daydreams later, the bathroom door swings open and he immediately sits up.
"Baby," He whispers as he takes in your appearance, wide-eyed and mystified. "You look absolutely incredible."
There you stand wearing nothing but a black, lacey lingerie bodysuit and your heels. Your curves are laid bare to him as you coyly walk over to the bed, smirking.
"Hello, Mr. Barnes," You greet him, crawling onto the bed. "I need your help."
He raises a brow and lets out a shaky breath. "Yeah? And what do you need my help with, baby?"
Biting your lip, you sit on your knees in front of him and tilt your head. "I need you to fuck me, right now," You tell him dramatically. "The fate of the world depends on it."
A soft chuckle leaves his mouth as he looks you up and down. "Yeah? You need me to breed you?"
"Yes, I do," You confirm. "You need to get me pregnant, as soon as possible- or else, the aliens will take over."
He snorts before regaining his composure and nodding. "I can do that, sweetheart. I can give you a baby."
Slowly, you spread your legs, revealing the crotchless panties. Bucky swallows thickly at the sight of your glistening pussy, his lips parting. "This is urgent, Mr. Barnes," You say with desperation. "You need to fuck a baby into me, now!"
After removing his shirt and pants, Bucky gets onto his knees in front of you and grabs you by the waist. "Don't you worry, baby, daddy's gonna get you pregnant," He promises with a growl. "Gonna fill you up with my seed."
You smile widely as he picks you up and puts you into his lap, rubbing your wet cunt against his hard dick. "Inside, daddy," You whine. "Put it deep inside me."
"Are you sure, baby?" He asks you gently. "Are you sure you can take my big cock?"
"I have no choice," You tell him, clinging onto his shoulders. "I need to do this, for the future of humanity!"
"Yes, you do," He agrees, rubbing his cock against your clit. "You're gonna be a good little cumdump for me, aren't you?"
"Yes, Sir," You promise, rocking your hips desperately. "I'll be your cumdump, daddy."
"That's a good girl," He praises you before slowly sinking into your tight cunt. "Oh, fuck."
Your head falls back as he fills you up, every inch of your skin on fire. "So big, daddy. I can't take it."
"Shh, baby, it's okay," He coos, stroking your face as his eyes darken. "You're gonna take it." With that, he plunges his entire length into you, taking your breath away. The pain is an enhancer for the pleasure, and you let out a loud, wanton cry that'd make a porn star blush.
He begins thrusting in and out of you with vigor, grunting as your pussy swallows him deeply.
"Right there," You moan, digging your nails into his shoulder. "Right there, daddy."
"My girl's gonna be so beautiful, all filled up with my baby," He utters, ripping apart your lingerie to reveal your chest. "Tits are gonna be so full of milk for our child."
Your eyes roll back at his words as he slams into your harder, making it hard for you to think straight.
"Such sweet fuckin' milk," Bucky growls before latching his mouth onto your nipple and sucking on it, sending waves of electric delight through your body. He pulls off with a pop, smirking at you. "Mommy's gonna feed me her milk, isn't she?"
"Yes, Jamie," You promise, pulling his hair. "Oh, my God."
"Mmm, that's right," He grumbles, playing with your tits. "Such a pretty mommy." With that, he starts sucking on the other nipple, slowly pushing you down onto the bed and getting on top of you.
He fucks you into the mattress, his hips snapping against yours as his fingers pull and twist your neglected nipple. Your back arches up as you whimper and whine, feeling your pleasure building up to its climax.
"Daddy," You begin, clawing his back. "Please, can I cum?"
Pulling his mouth off your nipple, he moves up to rest his head in the crux of your neck. "Not yet," He growls, fucking you harder. "You don't get to cum until I tell you to."
His words only make you hotter, letting him take control over you. Bucky places one of his hands on your stomach and pushes down on it gently. "You feel me right here, peanut?" He asks breathlessly. "Feel how deep inside you I am?"
"Oh, God," You gasp, your vision blurring.
"Gonna fill you up, make your belly nice and round with my baby," He tells you lowly, his lips brushing against yours. "You'll be a perfect mommy for me, won't you?"
"Yes, Sir," You reply feebly, feeling your head lighten.
"You're the prettiest little cumdump, you know that?" He whispers. "So fucking gorgeous."
"Daddy," You whine. "Need to cum."
"Yeah?" Bucky asks with an arrogant smirk, before suddenly bringing his fingers to your clit and rubbing quick circles onto it.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" You scream, feeling yourself fall off the edge as the pressure on your core increases.
He leans down, bringing his lips to your ear, and whispers, "Cum."
Your legs shake around him as you finally let go, entranced by blinding pleasure. Waves of pleasure shoot through your body as you gush onto his cock, tightening around his girth. Bucky isn't far behind you, taking a few seconds before he releases his seed deep inside you.
"Take it all, baby," He grunts, thrusting into you sloppily. "Take every fucking drop, like the good cumdump you are."
You fade in and out of consciousness for the next few minutes, feeling weak and exhausted. Gentle hands clean and clothe you, a soft voice whispering into your ear about how good you were tonight.
When your eyes are finally able to fully open again, you see the dimly lit ceiling above you. You turn your head to the side to see Bucky standing over the bed, moisturizing his face. He smiles when he sees you staring, before shooting you a wink.
"Welcome back, peanut," He says teasingly, kneeling onto the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Need to sleep," You mumble groggily. "Did you- did you do my face?"
"I did, baby," He assures you, getting under the duvet next to you before pulling you into his arms and kissing your cheek.
"Did we save humanity from the aliens?" You question him. "With our mind-blowing sex?"
"We did, peanut," He tells you with a grin. "Do you know how much I love you?"
"How much?" You ask, a shadow of a smile playing at your lips.
He holds you tighter to his chest, resting his head in your neck. "More than there are drops of water in the ocean. More than there are stars in the sky. More than there are atoms in the galaxy."
"That's a lot," You reply softly, before adding, "I love you even more than that."
Chuckling, he presses a kiss to your neck. "If you say so."
"Good night, bubba," You mumble sweetly. "I love you."
"Good night, peanut," Bucky replies with you in his arms. "I love you."
Today was a great day.
aw how cute was that.
bucky masterlist
side blog for update notifications: @kinanabinksupdates
buy me a kofi <3
Heart First, Sanity Later
Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.
Word Count: 3.4k+
A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.
You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”
He stared at you. Everyone did.
You slurped. “What?”
Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.
A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”
And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.
When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.
But outside of that? Absolute chaos.
One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.
"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”
He blinked slowly. “Yes.”
“Sounds fake but okay.”
He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)
Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”
Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”
You beamed. “I know, right?”
And that was just the beginning.
-
Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:
“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”
He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.
You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.
“What?” He hissed.
You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”
Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.
Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”
You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.
Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?
You were something else. A walking contradiction.
You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”
And tonight was no different.
By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.
That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.
Affection.
It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.
“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”
He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.
You had two blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.
“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.
“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.
You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”
He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.
“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”
You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”
The jet went quiet.
And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.
You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.
You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.
And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:
He was fucked.
In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.
You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”
“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”
“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.
“…Terrifying.”
You winked. “Same difference.”
And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.
-
The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.
A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.
“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” you said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.
Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”
“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”
You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”
He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”
“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.
“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.
“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”
He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”
“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”
Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”
You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”
Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.
You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”
He stared at you, speechless.
"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.
Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"
“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”
Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.
You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.
But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”
His chest tightened.
“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”
He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”
“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”
Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”
Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.
Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”
You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.
But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”
Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.
But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.
-
The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. I You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.
“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.
Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”
“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”
Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.
Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”
Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”
It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.
“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”
As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”
“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”
Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.
Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.
“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.
You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”
“No.”
“Then I’m doing taxes.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”
You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.
Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.
Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.
“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.
Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“I do not look like-“
“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”
“I am not emotionally unavailable.”
“You have a go bag, Bucky.”
“…That’s standard protocol.”
“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.
“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”
Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.
-
When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.
And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.
“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”
Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.
“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”
You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”
He ran a hand down his face.
“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”
You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”
He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”
But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.
You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.
And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.
“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”
You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”
“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”
“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”
“That’s not a thing!”
You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”
He froze.
“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”
You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”
”I love you, you absolute menace!”
Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.
“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.
Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Say it like what?”
“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”
“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”
“Yes!”
“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”
“Also yes!”
“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”
“I almost killed you.”
You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”
He stared. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”
He laughed, just once, short and stunned.
You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”
Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet. You’re in love with me.”
“I’m regretting it deeply.”
“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.
And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.
When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”
Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”
his girls [one-shot]
marvel au bucky x reader alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.
Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything
Word Count: 2.2k
A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.
main masterlist
![His Girls [one-shot]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a3d02af7c2953cd26e091058f77a6876/3f86ebb46d890ecb-a0/s500x750/a1f455f210f058bb107b245c533a12c6207da852.gif)
You were careful.
Or at least, you thought you were careful.
For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Bucky’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way he’d brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.
You figured no one had noticed.
Until today.
It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.
Natasha plucked it off you mid-conversation one morning in the kitchen while you were praying—desperately—to whatever all-seeing god might finally make the coffee machine work faster. Between the groaning, spluttering sounds and the blinking lights, it felt like the damn thing was possessed. With flawlessly manicured nails, Natasha held the hair up to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound.
“Is this Alpine’s fur?” she mused aloud, twirling the long, pale strand between her fingers.
“Probably.” you replied absently, more concerned with the coffee machine’s latest refusal to cooperate. You jabbed the buttons harder, ignoring the way Natasha’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to amusement.
“For all of Tony’s money, you’d think we’d have a coffee machine that actually works,” you grumbled.
“Turn around?” Natasha asked. There was a particular lilt to her voice, that barely concealed intrigue she tried—and failed—to mask whenever she was onto something. It set you on edge instantly, the tone that meant she was clicking a mystery into place, giddy with excitement beneath a thin veil of indifference. You didn’t trust it for a second.
“No, just—” You smacked the machine in frustration. It whined pathetically before the lights blinked off entirely. You let out a long, exasperated groan. “Why won’t this stupid fucking thing ever work—”
“Jesus, you’re covered in it—”
You froze mid-motion as Natasha yanked at your shirt, effectively grooming you like a monkey. Her sharp lips had turned up into a wicked smirk, the type of smirk that made dread pool in your gut.
“Everything is covered in her fur,” you said quickly, still trying for casual. You reached for the plug, praying Natasha would drop it. “She sheds everywhere, especially on the couch.”
“Mm.” Natasha tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “And yet, I thought Tony hired cleaners for that? Especially with Kate always bringing Lucky around?”
You yanked the plug from the socket a little too forcefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. I just want this damn machine to work.”
Right on cue, a familiar voice rumbled behind you.
“Machine giving you trouble again?”
Your heart stuttered in your chest before resuming its normal rhythm—though maybe a little faster. You turned just as Bucky strolled in, looking frustratingly good despite the early hour. His hair was a little dishevelled, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made him look too soft for someone who could snap a man’s spine in half.
“There’s a trick to it, remember?” He stepped in close beside you, skin brushing yours as he reached for the machine. The scent of his aftershave lingered, warm and familiar. You tried—and failed—not to watch the way the muscles in his forearm tensed, veins shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a series of buttons.
“Barnes, you’ve got cat hair all over you,” Natasha noted, not even bothering to be subtle. You didn’t dare look at her. Instead, you busied yourself wringing your hands, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of Bucky standing so damn close.
“Huh?” Bucky barely spared a glance at his shirt, where Alpine’s fur was unmistakably clinging to the fabric. “Oh. Yeah, guess I do. She always wants attention in the morning.”
Then, with one final smack, the machine roared to life. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air as liquid finally poured into your mug. You sighed in sheer relief.
“There you go,” Bucky said, looking down at you with a small smile, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead.
Your stomach did a stupid little flip. You smiled back, warmth creeping into your face. “Thanks.”
The machine beeped again, snapping you back to reality. You quickly grabbed the mug with both hands, muttered another thanks, and let Natasha tug you away.
“What was that?” She hissed, voice low as she turned to you with narrowed eyes.
“Huh?” You weren’t entirely listening to her words. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. You could still see Bucky standing in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter as he waited for his own coffee. His back was turned, but even through the thin material of his fur-covered t-shirt, you could see the way his muscles shifted beneath it—
Natasha didn’t even humour your innocence. She crossed her arms. “You and Barnes?”
“What about him?” You mumbled, pulling your gaze away as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.
Her lips twitched, amusement clear. “Are you two—?”
You made a face at her. “What are you on about?”
Natasha didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.
For now.
As the elevator hummed and Bucky was cut from your view as the doors shut, you took a sip of coffee, the liquid a few degrees between too hot and burning. It scalded your tongue, and with the phantom smell of Bucky’s aftershave no longer haunting you, you felt your mind snap back into action.
Right. Focus.
“We’re going to be late for the meeting,” you declared, shaking your head. “And that damn machine is the reason. You know what? Let’s take a detour to Stark’s lab and demand a better one.”
Natasha chuckled, pressing the button for a different floor.
“I like the way you think.”
—
You knew Alpine would be your downfall.
The little white menace was notoriously selective. If you weren’t Bucky, she wanted nothing to do with you. Everyone at the compound had suffered her wrath at least once—Sam even had the scars to prove it. Alpine liked to play dangerous games that usually ended in blood or a yowl of pain. You swore the Avengers bled more dealing with the feline than fighting aliens, wizards, or whatever else tried to obliterate Earth every other week. She was a cunning little creature, lurking around corners, hiding under tables, prowling along bookshelves. And just when you least expected it—bam. Teeth and claws bared, she would pounce, latching on like a tiny, vengeful spectre. This was her idea of fun. The Avengers had learned to tread carefully, tip-toeing around the compound whenever they knew she wasn’t safely curled up in Bucky’s room, where she ruled with an iron paw.
So, when you sat down on the couch one evening, and Alpine immediately hopped onto your lap, you knew you were fucked.
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t so much as sniff at you in consideration before curling right up, purring loud enough to be heard over the football game droning on in the background—which you were only half paying attention to.
You stiffened, caught between awe at the rare privilege and sheer dread at the witnesses currently gaping at you.
Bucky, for his part, had been sitting at the other end of the couch, flirting with danger in his usual way—stolen glances, conveniently placed touches as he shifted in place. Alpine, just as obsessed with him as you were (Bucky had taken to calling you both ‘his girls’ in private, which always managed to make you swoon.), had immediately perched in his lap when he sat down. Only when he carefully pried her off to grab another round of beers did the little white she-beast decide you were a worthy substitute, strutting over with lazy, languid confidence before settling down, blissfully unaware of what she had just unleashed.
The room fell into stunned silence. Several pairs of eyes locked onto you, breath collectively held. They were waiting for the yowl, for the inevitable attack, for you to tense up and leap to your feet in pain. But to your horror, the little sadist simply settled in. Cosy, unbothered, as if this had been the plan all along.
“Okay, what the hell is this?” Sam finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger.
You blinked down at Alpine, then up at Sam, stroking the soft fur like nothing was amiss. “Uh… a cat?”
You were foolish and desperate enough to pretend this was completely normal, to gaslight the others into believing Alpine was a perfectly gentle and affectionate cat. A sweet, loving companion. Not a tiny, vengeful menace who had terrorised them all—and definitely not a creature who had only warmed up to you in recent months because you spent more time in Bucky’s bed than your own.
“The same cat that tried to claw out my eyeball for getting too close? And now she’s just—” He gestured wildly at Alpine, who flicked her tail with the smugness of a queen on her throne. “—cuddling with you like you’re her best buddy?”
“She likes me, I guess.” You blinked innocently, turning back to the TV, hoping he would drop it, but Sam, ever the dramatic, was not satisfied.
“Are you kidding me? That cat has tried to kill me.”
Natasha snorted into her drink.
Alpine smugly licked her paw before resting her head upon your thigh and blinking her wide blue eyes at Sam, who shook his head with an exaggerated shudder. “This is bullshit, and you know it—”
“Maybe she just doesn’t like you, Sam.” You huffed, scratching Alpine behind her ears. “She’s always been fine with me.”
“That is not true!”
“She took a chunk out of my arm once,” Natasha added, ever the instigator.
“Remember when I gave her a treat and she bit me?” Steve piped up.
Bucky returned at that moment, frowning as he saw the conversation unfolding before him. You turned to him with wide, desperate eyes, silently pleading for help. Alpine, the little traitor, merely pressed her pink nose to your hand, rubbing her face against you with a contented sigh.
“She only likes people she’s comfortable with,” Bucky offered, setting the beers down with a clink, but his pitiful attempt to be helpful only added fuel to the fire.
The room exploded into a series of overlapping voices.
“I didn’t realise you spent so much time with Alpine?” Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her smirk primed to taunt you both.
“Buck, doesn’t she spend all her time in your room—?” Steve leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, invested now.
Sam jolted upright like he’d just solved a murder case. “Now, hold on a second—”
“You have been covered in cat fur a lot lately,” Natasha mused. “And you two have been suspiciously close—”
As you glanced over at Bucky, you couldn’t tell if his repeated blunders were intentional or borne out of genuine panic. He cleared his throat, his brows raising as he casually popped off the cap of one of the beers with his vibranium thumb in faux nonchalance.
“Coincidence.” He muttered with a shrug, tipping back a mouthful of the brew.
Alpine, completely oblivious (or entirely aware of the chaos she’d caused), didn’t budge as Bucky sat back down beside you, levelling you with a look that screamed we are so screwed.
“You two aren’t even going to try to lie?” Natasha pressed.
“Lie about what?” You feigned innocence, but the act was flimsy at best. The jig was well and truly up.
Bucky, clearly done with this little charade, let out a long-suffering sigh that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the telltale smirk tugging at his lips. Without another word, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you effortlessly against his chest, Alpine still coiled contentedly in your lap. The smug little she-beast didn’t even stir. She just purred loudly—too loudly, like she was taking credit for the entire thing.
“Wait a second!” Sam pointed a dramatic finger between the two of you. “How long has this been happening?”
“How long has what been happening?” Tony strolled into the room, a glass of amber liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey in hand.
“Her,” Steve announced, gesturing between the both of you. “And Barnes.”
Tony didn’t even blink. “Oh, I already knew that. You didn’t know that?”
Bucky turned so fast you were surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. “You what?”
“Oh, come on,” Tony drawled, making himself comfortable on the armrest of the couch like this was all just another day at the office. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice her sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours for the past six months? F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept flagging intruders, and, shocker—it was just you two, utterly failing at stealth.”
Sam threw up his hands. “Did you say six months?!”
Bucky rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he just turned to you and, without hesitation, kissed you.
It was sudden but warm, his lips soft against yours like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The room erupted into even more noise, Sam shouting something unintelligible, Natasha making a sound of smug satisfaction, and Steve groaning like he should’ve known, but it all faded into the background.
You laughed against Bucky’s lips, breathless but entirely unbothered. “This is definitely her fault.”
Alpine, still purring in your lap like the devious little mastermind she was, flicked her tail.
Bucky just hummed, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Not complaining, though.”
And, truthfully, neither were you.
Like he means it
Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader
Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.
Word Count: 13.6k
Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending
Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡
Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga
Masterlist
You hear the giggling before anything else.
It’s always the giggling.
And, as always, it grates on your nerves.
It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.
Then comes the keys.
The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.
Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.
Then the door opening.
More giggles.
His breathy chuckles.
Then the door closing.
Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.
You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.
Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.
And then, his bedroom door.
And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.
Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.
At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.
But then comes the moaning.
High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.
Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.
Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.
And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.
You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.
But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.
And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.
And that finally makes the tears flow.
They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.
You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.
They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.
The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.
Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.
Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.
Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.
Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.
You are alone in your grief.
The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.
Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.
However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.
Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.
And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.
Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.
The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.
The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.
And it makes you know.
He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.
Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.
Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.
Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.
Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.
If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.
Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.
You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.
It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.
Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.
So what is the point?
You don’t want to do another morning like this.
You can’t do another morning like this.
Not three times in a row.
Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.
Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.
The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.
And then, him standing there and watching you.
Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.
That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.
Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.
You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.
His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.
Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.
But you are certain, he won’t.
Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.
He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.
He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.
But tomorrow night, there will be another.
Tomorrow night will be the same.
And in the morning nothing will have happened.
Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.
You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.
Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.
You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.
The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.
Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.
The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.
The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.
You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.
The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.
The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.
And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.
Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.
You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.
The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.
Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.
No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.
You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.
You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.
But you keep walking.
Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.
It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.
You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.
The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.
You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.
You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.
You don’t look back.
Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.
It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.
Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.
“Y/n?”
You close your eyes.
“Y/n!”
Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.
You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.
But you can’t. You never can.
With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.
Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.
His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.
Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.
Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.
You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.
You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.
“Where are you going?”
The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.
As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.
You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.
“To Nat’s.”
It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.
“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.
“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.
Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.
All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?
But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.
So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.
“Go back to bed, Bucky.”
Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.
Not when you are already about to break.
“I- What?”
His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.
But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.
You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.
“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.
Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.
She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.
“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.
But Bucky doesn’t move.
His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.
And his eyes stay fixed on you.
Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.
And it makes your hands clammy.
The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.
He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.
“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”
You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.
“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”
“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.
“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.
But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.
“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.
And it’s cruel. So cruel.
Because you are in love with him.
And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.
“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.
Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”
You swallow down a choked breath.
Because this is making things so much worse.
That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.
Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.
But you are not broken. You are just in love.
“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”
But he doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even glance at her.
His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”
The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.
But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-
“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”
His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.
But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.
You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.
But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.
“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”
You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.
“No, you-”
He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.
Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.
“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”
Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.
You could run.
You should.
You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.
But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.
“Okay,” you say weakly.
Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.
And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.
Hating yourself for hoping.
Technically, you could just leave.
Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.
You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.
But you don’t.
You know you won’t.
Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.
And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.
Not Bucky.
Never Bucky.
You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.
You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.
How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.
And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.
So you stay.
With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.
But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.
You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.
Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.
Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.
He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.
And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.
Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.
Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.
The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.
Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.
His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.
Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.
His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.
His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.
Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.
“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”
His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.
You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.
“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”
It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.
And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.
He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.
“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”
You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.
You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.
The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.
Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.
“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.
“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.
He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.
“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”
His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.
You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.
And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.
He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.
Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.
But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.
His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.
But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.
You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.
So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.
“I-”
You try. You really try.
But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.
Because this time it’s her walking out.
She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.
Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.
Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.
But it’s not yours either.
She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.
She had the time for that.
Meanwhile, you can barely stand.
Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.
Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.
Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.
And Bucky is still looking at you.
Not at her.
You.
And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.
But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.
The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.
“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”
Your stomach lurches.
You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.
Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.
“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.
“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.
Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.
“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”
“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”
And then she’s gone.
But so are you.
You don’t even think about it. You just move.
Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.
It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.
Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.
You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.
But Bucky doesn’t let you.
“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.
You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.
His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.
“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.
“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.
And it’s not funny. Not even close.
His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.
You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.
Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.
“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.
“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.
His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.
But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.
And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.
“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.
You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.
His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”
You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.
Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.
And Bucky watches all of that.
His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.
“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.
You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”
Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.
“See, that’s bullshit.”
You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.
“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”
You want him to stop.
You want him to turn around.
You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.
But he won’t.
And you don’t know what to do with that.
And you break.
No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.
The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.
You feel so pathetic.
Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.
And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.
The second your breath hitches, he is moving.
Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.
You let him.
Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.
His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.
Like your pain is his own.
“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”
There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.
His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.
“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”
It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.
And it makes you cry harder.
Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.
Except it hasn’t.
It doesn’t.
Not in the way you want.
You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.
But you are not one of those girls.
You never will be.
And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.
So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.
It’s too hard. too cruel.
You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.
But it does.
Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.
So you cry harder.
Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.
Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.
“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”
But you can’t.
Because what the hell would you even say?
That you’re in love with him?
That you’ve been in love with him?
That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?
That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?
That you want him in a way he will never want you back?
You won’t.
So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.
“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.
He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.
His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.
Because none of this makes it any easier.
Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.
Because it’s him.
And that means it hurts.
You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.
But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.
He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.
Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.
He looks wrecked.
His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.
“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”
You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.
Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.
“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.
But you don’t.
Because somehow this makes it worse.
And you hate it.
You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.
Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.
Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.
But Bucky just shrugs.
It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.
Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.
Not with anyone. Not even with you.
You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.
And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.
You can barely breathe past it.
You don’t say anything.
And Bucky freezes.
His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.
There is something uncertain in there.
And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.
Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.
Like a switch has been flipped.
Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.
Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.
His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.
He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.
His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.
“Is that what this is about?”
It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.
You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.
“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.
But Bucky doesn’t let you.
“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.
“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.
Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.
“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”
It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.
“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.
“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.
You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.
“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.
But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.
He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.
“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.
It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.
It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.
“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”
And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.
Because you’re breaking his heart?
What does that even mean?
You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?
“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”
His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.
“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.
His eyes are pleading.
“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.
The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.
“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”
A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.
You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.
You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.
Your reaction must be answer enough.
Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.
A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.
The exact moment he realizes.
“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.
You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.
“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.
You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.
But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.
“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.
He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.
Bucky panics.
His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.
“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.
Not at you.
At himself.
“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”
It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.
And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.
“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”
He seems to hold back a scream.
Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.
You wish you could believe it.
“Bucky-” you croak out.
“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.
His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.
“Like it’s over.”
Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.
Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.
“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”
He cuts himself off, voice choking.
His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.
And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.
When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.
“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.
Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.
This thing between you.
Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.
“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.
It consumes him.
His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.
His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.
“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”
His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.
And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.
He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.
Bucky is crying.
It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.
You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.
But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.
And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.
But it doesn’t.
Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.
“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”
His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.
“I love you.”
Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.
He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.
Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.
“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.
But you don’t know how to.
Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.
Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.
You don’t and he steps closer again.
His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.
“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.
But what could you say?
Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.
But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.
“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.
Guilt.
It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.
“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”
You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.
And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.
“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”
Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”
“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”
Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.
“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”
Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.
Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”
It hurts.
It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.
You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.
But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.
That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.
Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.
It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?
But he still touched them.
Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.
While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.
And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.
But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.
He tried to fuck it away.
And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.
You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.
“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”
He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.
“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”
Your breath stalls.
Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”
He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.
Even if you know it might not be fair.
But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.
And he sees it.
You try to blink back another wave of tears.
His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.
“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.
“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”
You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.
And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.
But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.
The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.
The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.
But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.
Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?
You had no claim on him.
But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.
You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.
“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.
“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”
Your breath catches, body sways.
There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.
“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”
Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.
“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”
You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.
“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”
You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.
“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”
You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.
“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”
Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.
“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.
His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.
“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”
“Bucky-”
He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.
“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”
You nod.
He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.
He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”
Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.
You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.
“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”
You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.
Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.
“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”
You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.
Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.
And for a split second, Bucky freezes.
Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.
But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.
One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.
And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.
He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.
It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.
And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.
“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”
And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.
“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”
- Beau Taplin
sweetheart hand pt. 2 // brian may
summary: a continuation of sweetheart hand. after the party, the (art) studio.
a/n: mostly fluff and then some smut. sorry for the delay! if tumblr hasn’t sorted out their tagging shit by now…… hm. this is around 5,400 words. i was thinking about this twombly work when i was describing the painting. also can you believe this image cause i can’t.
there’s something terrifying and invigorating in equal measure about a blank canvas. you stare the expanse of white down determinedly, crossing your arms and trying to conjure something up in your mind’s eye. it’s a beast of a thing, five feet tall and six feet wide, and anything you try to visualise comes up short. fuck it. you’ve been avoiding it for weeks. you’ll just have to dive in.
you’ve hit almost every mark of your normal afternoon pre-painting routine - the curtains are thrown back to let the natural light in, you’ve made yourself a strong cup of tea and there’s a note on the door in case anyone decides to call around. the only thing left is to take the phone off the hook. it’s an old bakelite monster with a rotary dial - you could afford to replace it, but you’re fond of its look. plus, the horrible, grating sound of its ring is reason alone to stop it from disturbing your painting.
well. not that you normally have any hesitations about it. you haven’t done anything so undignified as waiting around for someone to call since you were a teenager.
Keep reading
time's never been on our side - chapter one
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
summary: you and bucky happen to meet by chance one night, and it feels like there is a spark between the two of you - but he has to leave. was this destiny? or cruel fate?
word count: 3K
a/n: ahhhh first chapter of my new fic! i can't wait to write more and explore this plot. thank you all who voted in my poll! this was the fic i was leaning towards so i hope you all enjoy reading as much as i did writing :)
read the: next chapter
There’s nothing that Bucky enjoyed more after months undercover than a dive bar in the greatest city in the world – the city he was lucky to call home. New York had been there to wish him farewell when he left for the war and had welcomed him back with open arms after his deprogramming over seven decades later.
That’s why he loved the city; it changed rapidly but it never felt different.
He had a list of bars he’d like to frequent, most of them small and quiet, the sound of some 90s rock band coming from the speaker and the smell of smoke lingering in the air. He liked places that didn’t ask questions. Places that felt like he could blend in seamlessly.
His life as the Winter Soldier was so far removed now, a life where he had been both infamous and a ghost. They never saw the Winter Soldier, but they knew of his stories.
Now, he was just happy to be Bucky. Though, and he’d never admit it to Steve, he was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of missions. There was always something new, though there was hope in the back of his mind that one day he could quit, settle down, start a new life. But that’s all it was, wasn’t it? Hope, not something he was capable of actually doing.
Bucky felty an immense amount of guilt about his time as the Winter Soldier, but he felt even worse when he thought about Steve. The man had done so much for him, he believed in him, he found him, he fought for him – when he called for another mission how was Bucky supposed to say no?
His thoughts are interrupted when he hears the door of the bar open, his ears perking up and his attention brought back to reality. That was how he was conditioned. There was always a threat, he always needed to be on guard.
He hadn’t been there long when you walked in, the ice in his whiskey had barely begun to sweat. His head turns to look at the front door, eyes watching as you sit down next to him at the barstool, not even sparing him a passing glance.
Bucky turns his head back to his drink, his brain working in overdrive to drown out the memories of his last mission. His therapist – ugh, he hated that – had suggested that continuing to fight might not be great for his stress but he couldn’t slow down. That’s when he felt like he would let Steve down and, honestly, that’s when the thoughts were worse.
“What’s good here?” Your voice hits him before he has a chance to realize you’re talking to him, his grasp on his glass clenches for a moment before he slowly turns his head, your gazes catching. It feels like ice is pumping through his veins as you two look at each other, a shiver running down his spine that he does his best to ignore.
Your eyes watch him carefully, this stranger is looking at you like you had just asked the most ridiculous question he had ever heard.
“Nothing.” His voice is gruff and unwavering, a hint of humor in it if you were to listen close enough.
You smirk a bit at his response, unphased by his disgruntled attitude towards you.
“Good to know.” You hum to yourself a bit, squinting your eyes as you look at the alcohol selection behind the bar, eventually just settling on a beer that seems safe as the bartender serves you.
You have Bucky’s attention now, he watches as you bring the bottle to your lips, your brows furrowed together as you wonder how a bar can get away with selling such stale beer.
“Not up to your tastes?” he asks, seeing the face you make after you sip.
“Try about five years past its expiration.” You say, head turning to look at the man next to you.
He’s watching you intently and you would normally feel exposed under such a gaze, as if he’s trying to read your every thought with just a look. But, there’s something warm and inviting underneath the cold stare, something that makes you relax a bit.
“I’ll give you some advice – when in doubt, always go with whiskey.” His metal hand picks up his glass, tipping it towards you before bringing it up to his lips.
You chuckle a bit as you hang your head, shaking it. What an asshole.
“You couldn’t have told me that like two minutes ago when I asked?”
He smirks for a quick moment; it fades as soon as it appears.
“You asked what was good. I said nothing. I didn’t lie.” He quips back. “I just didn’t think it was necessary to go into all the details.”
You rake your eyes over this stranger as he speaks. Despite being seated you can tell he’s tall, well built – no doubt. He looks like he hasn’t seen sleep in a few days, and the dark hair on his face is between scruff and a beard. And despite it all, handsome.
“Thanks.” You mumble sarcastically before tipping the bottle of beer again, taking another sip.
“You don’t seem like someone who frequents these places.” Bucky’s not entirely sure why he continues to engage with you. He visits these bars to get away from people, to not be disturbed, not to talk to some random woman who had just sat down. Though it’s very out of character for him, he continues nonetheless.
“That’s a bit presumptuous.” Though he’s not wrong, you make no effort to correct him. “And what do you mean by these places?”
“You know ...” he shrugs a bit, searching around the room.
You know exactly what he means. The bar is small, cramped actually, you two are one of five people in the place including the bartender. The walls were dark and uninviting, behind the smell of cigarettes was a deep rooted hint of musk. Beer signs hung on the wall, all which were slightly off centered, and the TV that hung, which was in fact muted, had been flickering for quite some time. It wasn’t a place that you would come to, but you had stormed out of another bar and this was the first place you landed on, and you needed a drink badly.
“Places where you don’t have to ask what to get.” He’s teasing, there’s a soft sparkle in his eye for a moment as he takes in your features. You roll your eyes at him, feeling your hand grip the bottle of your beer tighter.
“I was looking for a change of scenery.” You say. “ And my ex is at the bar I usually hang out at.”
You had been broken up for months, actually, he had moved on at this point. New girlfriend, new apartment, and there was no malice there, or jealousy. Sometimes it felt like you were stuck. Like you couldn’t move forward or find someone new. You stayed at your old job, in your old apartment, single. It wasn’t that you wanted him, it’s that it was too difficult to feel happy for someone when you weren’t happy in your own life.
“Ah, classic.” Bucky says, nodding empathetically.
“Yeah,” you shrug as you take another sip of your beer, it’s starting to go down a lot smoother now. “I didn’t get your name.”
You can see the hesitation in his eyes, like he doesn’t want to tell you, but it’s quickly replaced with something more meaningful, something you can’t really read.
“Bucky.”
“Bucky.” It rolls off your tongue easily as you repeat it, and it also fits him perfectly. He looked like a ‘Bucky’. You say your name back and you can see he makes a mental note of it. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He grunts a bit in response as he takes another sip of his drink, the liquor burning but he shows no change in his facial features.
“Are you someone who frequents these places?” You ask.
“You could say that.” He responds, his glass now resting on the wood bar, though he makes no attempts to clarify. “Are you from around here?”
“Yes and no.” You say with a shrug. “Grew up across the river, moved into the city once I was able to get a full time job. Now I live around the corner in the East Village in my shitty one bedroom that costs way too much.” He laughs at that. “What about you?”
“I was born and raised in Brooklyn.” Bucky explains, looking down at his drink. “Joined the army, did some things here and there, and now I’m what most would consider a nomad.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Haven’t settled down … my work requires me to travel a lot for extended periods of time. If I find myself with downtime in a city I just usually book a hotel for a few days until I need to leave.”
Bucky cannot, for the life of him, figure out why he is telling you all this information. It’s like his brain is in some sort of fog and he can’t stop himself from speaking. He was leaving tomorrow for another mission, he didn’t need you, a random stranger, knowing all this about him. Bucky didn’t like to get attached, or feeling like he left any loose ends.
When he had finished his mission upstate earlier that day he was excited about some time off, being in New York was few and far between now for him so he wanted to make the most of his time. But, when Steve had called and said that he needed help on a month-long mission - how could Bucky refuse?
“What do you do for work?”
You can tell the question makes him shift a little in his seat, uncomfortable by whatever he does and the need to always be moving.
“I’m a soldier, of sorts.” He says, though he doesn’t elaborate. “Actually, I’m only in town for the night. I have a flight out in the morning.”
“Where to?”
“That’s classified.”
The response makes you chuckle a bit, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly. Of course it was. You were just enthralled by this enigma of a man that you couldn’t help but ask, it was worth a shot.
You and Bucky spend a few more drinks together, the night passing by quickly as the two of you talk. You pick up that he eyes his watch a few times, knowing that the hours are ticking by and it’s getting later, he had an early flight in the morning but he makes no attempts to stop your conversation, as if he’s just making a mental note of when he needs to leave.
It’s a little after midnight now, about two hours had passed since you had made your way into the bar. Somehow you two were huddled a little closer than what would normally be considered friendly, your elbows touching as you both lean on the bar. It feels like the universe is pulling you together, like magnets slowly inching their way towards one another.
Bucky’s in the middle of telling you a story about a friend of his, he makes no mention that it’s Steve Rogers, and the both of you are laughing at the absurdity of it.
“And then he says to me,” Bucky clears his throat before lowering his voice an octave to do an impression. “Now, Buck, if I could have a word with you. Have you ever thought of … smiling a bit more?”
“He said that?!” You ask, your eyes a bit hazy from the alcohol. You had made the switch over to whiskey per Bucky’s earlier recommendation. “In front of everyone?”
“In front of everyone!” He says, his eyes wide slightly. He’s glad you found the story just as absurd as he did. “Not that I care, but also why right at that moment?”
“Your friend sounds like something else.”
“You can definitely say that about …” he trails off, remembering that he didn’t want to mention Steve’s name. “... him. We’ve been buddies for a long time, I know he means well, but sometimes I wish he would just shut his mouth.”
The two of you laugh again, filling the otherwise silent bar with some much needed warmth.
“Hey,” you say after the laughter dies down and there’s a moment of silence between the two of you. “I’m sure you probably have to get out of here soon, but do you wanna stop and get a slice of pizza together?”
Drunk food sounded like heaven to both of you. Bucky hadn’t realized he was starving until you mentioned it, he actually wasn’t even sure he had eaten that day. The hours post missions tended to blend together most of the time until he was able to either sleep, or find some alcohol to down. And you didn’t realize how badly you were craving anything that wasn’t whiskey, you weren’t sure how this man drank this at all. You felt like your whole body was on a fire - though the more you thought about it, it could also be the scent of Bucky’s cologne that’s making you feel that way - but, the whiskey was definitely hard to stomach.
He nods his head over to the door, the two of you standing up from the barstools. Both of your tabs are paid by the time you make it out to the street, the cool air hitting you like a slap in the face. Bucky is behind you, shrugging on his leather jacket as you both begin to walk in the direction of the pizzeria.
“I’m surprised you’re not in Brooklyn.” you say to him, your head turning in his direction, watching as he puts his hands inside his jacket pockets. “You only have one night in the city and you decided to stay in Manhattan.”
“Yeah.” He shrugs a bit, not meeting your gaze. What he doesn’t tell you is how hard it is to go back to Brooklyn, to walk the streets he grew up on and know that everyone he’s ever loved had passed on, how all the memories he had were all just distant, haunting reminders of the life he wasn’t able to have. “Thought I’d change it up a bit.” He lies easily, wishing to drop the conversation.
A few minutes pass, and two slices are secured, both of you standing on the sidewalk outside the pizzeria trying to down them as you talk about everything and nothing. Now, in the streets of the city, the two of you are just one of hundreds of people enjoying their night, unlike the private, secluded nature of the bar. Although he doesn’t show it, Bucky is on alert, watching every person who passes by and treating them as a threat, all while maintaining a light conversation with you … and eating his pizza. He was a good multi-tasker.
It’s when the two of you are finished and were walking back in the direction towards Bucky’s hotel that the weight of realization hits both of you. This was the first and last time either of you would see each other. A one night only, ships passing in the night, hello and goodbye.
“I had fun.” You whisper softly, the quiet around the both of you suddenly feeling suffocating. Bucky doesn’t respond back, his eyes on the ground ahead of him, his thoughts of not wanting this to end weighing heavily on his mind. “When’s the next time you’re going to be in New York?”
“I’m not … I’m not sure.”
Your shoulder accidentally brushes against his as you walk and you’re sure that your whole body is on fire now. How unfair was this? Meeting someone new and exciting for the first time in months, someone who made you forget about the empty, lonely feeling bubbling deep in your gut? It was all a cruel joke set up by the universe. Of course he would be off tomorrow and you would most likely never see him again.
“This is me.” He says, as the two of you stand outside of his hotel.
Neither of you want to meet the other's eyes, neither want to make the first move to say goodbye. You barely knew him, yet something inside of you felt like you did, or at least wanted to find out in the future.
“You could text me some time?” You ask.
You watch his face and how he hesitates to say anything. His metal hand grips and releases into fists at his side. He’s thinking of all the ways he wants to tell you no. That he can’t let a loose end exist in his world.
“Sure.” His voice betrays his mind, he digs into his coat to grab his phone handing it over to you. You quickly type in your number and send yourself a text.
Bucky’s number .
He reads the text you sent when you hand him his phone back and he smirks to himself.
“How original.”
“It seemed like something you’d say.”
The both of you stand there for a moment, searching each other's faces, before Bucky takes a step back, the sound of his leather boot hitting the concrete snapping you back into reality.
“It was nice meeting you.” He whispers.
“You too, Bucky.”
He gives you one last glance over before he turns on his heel, briskly walking into the hotel and leaving you to the dark streets of the city. A gust of wind hits you and you pull your jacket closer to yourself as you head off in the direction of your apartment. Had it always been this cold? Or did the distraction of Bucky have you so far removed from reality you hadn’t realized?
It’s me :)
You text back as you stand in the elevator to your apartment. Three dots appear on your screen and quickly fade. It’s late. He had an early flight. Surely you’d hear from him soon enough. You hoped.
how to train your wyvern
sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader desc: when bratting becomes intentional disrespect, eddie has to go to new measures to make sure you stay in line.
cw: minors dni, smut, d/s dyanmics, spanking, slapping, spanking (with hands/with implements), degradation, humiliation, mean names, pet names, pet play (but not the mainstay of the fic), references to other women, emotional sadism, physical sadism, p in a (f receiving), fingering (f receving), oral (m receiving), mmf threesome, spitroasting, facials, rice kneeling, mouth soaping
He could take it to some extent, a little smart remark, a mean joke here and there. A sarcastic reply to a question with an obvious answer. That was fine, nothing a little stern look couldn’t quell. But every now and again there would be nothing he could do and it would drive him fucking insane.
You’d been bratting for days, and nothing — nothing, was working.
It started last week and some change ago when you decided to invite yourself over after his mid-day shift at the garage. He was exhausted, but he still had to fix a pipe under the bathroom sink that hadn’t stopped dripping – and also repair the cabinet door that he slammed off the hinges when he was annoyed about the broken pipe.
Normally, having you around after a stressful shift was nice for him. You’d fawn over him, make him dinner, get him a drink, rub his shoulders – suck him off, if he asked. This night was different, you clambered into the trailer and snapped the door behind you, cheeks bitten by the cold and snow in your hair.
“What’s your problem?” he asked softly from the kitchen, cracking a beer open and quickly catching the foam off the top of the can.
“You forgot to pick me up on your way home,” you huff, “I had to take the bus and then walk.”
His eyes widened, suddenly remembering that your car was in the shop. He wasn’t working on it, so it slipped his mind, “Oh honey, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to forget. Sal’s working on your car so y’know it just – out of sight, out of mind.”
He puts the beer on the table and takes your coat from you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His warm lips sooth your snow soaked face, but the frustration still remains.
“Why didn’t you just call?” he asks, seeing the furrow on your brow still stuck in place, “I would’ve come to pick you up.”
“I shouldn’t have to remind you,” you grumble, “You’re such an airhead sometimes.”
“Hey,” his voice isn’t gruff or mad, more hurt than anything, “It was an accident, you don’t have to say shit like that.”
You take a breath, pushing it out of your lips, mulling over whether the insult was worth it, “Sorry, that was mean. I’m just cold and annoyed.”
His lips press against your cold cheek this time, “It’s okay. Um, get yourself cozy – I gotta fix the sink in the bathroom.”
Your face falls, “Oh.”
His face falls too, “What’s wrong?”
“I just – I came all the way over here and we’re not even gonna hang out,” you frown.
“It won’t take me that long, baby. I just have to fix the sink and the cabinet and then I’m done,” he explains while you kick your shoes off. Your eyes roll dramatically when he mentions the cabinet.
“So first it’s just the sink, then it’s the sink and cabinet. You’ll finish those and go ‘Oh let me work on the leak in the shower, let me WD40 the door’, you always do that. You start a project and then start fifty of them and I just sit here,” you huff.
He juts his lower lip out in a teasing frown, “Aw, so sorry I wanna make the place habitable, honey.”
When you don’t crack a smile his shoulders fall, “I promise I won’t be long. You can even sit in there with me while I work on it if you want.”
“You hate when I do that. When I hover,” you say. Eddie smiles, pressing kisses to your cheeks while he pulls you in to hold you close to him.
“So it must mean I missed you all day today if I want you to hover when I fix the sink, huh?” he jokes. You relent, giving into his kisses, and his warm chest, and the caress of the tendrils of hair falling out of the low bun on his head onto your nose.
It’s not long before you're sitting on the shut toilet seat and he’s half concealed in the cabinet, t-shirt riding up while he lies on his back. You’re not focusing on what he’s telling you, something about his day or a customer. Something about Dustin and the new one shot they were putting together next week. All you were focused on was the sliver of his belly peeking out of his shirt, begging to be touched. Begging to be squeezed. You slowly get to your knees and sink onto the fuzzy dark green bath mat by his hips, reaching out slowly to graze your fingers over his happy trail.
“Jesus!” he shouts, body jumping, a loud CLANG! sounding as a result of him dropping whatever tool and part he had in his hands.
You laugh, “Oh no, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”
He shimmies out of the cabinet with a small red cut gleaming on his forehead, “Babe you can’t do that while I’m working. That’s so dangerous.”
“I got bored, you were looking so cute. How could I resist?” you ask, “Let me look at your head, I’m sorry.”
You peer at the little cut, it’ll definitely heal in the next day or so, but it’s enough that he’s wincing when you go near it.
“Don’t be such a baby,” you tut, pressing a kiss just next to it, “Is that better?”
“Yeah, it’s better,” he smiles, “But please, I’m barely balancing this tubing in my hands – no distractions please.”
“Fine,” you say sweetly while he lays back under the cabinet. You wait a moment before your hand reaches out again to drag your finger over a clothed rib.
His body tenses, “I’m not kidding, baby.”
“I’m sorry,” you laugh, “I’m just fucking with you, I promise. You’re just so cute when you’re mad.”
You let him continue, back to his original one sided conversation where he starts explaining the Wyvern appearing in the campaign and all the differences between a dragon and a Wyvern. Your eyes glaze over and your hand reaches out for a third time, sliding a finger at the top of his jeans to trace the waistband of his boxers. You hear him huff angrily in the cabinet, face hidden by the door.
“I asked you to stop, baby, please,” he urges again, “I had a long day.”
You roll your eyes, standing up and slapping on the cold water in the sink before you walk out of the bathroom, “Whatever.”
He emerges a few moments later, fuming, soaked, brows furrowed – almost teary with frustration. He wanted an apology but he never got one, opting to put you over his knee so you’d learn a lesson that would sting well into the next day – but it was a lesson that wouldn’t quite stick.
After his show at The Hideout he’d pulled you onto his lap in one of the booths with the rest of the band. They’d rehearsed all week, canceling two date nights at the last minute in lieu of the show – and the practice was worth it. They got the whole crowd jumping this time, even if it was just thirty to forty people. His hand slid over your thigh, back and forth to bring down his speeding adrenaline, the smoothness of your worn jeans soothing him. He talked over you in conversation, leaning forward past your shoulders to interject. You huffed dejectedly, sulking into resting your chin on your hands with your elbows on the table. Tensing when a group of girls came over to join their after show debrief.
After all the introductions they start talking music, the girls giggling and smiling. You’re not mean, so you indulge in the conversation – but that grating happy, bubbly friendly voice behind you booms over yours, his chest vibrating against your back when he speaks. “So who’s band is it? Who’s the brains of the operation?” one of the girls asks, glossed lips shining in the low light. The boys clamber to answer for each other, all attesting that the band is theirs as a group, no one’s the head, they all make their own decisions – but they’re all talking over each other.
“It’s obviously Jeff, he’s lead guitar,” you piped up, “It’s Gareth and Jeff.”
“Isn’t Eddie the lead?” one of the girls laughed, her painted nails tinkling against the glass of her beer.
“You asked who the brains was. Look at this guy, he look brainy to you?” you tease, running a hand through his curls. The table laughs, including Eddie whose cheeks are tinged red, but his grip on your thigh tightens under the booth. Excuse me?
To add insult to injury, you took his half finished beer out of his hand, taking a few sips to finish it while your empty bottle stood at the center of the table. You felt his chest press up against your back, leaning forward towards one of the girls sitting next to him, “S’cuse me, we’re just gonna go grab another drink.”
“Sorry!” she says, scooching out of the way while Ed nudges you forward to get out. You know he doesn’t really want another drink, he just wants to be mean to you. You know you’re riling him up in the way that he likes, you’ve been waiting for this all week.
“You think you’re bein’ cute tonight?” he says to you when his calloused fingers wrap around your forearm, walking you towards the bar, “Last week wasn’t enough? Want me to make it worse this time?”
“I think I’m being funny,” you shrug, “Everyone else thinks so.”
“Yeah, you’re real funny,” he rolls his eyes, ordering another beer that you snatch before he can grab it.
“Not an eye roll, baby,” you smirk while you take a sip of the beer, “You’re so bratty tonight.”
“You’re one smart comment away from me taking you home,” he warns. You can see from the glint in his eye that he’s still buzzing from the show and there’s only one way for him to get relief from it. It normally ends with you sobbing on his bed, tied up and begging for more of whatever pain he feels like dishing out.
“Ooh, you’re so tough, Ed,” you tease back at him. His jaw clenches while you drink the beer he just bought. He snarls when he gets you home, shoving you into the bedroom, pulling your clothes off while he berates you over and over again. Lips and teeth gnashing, kissing, biting, growling over you while he does it. But you didn’t give in, you couldn’t. His frustration was too delicious. You didn’t cry when he paddled you, you didn’t even make a sound that resembled unhappiness. You just alternated between pouting and smirking, little remarks pouring out of your mouth with your moans. Every burning strike making you jump and keen and purr. Eventually he gave up, resorting to a long lecture about bratting and boundaries while you both showered and got ready for bed. He counted every eye roll. Seventeen.
Two days ago, you dropped off some lunch for him at work and normally he’d melt at the gesture, but he knows why you did it. This was the incident that made it clear that all your behavior had been intentional. Still mad about your two previous punishments you showed up in the one dress you’re not allowed to wear to the auto shop. The hem was a hair too short, bending over would put on a whole show to whoever was looking, and boy, were the guys at work looking. The fabric was light and fluttery, one gust of wind would send it up like Marilyn’s. With the right bra, your chest would heave out of it, but even braless it held you in place just right. It was his favorite dress on you – just for him.
His jaw clenched when he saw you walk in, leaning suggestively over the front desk to ask where he was. The guys snickered and leered at you, elbowing each other to get the other’s attention. You didn’t even bother to wear tights. Everyone would see the leftover welts from a couple nights ago if the wind blew into the shop the wrong way.
Before making eye contact with Ed, you looked back at them and waved, smiling, working the sway of your hips into your walk. Your knee high boots clicked on the smoothed over cement floor while you approached him. He was found leaning up against a car he just finished working on, wiping his greased hands off on a rag, his face unimpressed with you. Now normally, this is whatever, Eddie’s used to you getting attention from guys. But at work it was different because even though they ogled, the minute you left they’d start to shit on him.
You let your girl walk around like that? Act like that?
You must be real pussywhipped Munson.
Gotta make her behave when she’s got an ass like that on her.
You never settin’ any ground rules?
Better put a ring on her finger before I do.
“C’mere, wanna talk to you for a second,” he said calmly nodding you over to him, slinging the rag over his shoulder. It was unfortunate how fucking hot he looked at work, even more so when he was disappointed. Old t-shirt covered in oil and grease stains, sweat collecting in some spots, clinging to him. His cover all opened and hanging open at his waist, boots shining in the industrial light.
“Aw, what is it babe? You look so upset,” you mocked him loud enough for everyone to hear, lips in an exaggerated pout, “What’s got you so mad? I wore your favorite dress.”
“Yeah! Don’t be so pissy, Munson,” his co-worker joked, “She wore your favorite dress.”
Eddie ticked his head over to the back room where the guys took their breaks, implying he wants you to follow him. You click behind him, giggling at the guys comments, joking back with them, tossing little waves their way until Eddie shuts the door behind you.
He walks slowly over to the coffee pot set up, pouring himself a cup and turning to lean against the counter. He takes a sip, watching you over the edge of the mug. His stare makes you shift uncomfortably, his calmness was sometimes more terrifying than his rage.
“We’ve had a big talk about this dress, baby.”
“The weather’s nice,” you said softly, crossing your arms.
“It’s January,” he deadpans, he takes another sip of coffee, “S’there something you need to talk to me about? You’ve had this lil’ attitude all week. Now you’re bringin’ it to my job? That’s not fair.” “I don’t have an attitude,” your tone is petty and touchy, “You’re just being sensitive.”
He nods while he puts the mug down, voice still measured, “I really hate taking this mean guy thing into our real life, sweetheart – but you’re really not leaving me any choices. Is gettin’ spanked not enough for you? Am I not gettin’ that ass red enough to teach you a lesson?”
“You’re not even good at it,” you lie, tossing his lunch on the table in front of you.
“I’ll remember that,” he says with a smug smile, “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you when I get home.”
He approaches you slowly, hand reaching around to grab your ass to pull you in close to him. You whine at the grip over your welts from the other night and he snickers into his goodbye kiss. His stubble grates against your cheeks while he holds you in place to slide his tongue into your mouth, just enough to leave you wanting more.
“Bye, princess – love you,” he lilts, letting go of you to grab his lunch and sauntering out of the room.
The caning he administered that night was brutal, but you still didn’t cry. You yelped and whined, you begged him to stop, you called him all his favorite names to get him to go easier on you. He called your safe word after ten minutes – scared that you were too caught up in the challenge of not giving into him that you’d ignore your own safety. After making sure you were okay, he took his pillow and slept on the couch.
He canceled your date night last night to work on the finishing touches of the one shot campaign he and Dustin had been working on for their monthly group ‘catch up’ at Steve’s. When he picked you up earlier this morning your attitude had nearly tripled in spice. Every word out of your mouth was a quick whip of the tongue.
“Baby, please,” he begs, “Please just let me have one good day. Can we please have a good day?”
You don’t reply, hopping out of the van and slamming the door behind you. He gets in front of you before you get to the door, eyes pleading while he leans in for a kiss that you don’t return, “Bub, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m just – I’m so tired. Can you please just be nice?”
“What are you talking about?” you ask sweetly, a sliver of sarcasm in your tone, “I’m so nice.”
He rolls his eyes, “Don’t start.”
Steve opens the door before you can ring the bell, running a hand through his hair and dropping it into his pocket, “Surprised you didn’t break the window with how hard you slammed the door.”
“It was the wind,” you lie, “Took it right out of my hands.”
You brush past him and ignore Eddie’s gentle reach for your hand, heading straight to the dining room to hang out with Robin and Nancy while the ‘kids’ set up their game in the living room.
“You look beat,” Steve says to Eddie while Ed kicks his shoes off, “You okay?”
“Something’s been up with her this week,” he huffs, “Longer than a week, even. M’so tired of her attitude, it’s getting out of hand.”
“Did you talk to her about it?” Steve asks, watching as Ed rifles through his backpack to pull out his binder full of DM documents and his pencil case.
“I keep trying,” he shrugs, “I’ve given her more than enough chances to talk to me about it. Even playing hasn’t gotten her to open up and normally y’know, once the water works start and she’s had a rough week she’s all out with it. It’s all about that release with us, does that make sense?”
He sighs while Steve nods along with his rant, “And instead she showed up at my work the other day just to piss me off. Wearing her little dress, showin’ off to all the guys. After we went through the whole trust chat and everything, after the scene – which I had to cut short cause she just didn’t even cry? Wild. After the scene she told me she did it on purpose – as if that wasn’t already clear, but I didn’t need her to confirm it, y’know?”
He stands up, flipping open the binder and making sure everything is accounted for. Steve chuckles to himself, leading him to the kitchen to grab them both a drink.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Ed grins down at the paper, “I’m not like you, I just know how to smack her around. You like all that mean girl shit.”
“It works. You want me to step in while the game’s going?” Steve asks. Eddie takes a breath, hearing your happy laugh bubble out from the dining room. He savors the sound for a moment – the smiliest you’ve sounded in days – and shakes his head no.
“Nah, it’s not worth it,” he says while he heads out, meeting the group in the living room.
After a couple of hours they took a break. It was always an all day affair, stopping to catch up with each other, getting lost in conversations. Eddie walked by you in the kitchen, hand plopping itself on your head while you reached into the fridge to get a beer.
“Hey, I’d prefer you didn’t,” he softly suggests, “You’re just gonna get mean.”
“I’m not gonna get mean.” You roll your eyes when he gets between you and the fridge.
“I said no,” he reminds you gently, “Please? I’m not drinking either. You’re already in whatever mood you’ve been forever – getting drunk s’just gonna feed it. Can I get you something else?”
“You’re being such a fucking buzzkill, you know that?” you snap. Eddie doesn’t react how you expect, no anger flashing in his eyes, no playful frustration. He just looks hurt, nodding curtly before stepping out of your way back into the living room. “Whatever you say, baby,” he shrugs. His shoulders round forward, settling in the couch and watching the conversation bubbling and tittering around him. He tosses you a look through the archway, shaking his head in disappointment. It was clear he wasn’t having fun with this anymore. You jump when the fridge closes and look around to see Steve next to you, alone with you in the kitchen.
“You think ‘cause you’re Eddie’s girl I won’t embarrass you in front of everyone here?” he asks pointedly, “You don’t get to act like that when you’re in my house.”
“Fuck off, Steve,” you sigh, your eye roll rivaling even his best.
“You better feel lucky that I didn’t get the okay to put you in your fuckin’ place,” he hissed while the conversation got more lively in the living room.
“Cause if you think for one second I wouldn’t bend you over that coffee table in front of all your friends and show ‘em how I deal with brats like you, you got another thing coming,” he continues. You shrink under his words, frown painting your face while he stares down at you — but that angry attitude, the reminder that Eddie couldn’t even bother to give you a solid warning, woke that mean girl right up.
“You wouldn’t do shit, Harrington,” you mutter, crossing your arms.
“Yeah? Try me,” he offers. He shakes his head, hands on his hips, “You swear you’re so tough. Your bullshit is tired. He’s bored with you, look at him.”
You look over and he’s frowning while everyone gets back into position to play but still lost in their conversations. His legs are splayed out in the recliner at the head of the coffee table, slouched down enough that his chin is in his chest.
“He just looks sad,” you mumble.
“Whose fault is that?” Steve asks.
You sulk, “Mine.”
You huff one final time before going into the living room. He peers up at you when you come up next to the recliner, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes close at the feeling of your lips against him, opening them when you break away. He scans the room to make sure no one is paying attention before pulling you in for a chaste kiss, “Kneel.”
“Ed –” you start, heat running to your cheeks.
“Kneel at my feet for the rest of the game. Do you understand?” he asks quietly. You nod, kneeling down beside him while he got up to start the campaign where they left off. To everyone else, you were just watching everything play out – to him you were finally obeying. But it could never be that easy – just like the devil, you had to have the last laugh.
When the game was over, Steve and Eddie hauled off to smoke outside, talking quietly with each other – deliberating over something. You took that time to snag a beer from the fridge, confident you could finish it before they made their way back into the kitchen. However, talking with Robin made you less aware – hopping from one subject to the next, both big chatterers you had neglected the beer in your hand so it was only three fourths finished when the sliding doors opened and the boys showed up in the kitchen.
Eddie doesn’t say anything, continuing his conversation with Steve while he grabs your coat and slides the can gently out of your hand, pouring the remaining contents out in the sink. You put your jacket on while he throws it away, starting his round of goodbyes to the group.
“Let’s pick up some dinner, hm?” he asks when you both get back in the van, eerily calm, tossing his hair up off of his neck as the heat blasts.
“Okay,” you say quietly, “You’re not mad? About the beer?”
“Oh, I’m upset about the beer,” he says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road, “But I can’t expect you to listen these days. You’re making your own rules, aren’tcha?”
“No, I –”
He smiles, finally turning to you while he pulls into a drive-thru burger joint, “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna be very unhappy with how things go when we get home.”
The food tastes like ash in your mouth.
“C’mon, on your knees,” he says casually once he’s done undressing you down to your underwear. The ride home had been silent aside from the radio. You stepped in the trailer and he barely gave you a moment of reprieve before stripping you down in the bedroom. All tired eyes and frustrated grunts while each item of clothing got tossed onto a chair in the corner of the room. You obey his command but your eyes shoot up at him with a furrowed brow when you make it to the ground. He sighs while he puts your collar on, he looks defeated and worn out.
“Hey, wait,” you urge, taking his hand while he finishes clasping the buckle behind your neck. He looks down at you and falters at the look on your face — not playing, not in your role. Serious, concerned.
“No choking, please,” you ask softly, “Not tonight.”
He meets you down on the scratchy carpet while continuing to hold your hand, pressing a soft and gentle kiss against your lips.
“Of course not,” he agrees, “No choking.”
His hands find your face, fingertips brushing against you like you’re made of porcelain, “Do you trust me?”
He pulls you in for a deeper kiss before you can answer, taking your breath away in the process. Heat bloomed in your cheeks at his attention, the way his eyes glittered when he looked at you like that. Hungry, aching.
“I trust you,” you whisper between his kisses. You catch his gaze and he looks at you expectantly.
“What’s on your mind, huh?” he asks, “You okay? We can stop, we don’t have to do this. Could always just talk to me about it, you know I’m all ears.”
“You’re not mad, mad are you?” you asked softly, “Are you really mad at me?”
“M’not mad at you, sweetheart,” he assures, “Very disappointed, but not mad. Just like teaching you a little lesson. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” you smile. He kisses your face, again and again. Reminders of who he really is.
“At least I’m not Steve,” he laughs, standing back up, “He loves taming brats like you.”
“I’m not a brat!” you gasp.
“You sure?” he asks, looking down at you with a hardening demeanor, “No? You’re not?”
You shake your head ‘no’, he laughs at you pitifully, “Coulda fooled me.”
“Remember what I said to you?” he asks, going into the closet. His voice is muffled while he’s in there, “You’re going to be very unhappy with how I treat you tonight.”
He emerges and your furrowed brows soften into sadness, eyes rounding into pleading when you see what he has in his hand, “No, sir, please…”
“Pets don’t talk, baby,” he says gently while he clips a chain link leash to your collar.
“But I don’t…I don’t want to,” you whine, tugging at the chain in his hand. He looks down at you without remorse, petting the top of your head.
“This is how you learn to behave,” he says, “Nothing else is working, so I have to punish you with something you don’t like.”
“But…” tears pooled in your eyes as he took a few steps forward and tugged on the leash for you to follow. You frowned, crawling on all fours to follow him to the kitchenette. He tugged twice when he wanted you to stop.
“Sit,” he mutters down to you, catching your eyes while he walks over to the cabinets above the sink, “Stay.”
You huff, sitting back on your heels while he rummages through the cabinets, finally reaching in and coming out with a tall yellow Tupperware. He opens the top and looks into it, frowning, and then looking at you.
“I hate to waste food but you need this,” he says softly, walking over to stand in front of the sink. Next to him, he lays down a line of white rice by his feet.
“Eddie, please,” you whined, “I’ll be good, I promise.”
His head whips towards you, “What did I say?”
“Pets don’t talk,” you whimper back.
“Want me to beat that into you?” he hisses, reaching for his belt.
“No sir, I’m sorry.”
He stands at attention, looking down at you, “Come.”
You start to crawl forward but he stops you, “You’re gonna let your leash drag on the floor like that? You know better.”
You shake your head no, reaching for the leather handle and putting it between your teeth before starting your slow journey next to him. You hesitate when you get to the rice. He very rarely goes back to these kinds of basics because he knows you don’t like them, you’d much rather be spanked. He reaches down to grab your leash and gives it a sharp tug, pulling you forward.
“Don’t make me warn you again,” his voice is stern and you inch forward, knees settling on the rice slowly. You start to whimper quietly to yourself, the sting is immediate.
“Eyes up at me,” he instructs, fingers under your chin tilt your head up toward him, “You’re gonna kneel here while I get these dishes done.”
“That’s stupid,” you whine while he wraps part of the leash around his hand so there’s little slack for you to move anywhere. The backhand he deals you at the sound of your voice is shattering, your thighs tighten at the feeling, lips parting in a low moan.
“Open your mouth again, see what happens,” he growls, “My number one rule when we play, for years, is only speak when you’re spoken to.”
You grit your teeth, putting your face back to center and tilting up to look him in the eyes.
“Shouldn’t expect a brainless pet like you to take orders though – that’s why we gotta train you.”
You shift uncomfortably on the rice, trying to relieve the pain one knee at a time but it only makes you gasp as the pain increases.
“You gonna cry?” He asks. You shake your head no despite the burn you feel in your nose and the rattle in your chest. Your knees sting with the bite of the rice, whimpering when he starts the dishes. He casts a few looks down at you while you stay looking up at him.
“We’re gonna keep at this until you break, you understand?” he asks, you nod. It doesn’t take him long to do the dishes, you squirm when he looks down at you down the slope of his nose.
“Stay,” he commands, walking out of the kitchen to the bathroom to get something, then back to the bedroom. You wait for him on screaming knees to return but he doesn’t. You hear the shift of weight on the couch, the creak of the springs in the cushions, the stomp of his boots as he spreads his legs wide. He whistles.
“Come here, baby,” he calls out to you cooly. You hear the flick of a lighter and start your short journey to the living room.
“Do I hear that leash dragging on the floor?” he asks with a warning edge. You let out an annoyed groan, pulling slowly at the chain link while it skitters across the tile. You put the leather back between your teeth, gingerly making your way over to him again.
“Let’s check out those knees before I keep you on them even longer,” he mutters, cigarette burning between his lips. He waves his hand at you, encouraging you to stand.
“C’mere, pretty,” he says sweetly, the mask coming off briefly to wipe off the stray grains that stuck to your skin. It was certainly irritated, but there wasn’t any blood, no damage that would last overnight. Less frequent types of punishment, non-impact play, sometimes made him nervous — not as confident in the outcomes.
“It’s okay?” he asks, looking up at you. His calloused hand finds yours, a soft check in, a gentle touch.
“It’s okay,” you nod while he presses a kiss to your fingertips, putting your hand back by your thigh when he’s done. He lazily places the cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch to settle.
“You know where you belong, pet,” he says, voice dropping register again. The clink of his belt coming undone makes your hips twitch, the slow drag of the zipper of his jeans. He lifts his shirt up before he pulls it out, tattoos smattering dark against his pale skin.
He leans back on the couch while you kneel between his legs with your tongue out, flattened against your chin. His cock makes you drool, spit pooling at the sides of your mouth while he lets his fingers drag over the underside, pink leaking tip peeking out from his foreskin.
When he lifts it up off his stomach you audibly gasp at how wet the top is, hips shifting on your legs for friction. He leans it towards you teasingly and you eagerly lean forward to let your tongue stripe over it but you’re met with a hard crack to the face instead.
“Very bad,” he admonishes, “You’re such a bad girl.”
He starts with slow strokes, soft little gasps puffing out of his mouth when he runs over the more sensitive spots. Your mouth waters despite the sting on your cheek, “Guess I gotta keep training you, huh baby? That’s too bad, was gonna let you suck it if you could behave first.”
You let out a frustrated huff and he likes it.
“Let’s keep that mouth busy since I can’t trust you not to act on your impulses,” he says, his voice dripping with mocking disappointment, “You’ve been doing that a lot, lately.”
He reaches into his back pocket and it’s clear now, what he got from the bathroom. The bar of Pears soap glowed amber in the side table lamp light when he unwrapped it.
“Y’know, I forgot about this trick,” he says with a smile, like you’re having a casual conversation. You gulp at the sight of it, leaning back with your mouth shut.
“Steve reminded me today, when we were out having a smoke,” he continues, eyes and smile wolffish while he leans forward toward you.
“You hated it last time,” he shrugs, “But you didn’t run that pretty mouth for a while. So it must’ve stuck, huh? Open your mouth.”
You hesitate a moment too long and his patience runs out before the buzzer to obey goes off in your brain. His fingers work between your lips, pressing at the hinge of your jaw like you’re a dog who has a piece of plastic in their mouth. You sputter over his fingers, head turning and twisting to keep him from getting a hold on you but your efforts were useless. The bar slid half way into your mouth, wedged between your teeth. You knew better than to raise your hands and fight him, he’d cuff you before you could protest – better off not seeing how bad he could go tonight.
“Much better. Y’look so pathetic with your mouth full,” he teases, “Really suits you.”
“Since I have to do this myself now, who should I think about, sweetheart?” he asks you, your heart sinks. He lets his eyes flutter closed when he squeezes gently around the base, a dark laugh bubbling out from his chest.
“Should I think about Chrissy from the diner?” he asks, heavy lidded eyes staring at you, his breath hitches. He pumps in slow strokes, taking his time, “Think about her pretty blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes?”
You whine, swallowing thickly while slimy suds start to leak out of your mouth, he smirks.
“Mmm, bet she’s a really good girl,” he moans, “Bet she’d never talk back to me.”
Tears start to well in your eyes and he has the audacity to fucking smile. The bitter bubbles gather on your tongue as your salivary glands work to push the taste out, but there’s no point with the bar pressed deep into your mouth.
“You know I love a nice girl like that, baby,” he coos, pace quickening while he fucks into his fist, “Probably loves getting stuffed full. You think so?”
His eyes open fully and he grips your hair at the scalp with his free hand, “You think so?”
You nod, face burning with embarrassed and frustrated heat.
“God, watching her pretty tits bounce when she’s on top of me? Fuck. Bet she’s so fuckin’ tight,” he breathes while he teases the tip with his thumb, brows knitting in focus and pleasure, “So fucking sweet, too. Not a brat like you, baby.”
He leans his head back while he feels himself get close, edging himself – slowing down and speeding up. And then he hears it, your broken, sad, choked sob. The sound of the Pears bar dropping onto the carpet. His head perks up, and there you are, crying on your knees in front of him, wiping at your eyes. “My poor baby, there you are,” he coos, tucking himself into the waistband of his underwear, “Finally got you cryin’. You don’t like that? When your master thinks about someone else?”
“No sir, I don’t like it,” you answer through blubbering and spitting up suds. He tuts, leaning forward, letting a thumb drag over a tear on your cheek.
“I’ll be good, please don’t think about someone else,” you cry up at him.
“You’ll be good? Yeah? You’re a good girl?” he asks, sentences peaking up at the end like you’re a dog. You nod pitifully. “You see a good girl in here?” he questions, “Is there a good girl in the room with us right now?”
“Stop,” you huff, wiping your eyes again. “Now that I finally got you crying I can really go to work, huh?” he smirks, “Think getting belted will put you in your place?”
You nod while he pulls up his pants, “Let’s get that mouth rinsed out first.”
He keeps up with ‘walking you’ to the bathroom, now a mess of tears and a soap slicked mouth. Shuddering and stuttering while you get cup of water after cup of water to spit out until the water runs clear. You still don’t settle, all the feelings of the week and some change of aggravation and anger surging and pulsing through you all at once.
“You wanna tell me what’s got you acting like such a cunt this week?” he asks while you get situated on your knees on the mattress in the bedroom. Foolishly, you thought he might soften up when you started to cry – but now it’s clear he’s just getting started.
“You just weren’t paying enough atten-attention to me,” you confess, quietly. He gapes at you, anger and disbelief flashing behind his eyes. “All this ‘cause you weren’t gettin’ enough attention?” he hisses, “When’d you get so weak, huh?”
“You kept w-working late, and ditching me f-for Steve, and D-dustin, and the band,” you whined.
“Cry all you want,” he says with a straight mouth, “This is so disappointing, baby. Thought you were tougher than that. Gotta get you correct, don’t I?”
“You kept c-cancelling, so I thought –” you continue.
“Hey!” he barks, startling you to look up at him, “I asked you a question.”
“Yes, you have t-to correct me, sir,” you nod, “I need it.”
“You need it?” he mocks back, “Get in position for me.”
You oblige, bent over on the bed while he goes to get the belt that hangs next to the front door. You hear it clink with every stomp of his boots back down the hall, your thighs twitch with anticipation of him taking his anger out on you – much more pliable this time, much more reactive, no longer trying to stop yourself from feeling it.
“Attention, huh?” he repeats when he comes back in, “Well you got it, whore. I’ll pay attention to you all night.”
“Thank you, sir,” you breathe. You hear him open the top drawer of his dresser, the sound of plastic, zippers.
“Maybe we can invite Steve over to help,” he suggests, “Does that sound good? A little extra hand to make the lesson sink in.”
“Do you wanna share me, sir?” you ask while he reaches over you to press each wrist to the outside of your thighs, wrapping each of them together in thin rope he picked up at the hardware store. A shopping trip you are certain had the owner looking at you both with a cocked brow as you both left blushing.
“Something fun about watching someone use my toys,” he says playfully. The makeshift spreader bar finds its way between your legs, clicked into soft cuffs around your ankles. A vision, bent over and spread out for him. Eddie’s not an awful man, so he offers the courtesy of tucking a pillow or two under your torso to keep you raised and balanced, pressing a kiss to the middle of your back.
“M’gonna really fuck with you tonight,” he threatens softly against your skin, “How do you feel about that?”
“Orange,” you say back. Orange, the coolest flame. The okay.
“And Steve?” he asks, fingers grazing your inner thighs.
“Orange,” you reply, pussy clenching at the thought of being beaten by both of them.
“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he rasps low, “Really good girl.”
“When’s the last time I made you cum, pet?” he moves away from you again and you whine, the ache of your cry still sitting in your throat to be reactivated.
“Last week after your sh-show,” you answer obediently.
“So mean of me, huh? To keep you so needy,” he says, and that’s when you feel it. The handle of the wand being pressed against your inner thigh, the low buzz as he turns it on. You gasp while he adjusts it, feeling it press up against you before he secures it there, hips already searching for more pleasure as he turns it up higher.
“Let me make it up to you,” the way he says it, you know he has that devilish look pulling across his smile. The metallic flick of his switchblade sounds and your panties are the first to face its wrath, pulled away with ease once the right slices were made. He follows up with the straps of your bra and you want to protest but you know he’ll buy you a new one before the day ends tomorrow – he’s always ruining your shit and buying you more, his mouth running apologies as he does.
“S’that feel good?” he asks.
“Yes, sir,” you whisper, eyes already rolling at the orgasm building in your lower belly.
“What do you say?” his voice is expectant.
“Thank you, sir,” you rasp out.
“You tell me every time you cum, okay?” he instructs. You nod, losing yourself in the feeling of being restrained and used. Your eyes flutter closed while you succumb to the vibrations between your legs and the sound of his voice, the stomp of his boots. A soft gasp pushes out of your chest, hips pressing down on the head of the toy for more friction.
CRACK!
The belt is unforgiving against the fat of your ass and your gasp quickly falls into a loud wail, the cry in your chest pushing to your throat.
“Okay?” he repeats.
“Y-yes sir, I’ll tell you every time,” you hurry out, feeling the coil in between your legs get tighter immediately at the sting of the belt.
“Sir?” you ask quietly, “Hit me again, please.”
“Yeah?” you shivered at the low gravel of his voice. You hear him rev up, then the leather whooshing through the air to land in a hard ‘thwap!’ across your behind. You whine at the hit, hands balled into fists at the pain – but god was it good. It was so good.
“I have to make a quick phone call,” he mutters, “Keep track for me.”
He returns some minutes later, leaning over the mattress to look at you, “Look at you, what a fucking slut. You like this?”
You nod pitifully and he rolls his eyes, your hips twitch at the sight.
“You cum yet?” he sounds so bored when he asks you think you might cum again instantly.
“Twice, sir,” you confess.
“Twice?” he repeats, “Must not be enough – so quiet.”
You feel the tip of something drag against the flesh of your thigh while Eddie draws two short vertical parallel lines, “Just using up your eyeliner to keep track.”
“But thats –” His hand cracks down on your fresh welt before you can continue, “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow. Get you a new lipstick, too. So shut up.”
“Yes, sir,” you rasp out.
“Let’s get you nice and loud for me,” he mumbles, reaching between your thighs to turn up the toy's speed.
“Oh, fuck! Oh my god,” you cry out, “Oh, shitshitshitshit.”
His giggle is grotesque when you feel the slide of your lipstick on your skin; your back, your ass, your calves. the waxy scent wafts through the air with the smell of your arousal, “Steve’s right, writing all over you is really fun. Wanna see what you look like, whore?”
“Y-yes, sir,” you obey, hips stuttering while a third orgasm runs over you, “Three! Fuck, three.”
Another vertical line is sketched on your thigh with the other two. The sound of his Polaroid goes off when he’s done with his handy work, leaving the picture next to you to fade into view.
“H-hope you spelled everything right,” you tease, knowing exactly where it’ll get you, “Know how hard that is for you, ‘86.”
He growls, a stinging dig he didn’t deserve, but you remember the ache of each canceled date. Every ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ Him mentioning Chrissy while he jerked off when you always suspected he’d secretly been checking her out when you went for lunch there.
“Well that wasn’t very nice.”
You groan at the blend of the crack of the belt on your ass and the sound of Steve’s disappointed voice.
“Four, fuck, four,” you cry while your thighs shake — another line added to your collection.
“Looks like your training isn’t done, peach,” Steve says sweetly, “You’re still being such a little bitch.”
You hear him fall in line with Eddie, his ringed hand pulling at your hair to lift you up, “Say hi to Steve, sweetheart.”
“H-hi Mr. Harrington,” you rasp out before he drops your head back down on the pillow.
“Hi, angel,” his voice was low and syrupy, “So respectful.”
“Heard he’s been real mean to you, peach,” he announces, and you can feel his hand skate over the hot skin of your ass where the belt has met you more than once tonight, “Making you be his pet, kneeling on rice, he’s so mean isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir,” you reply breathily as the buzz of the vibrator turns up higher.
“I have to be mean, too,” he says softly, hand cracking down hard on your ass in a sweeping smack, “Remember what you said to me earlier?”
“No, sir,” you whimper, the cry caught in your throat finally aching back out. Tears rapidly stain your face as you see Eddie come into view at the end of the bed.
“Why don’t you try a little harder?” Eddie bites, a short smack with his fingers bouncing off your cheek, “Use your brain.”
“I said you — shit, five, FIVE, oh my god five — please turn it off Ed, please,” you whine, hips jumping to escape the vibrations, your clit beginning to ache. A wave of concern washes over his features at the sound of his name and not ‘sir’.
“What did you say to Steve earlier? Tell me and I’ll consider it,” he says, eyes scanning you hurriedly to check your face for signs of discomfort beyond what you could normally handle. You huff and cry, too overstimulated to answer him.
“Don’t make me ask you again,” he warns, hand snaking back into your hair.
“I said he wouldn’t do shit,” you grit out, whimpering out a broken, “Six.”
“You can turn the toy off, Harrington,” he says gruffly. Two more lines are marked on your thigh, you shiver when Steve traces them after he turns the toy off.
“Nice collection,” he says, cocking his head over to Eddie’s implements laid out on the dresser. You hear him rifle through his options, Eddie’s quiet instructions while they look together, ‘Too much, she’ll tap out,’ ‘She can only do a few with those,’ ‘You’re not experienced enough for that, you’re not here to practice on my girl.’ Warmth pools in your belly and soothes you despite the stinging on your skin and the bruised ache between your legs. They decide on the belt, it’s Steve’s favorite and yours, and you’re silently happy he joined in because Eddie absolutely would’ve caned you otherwise.
“You have a nice break?” Eddie asks, he appears at the end of the mattress again – torso in your vision. You nod, feeling a wet spot under your cheek from drooling.
He tuts, wiping some of it away, muttering, “You fucking dog,” under his breath.
“I’m not gonna do shit? That’s what you said, right?” Steve asks, you moan in frustration when the toy starts up again between your legs – setting turned up high.
“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you stutter out. The last syllable leaves your lips and Eddie’s belt meets you across the thighs with a speed and precision you’ve never felt before. The sound that comes out of you is desperate and aching, barely coming down from the sting when the second comes down hard the side of your ass.
“Didn’t think this one through, did ya, peach?” he asks, a grunt and flounce of his hair adding power to the next one.
“No, sir. I’m s-sorry,” you cry, shoulders shuddering when he follows through with two more. The vibrations of the toy and his rough smacks of the belt blend together again and you gush between your thighs with a high whine. “S-seven,” you whimper.
“What a slut,” Eddie mutters while he adds another line to your orgasm tally, “Gettin’ beat makes you cum?”
“Yes, sir,” you nod feverishly, easing your hips back down lightly over the vibrator wand. He slides the belt he’s wearing out of his belt loops and wraps it firmly around his knuckles. You look up at him petulantly with wet, glassy eyes. Another strike of pain hits your backside as Steve whips the belt against you again.
“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows raised, “You got somethin’a say?”
“No, sir,” you raspily whisper.
“Good,” he smiles, “Cause pets don’t talk, do they?”
“No, sir,” you admit with a nod, yelping when the leather strikes your thighs.
“You’re gonna cum ten times, baby,” he explains, “I’m gonna help you get there.”
“Since getting whupped makes you cum so much,” he teases before both of them bring their belts down simultaneously. The release of crying is more euphoric than the orgasms, settling into the burn of each rise and fall of their arms, each crack of their belts and slap of their hands raining down on you.
“Ow, fuck that hurts so fucking good,” you wail, “Please more, please.”
“You dirty fucking bitch,” Steve glowers, “You learning anything?”
“Yes, sir – AH! EIGHT – EIGHT!” you scream, the choked sob in your chest wracking through you into a full on meltdown. They both drop their belts, Steve approaching you again with both hands gripping your hot, welted skin hard. You squirm under his touch while his hand barrels down on you again, the other turning off the toy.
“You know something, peach,” he says, finger softly tracing whatever Eddie wrote on your back, “I think you act like a bitch ‘cause you wanna be fucked like one.”
You squeal out a noise while he kneads the burning fat of your hips and thighs, spreading you open, “Does that sound right?”
“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you say between big breaths, trying to steady your sobs. You relax into the relief of the toy being turned off, shivering at the feeling of his finger going back to trace the words on your back.
“Says here you’re an anal slut,” he smirks, “You like getting fucked in the ass?”
“She loves getting fucked in the ass,” Eddie answers for you, a whiff of his cologne and cigarette smoke wafts through the room while you feel him detach the spreader bar from between your legs.
“So how about I fuck you like that? Think that’ll drive it home?”
You nod while Eddie uses his switchblade to cut open the rope on your wrists and thighs, your hands falling down towards the mattress limply. You lift one of them to push yourself up but Eddie catches your arm.
“Stay,” Eddie says sternly, “You didn’t answer his question.”
“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” your voice sounds moody and petty.
“Is that what you want?” Eddie asks, brows raised again. You can tell he wants your extra reassurance since this was newer territory. He didn’t share you very often, and not normally with someone so close to home.
“Yes, sir,” you nod, he squeezes your arm twice in silent communication. A gentle reminder. A silent ‘I love you’.
“Get her on her back, Harrington,” he smiles, “That’s how she likes it best.”
Steve, though still stern, takes his time working you up to it – teasing your clit with his thumb until wetness pools out of you down to your ass.
“You like it slow like this? Like getting stretched out?” he asks, “You’re not my toy, so I don’t wanna break you.”
“Mmm,” is all you can reply as one of his fingers pumps slowly in and out of your tight hole, your hips moving in time. Your head lolls back over the end of the mattress where Eddie’s stood over you, the mix of his musk and body wash filling your nose while his balls sit over your mouth.
“Oh, you can break her, Harrington,” Eddie nods, “Put some miles on her.”
Eddie pops open a bottle of lube and tosses it to Steve, “Two squirts is normally enough to get the second finger in, she’ll loosen up good after that.”
Your thighs twitch while you hear your boyfriend’s low gravelly voice instruct someone on how to fuck you. How your body reacts, what your body wants. Like he’s always been studying you this whole time. You preen into his touch when his ringed hand slides town your torso to move Steve’s thumb away from your clit.
“You like getting used, angel?” Steve asks, easing a second finger in slowly. You groan at the stretch, legs shaking when the pads of Eddie’s fingers swirl over your clit at the speed and pressure you like the most. “Mhmm,” you muffle out, hand reaching out to grab Eddie’s thigh, nails digging into his skin while you continue to drool onto his sac. He hisses at the bite of the assault, “Hands to yourself.”
You whine when he takes his hand away, offering three short slaps to your clit with his fingers.
“Nine,” you gasp out, hips jolting at the pleasure from the pain and the fullness of Steve’s fingers pumping in and out of you. You lay there like that for a bit, eyes fluttering closed while Eddie guides his cock into your mouth, slowly pushing in and out while his hand cups your face.
“Think you’re ready for something bigger, peach,” Steve says softly, pushing your thighs up to press against your chest. You instinctively hold them up, never having to be told where and when to be helpful in providing access to you. You feel the blunt head of his cock push forward and you suck in a breath through your nose while Eddie’s length slides against your tongue. His thumb smoothes over your jaw bone.
“You can take it,” he encourages, his hand moving downward to grab one of your breasts. A quiet groan bubbles out of his chest when Steve pushes himself in to the hilt, making you moan over his cock.
“So tight, shit,” Steve grunts, a soft sheen of sweat forming on his forehead while his body finds balance on the mattress to begin thrusting. And thrust he does, not caring about your pleasure – only his. Eddie doesn’t mind though, he knows that part of what gets you off is the total disregard for you, that delicious taste of degradation and humiliation that comes with being used.
“She’s good, isn’t she Harrington?” Eddie asks, hips moving a little faster while he fucks your mouth. Your eyes roll behind closed eyelids as the sensation of one of them pushing in and the other pulling out rocks you against the mattress.
“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, “Yeah, shit – better keep her on a fuckin’ tight leash.”
Steve runs a hand through his hair before both of them find a solid grip on your waist, drilling into you. You jump with each slam of his hips while your skin smacks together, waking up the buzzing sting of the welts they both left behind. You let yourself be used, moaning muffled by Eddie’s girth, pussy pulsing over nothing while they took turns teasing your clit and chest. Rough grabs turning into soft, feathery touches. Leather and lace, push and pull, back and forth.
“Gettin’ close, baby,” Eddie grumbles, the snap of his hips starting to stutter when he pulls out of your mouth. You obediently keep your mouth open and he laughs at you, tapping your chin closed.
“No, you don’t get to swallow my cum,” he taunts, “You didn’t earn that.”
You watch him fuck his fist, eyes burning with lust while he watches Steve pull you closer to him on the bed, your face finally staring up at him. You can smell the spice of his cologne, see the fire in his light brown eyes, his furrowed brow while he rapidly reaches his orgasm. Each thrust gets more punishing while he berates you into the mattress.
“You take it so good, you fucking slut,” he hisses, “He trained you real fuckin’ good.”
He leans over you, one hand supporting him, the other creeping up the front of your neck. You’re too fucked out to notice Eddie grab his wrist before Steve can put any pressure on your airways. Offering him a quiet ‘not tonight,’ with a shake of his head, curls bouncing next to him. Steve nods, not skipping a moment to use the same hand to smack you hard across the face – your back arches immediately.
“Ten, oh my god, ten,” you cry out while your final orgasm rips through you, gushing down between your legs over Steve’s cock. Relieved and satisfied, the tears start to pour out of you again. Aftershocks of your orgasm making you writhe and whine, cry and shake.
Suddenly, you feel Eddie’s cum shoot in hot spurts over your face. You sputter, eyes shut tight, face contorting while he purrs a low, “You want some more?”
You whimper, letting out a pathetic ‘mhm’ with a nod in order to keep your mouth shut. You feel Steve’s knees walk over you, the ‘schlick, schlick, schlick’ of him fucking himself over you, using your cum for friction.
“Say please, baby,” Steve coos over you.
“Please, sir, please,” you beg, warm briny spend leaking into your mouth at the words. You catch the hitch in his breath before his own thick ropes of cum land on your face. You hear his ragged breathing, feel the shift of his weight while he leans over your body before getting off the bed.
“Fuck, heh, she’s – damn – she’s good, man,” Steve laughs. Eddie laughs with him, ringed hand coming down to smear their cum into your face before cracking his palm against your cheek from above you.
“As usual, rode hard and put away wet,” his tone is bored and it makes you shiver again, “Go hit the showers, Harrington.”
You hear him step out and the bathroom door shut partway down the hall, the air stills now that it’s just you and Eddie. You let out a long, contented, shuddering sigh; too tired to cry, too tired to do much of anything. In the fog, he says ‘I’ll be right back,’ to you, and you aren’t sure how much time has passed between his leaving the room and his arrival.
“Hey baby,” he croons, “You with me?”
“Mhm,” you mumble. You feel the warmth of a wet washcloth smooth over your face, taking gentle care over your eyes and lips. “Can you open your eyes for me?” he asks, pushing your hair away from your damp forehead. Your eyes open halfway, looking at him through bleary vision – he’s handsome just the same.
“Hi there,” he grins.
“Hi,” you croak out.
“Why don’t you rest a little?” He suggests, pressing a kiss to your cleaned off cheek, “I’ll be right here.”
You barely register the last syllable of his sentence, exhaustion taking over before you can even agree to the sentiment.
You wake up slowly, eyes blinking open to the dull flicker of the collection of drippy pillar candles on Eddie’s dresser and the glow of his bedside lamp. He sat up against the wall beside you, book in hand, something new he picked up from a friend at the garage. You lazily reach over and put your hand on his knee, groaning a little at the stretch in your skin where him and Steve had left their marks.
“There you are,” he smiles, peering over his book, “You have a good rest?”
You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “How long was I out?”
“Couple of hours,” he said, starting to giggle, “You slept like a log. Just – out cold. I thought you died.”
You peer around the room and see that it’s been straightened up, the heats on. You’ve been covered up in blankets – water and aspirin already set up next to you.
“Where’s Steve?” you ask, wincing while you sit up in bed, reaching for the pills to down them.
“He went home,” he says, dog earring the page and setting it down at the end of the bed, “But he told me to tell you he owes you a night out.”
“Ugh, a night out with Harrington – can’t wait,” you roll your eyes, sipping your water.
“I told him you’d rather chew glass,” he laughs, the laugh fades to a look of fondness, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Was that good? Was that okay with you?” he asks, scooting closer to pull one of your hands between his. His fingers toy with your absent mindedly while he waits for your answer.
“Yes, baby, it was okay,” you smile, chuckling at the dichotomy of his dominant persona and who he is after.
“Just okay? Are you alright? Did you like it?” His questions are feverish and you can tell he feels guilty, teetering on getting too in his head.
“Ed, honey –” you start, offering him a kind look that makes his shoulders relax, “I loved it. I love when we play. Adding Steve was really fun.”
“You don’t want him, like, every time, right?” he asks.
You pull a face, “No, ew. That’s like, a punch card kind of thing. Every five fucks he gets to join or something.”
You both laugh in the low light of the room and he leans his head against the wall, looking at you through the slits of his eye lids, “I love you – I’m sorry it felt like I wasn’t connecting with you lately.”
“It’s okay,” you nod, “I should’ve said something. I just, I don’t know – hate seeming like I’m being needy when I’m sad that you canceled a date. Like, we’re adults.”
“It’s okay to be disappointed about it,” he shrugs, “I would be, too. S’not gonna hurt my feelings or start a fight if you’re just like ‘Hey, you’re bumming me out – let’s fix it’. I wanna fix these things – this is the long haul, baby. You’re not getting away from me any time soon.”
“Um – but can I be honest about something?” you ask, nerves creeping into your chest.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Um, please don’t talk about Chrissy like – ever again.”
His shoulders deflate, “Baby…I wish you told me, you should’ve–”
“I know, I know, I should’ve said something when it was happening but I just. I froze?” you try to explain, “I didn’t like that.”
“I’m so sorry,” he pleads, and you know he really means it, “You know I would never. I don’t really want her like that. I was just trying something new. I never want you to feel like there’s someone else.”
You nod with a tight smile, “I just like – that’s why I’m scared to complain. Cause what if you wanna be with someone who will just like – brainlessly do whatever you want and not care?”
He tries to fight a smile but he can’t help it, “Well, babe, I mean…you already sort of brainlessly do whatever I want.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you tease, swatting at him. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it.
“You can complain every day for the rest of your life,” he says simply, “And I’’ll feel lucky to be the guy you’re complaining to.”
“So, why don’t we get you in the shower,” he starts, voice soft and smokey, “I’ll clean you off.” He presses a slow kiss to your cheek, crawling over you.
“Get you all relaxed,” he says, before tilting your head up to take your lips in his. It’s loaded with desire, not a peck, but a hungry mouth on yours, “Patch you up a little.”
“I already started dinner.”
Kiss. “Your favorite.” Kiss.
“We can eat.” Kiss.
“We’ll have dessert.”
Kiss.
“Your favorite, again.”
Kiss. “And you can have –”
Kiss.
“All of my attention –”
Kiss.
“For the rest of the night.”
His big brown eyes linger on yours when he breaks away from his final kiss, lost in looking at you.
“You okay?” you ask.
“Yeah, I just – damnit –” he sucks his teeth, “I made myself hard again.” You giggle at his frustration, leaning forward until your noses press against eachother.
“We can take care of that,” you start –
Kiss.
“In the shower.”
Roll for Persuasion
You were quite content living in blissful unawareness of Eddie Munson, but that all changed when your brother joined Hellfire Club. Now the loud-mouthed metal head was everywhere; and for some reason he's deadset on making you miserable.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Henderson!reader (can be read as bio or adoptive sister - visually inclusive)
Warnings: SMUT (reader is 18+, protected sex), underage drinking (in America), mean older sister/ siblings shenanigans, enemies to lovers
Word count: 7k
masterlist / read on ao3 / send me love 💌
You had never paid much attention to Eddie Munson before your senior year. You’d heard of him, of course; Hawkins was a small town and his reputation as the loud-mouthed metal head preceded him, but the two of you ran in different cliques and had never actually crossed paths.
Eddie never paid much attention to you either. He knew your name and face the same way he knew the names and faces of most of his classmates, but he thought you were just another stereotype. Another cheerleader destined for a life of middle-class suburban drudgery after peaking in high school.
But Eddie was wrong. Behind your strawberry lip gloss and perfectly styled hair you had goals beyond being a housewife. Your dad had always said you were ambitious; too smart for your own good. Your advanced placement classes and extracurricular activities had put you on track for a scholarship to some fancy out of state college and as soon as you graduated you were out of Hawkins.
The only thing you were going to miss about your small town was your younger brother. Dustin was annoying, he was also a major nerd who shared practically none of your interests, but you had a soft spot for the little twerp. It had been hard on him when your family moved to Hawkins five years ago and even harder when your father had up and left. You’d taken it upon yourself to look out for the kid. It had been a blessing he’d found friends in Mike, Lucas, and Will, but you were still thankful to be there for his first year of high school.
The first day Dustin started at Hawkins High he’d come home talking about Hellfire Club and their leader, ‘Eddie the Banished’. You hadn’t thought much about it, just glad that he and his friends had found a group to belong to amongst the high school cliques, even if it was one of the lamer clubs. That relief soon turned into annoyance when you learnt that Hellfire Club met at the same time as cheer practice, meaning your mom made you drive Dustin and his friends home.
The first time you properly interacted with Eddie Munson was about six weeks into the new school year. Hellfire had run late the last few weeks and you were not in the mood to be waiting around. The nights were getting colder and the cardigan that came with your cheer uniform was doing little to protect you from the chilly October air. After sitting in your car for half an hour you’d had enough.
Dustin had never told you where his club met but it didn’t take you long to find them; you only had to follow the sound of raucous hollering down the hallway to the drama room. The door was shut but you could see the light seeping through the crack above the floor and hear the unmistakable sound of muffled arguing.
You swung the door open without warning, cutting someone off mid-sentence. “If you’re not in the car in five minutes I’m leaving and you can all walk home.” Your voice cut through the chatter like a knife, all heads whipping around to stare at you.
The young man at the head of the table squinted his eyes, rising from the throne he was sitting on. “This is a private meeting.”
“I’m not asking to join,” you retorted. “I’m Dustin’s sister.”
“Family day is next week.” He studied your face as if trying to place you and your name rolled off his tongue as a question. “I’ve seen you with Chrissy.”
It didn’t surprise you he knew Chrissy. You knew she’d scored special K and oxy off him a few times; you knew most of the cheer squad had bought something from him whether they admitted to it or not. Chrissy had told you, albeit in secret, that Eddie was actually a nice guy. His tone and expression right now made you question her judgement.
“You never said your sister was a cheerleader, Henderson,” he said it like an insult but he was smirking. His eyes trailed up your legs, your short skirt only just covering your thighs.
You shifted awkwardly but stood your ground. “Glad to see all that pot hasn’t affected your critical thinking skills,” you crossed your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side. “Reckon you’ll finally graduate this year?”
“Why, already planning the reunion? Must suck when your entire personality is school spirit. What’s left to do once you’ve already peaked?”
You scowled, eyes narrowing. “Car, Dustin. Now.”
“You said five minutes,” your brother whined, eyes bouncing between you and Eddie.
“I changed my mind,” you turned on your heels and left, not caring if your brother or his friends were following.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You seemed to see Eddie more often after that first encounter. Either he was making his presence more apparent or your mind had become more aware of spotting him in the crowds. Either way, neither of you spoke to each other, but you did keep making the mistake of glancing at him; fatal errors that left him smirking after you.
You didn’t seem alone in your inability to look away, though. You’d caught Eddie staring at you in the hallways more than once, casually leaning against his locker and twisting his silver rings around his fingers. The difference between you, however, was that Eddie never looked away in embarrassment when you caught him watching you. Instead he would tilt his head, wordlessly testing to see if you would question him, knowing you wouldn’t be caught dead talking to him in public. You’d scowl whenever he did this, slamming your locker shut and forfeiting the contest.
“Dustin won’t shut up about him.”
“Who?” You knew who he was talking about, but you acted confused nonetheless, picking at your manicure as you sat on the hood of your car.
“That freak Eddie Munson,” Steve said, jealousy coating the name. He was leaning against his own car, parked in the spot next to yours. The two of you often found yourselves chatting as you waited to pick up your freeloaders; you were waiting for your brother, Steve waiting for Robin.
“I know, it’s getting ridiculous,” you too were getting sick of Dustin’s dedicated worship to the dungeon master, but part of you was also glad he was annoying Steve too. “Maybe if you hung out with him more-”
“I have a life!”
“-he wouldn’t have so much time for Eddie,” you finished your thought. Steve groaned, throwing his head back to look up at the sun, Ray-Bans perched on his nose. “Speaking of having a life, have you asked out Linda yet?”
“Have you asked out Gavin?”
You made a retching noise. “Ugh, no. He tripped a freshman in the cafeteria the other day and my attraction to him,” you flicked your wrist. “Just like that, poof, it was gone. He has great hair though.”
“You can have great hair without being an asshole. Believe me, I would know.”
“Would you though?” You reached up to ruffle his hair, managing to mess it up before he swatted your hand away. Your giggling was cut short as Steve tugged your head back by your ponytail, loosening the hair tie until it hung limply by your shoulder blades. “Hey! I spend ages getting these curls just right.”
“And you think this comes naturally?” He stared at you a moment over the top of his Ray-Bans before the two of you dissolved into a fit of laughter. You slumped against Steve’s shoulder as the muscles in your stomach began to ache, his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady.
“Interrupting something, are we?” You looked up to see Eddie and Dustin standing in front of you. Eddie was holding a shoe box with a scale model of a water wheel, while Dustin was holding the poster-board portion of his science project.
Steve dropped his arm as you rolled your eyes. “If you needed help carrying stuff you should have asked,” you opened the trunk of the car, gesturing for Dustin to put his science project inside.
“Eddie offered,” Dustin tossed his bag next to the water wheel and shut the trunk. “I said I’d help Mike with his so I’ll be back in a sec.” Before you could protest that you had things to do, Dustin rushed off brushing passed Robin as he left.
“Did anyone tell him he’s heading in the wrong direction or are you all too busy standing around doing nothing?” Robin asked, opening the passenger door of Steve’s car and throwing her backpack on the backseat. She gave you a little wave before she hopped in.
“Coming to the store later?”
“Nah, can’t tonight. Got a test first thing tomorrow morning,” you sighed, drumming your fingers on the roof of your car. “I’ll come by after school tomorrow. Brooke said I need to watch Impulse. She said it’s sexy and scary.”
“The best combination. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Have fun studying,” he gave you a dorky salute before he got in the car.
You hadn’t even realised Eddie was still standing there until he spoke. “Didn’t know you and Harrington were a thing. Can’t say I’m surprised,” he dug around in his jacket pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
You crossed your arms, already annoyed. “Not that it’s any of your business but we’re not together.”
“Why not?” He stuck a cigarette between his lips, lighting the end. “He seems like your type. You know, an asshole.”
“If assholes were my type I’d be all over you,” it came out more as a sneer than you had anticipated but you stuck with it.
“Who says you aren’t?” When he saw your horrified expression he explained. “I see the way you look at me.”
“I only look to make sure you’re not watching me. You’re a stalker, Munson.”
“Stalker? Does the whole world revolve around you now, sweetheart? I wasn’t aware.”
“Your world does since you seem to be obsessed with me,” at this point it was pretty clear, even to you, that you were deflecting. But there was some small amount of truth in the fact that he watched you as much as you watched him. “I hate you, Eddie Munson. And I’m pretty sure you hate me too.”
Eddie smirked, blowing a spiral of smoke upwards, “it’s a thin line between love and hate.”
You blinked as you processed his words, a knowing smile appearing on your lips when it dawned on you why they sounded so familiar. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you. Now tell me, what do girls usually say when they realise your lines are stolen song lyrics?”
“That’s up to you, sweetheart. You’re the first,” he winked as he left you standing shellshocked.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
It was a chilly Tuesday night, and while you would have much rather be curled up on your couch watching Moonlighting with your mom, you’d instead been dragged to a dingy bar on the outskirts of town by your friend. She had a crush on one of the bartenders; a community college student from the next town over. Inside the bar was thick with cigarette smoke and the floor was sticky with years of spilt beers. An amateur band had taken to the stage and were playing a very subjective form of music. But your friend had assured you that this bar didn’t card.
You shrunk into one of the booths, fingers gripping a tall glass of very foamy beer. You kept glancing across to where your friend sat at the counter, overly affectionate in her flirting with the man behind the bar. Stupidly, she’d been your ride here, meaning you’d either need to convince her to leave or call your mom up to come and save you. Neither seemed like great options. You looked over at the stage, the band was now playing a slower song and you had to admit it wasn’t half bad.
The guitarist was pretty good. You watched him as he concentrated on the riff, his fingers moving quickly along the neck of the guitar, his long hair and the dark stage lights obscuring his face. You couldn’t look away from his hands and suddenly very uninvited thoughts entered your head. Dirty thoughts that had absolutely no excuse to be there, especially about a man whose face you’d never seen. You shook your head trying desperately to shake free the thoughts, but they were somehow gripping onto the corners of your mind; digging in their heels and setting up camp.
You were busy trying to think about other things like kittens and rainbows that you’d barely noticed that the band had stopped playing. Only the scattered applause from the few drunken patrons woke you from your dream state. The band began packing up; unplugging amps and disassembling the drum kit and you contemplated introducing yourself to the mystery guitarist. There was something about him that felt magnetic, but you decided to watch him from a distance for a little longer. There was no point talking to him if he wasn’t cute, after all.
Every time you tried to catch a glimpse of his face something was in the way; either the bassist was chatting with him about something or other, or the bartender was refilling his drink. You were about to finally give up and admit that it was a lost cause when you looked up and saw he was alone at the corner of the stage closest to you. He was fiddling with one of the tuning keeps when he pushed his hair back, the stage light in perfect position to illuminate his face. His annoyingly handsome face.
“No,” you breathed, sinking into the booth with your head down. You did not just spend the last 20 minutes building up the courage to talk to the cool guitarist for it to turn out to be Eddie fucking Munson. You braved a glance up to see him staring right at you, “fuck.” He was smirking, just like always, as he packed his guitar into its case.
Maybe he’d leave you alone. Maybe he would pack up the amps and head off. You didn’t really believe that, groaning as you saw him making his way towards you.
“Sure you’re in the right place, sweetheart?” He slid effortlessly into the booth opposite you.
“Wait, this isn’t the nail salon?” You feigned confusion, expression quickly souring as his arms stretched over the back of the booth. You didn’t like that he was getting comfortable. You didn’t want to like it.
“Like the set?”
“You’re not Duran Duran.”
Eddie scoffed, “I’m taking that as a compliment.” He leant forward, “what are you doing here, Henderson?”
You glanced over at your friend, it was the first time you had checked in on her in a while and the innocent flirting had advanced to making out as she and the bartender swallowed each other’s tongues.
Eddie followed your gaze, “oh.”
“Yeah,” you downed the last of your beer. “She’s my ride.”
“I can drive you home,” he said it easily, as if it was no big deal.
You were hesitant to take him up on the offer, but due to your friend’s current activities you might just have to. “Really?” You weren’t sure how you’d manage the drive home in such close quarters.
“Sure. You can help me load the amps.”
After managing to pull your friend apart from her make out companion long enough to tell her you’d found a ride home, Eddie had stuck to his guns and made you help him pack the amps into the back of his van. His van smelled warm, like old spice and smoke, with the faint earthy hint of weed. It was nice and cosy, a safe haven from the frigid December air outside. You waited for Eddie to turn on the ignition, but he hesitated.
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“What?” You weren’t expecting him to ask you that. It was true that you’d told him those three big words before, but it was more of a heat of the moment explosion than the truth. “I don’t actually hate you.” He just got on your nerves and if you were honest you weren’t even sure why.
“You obviously don’t like me.”
“You don’t like me,” you pointed out, remembering the first conversation you two had shared and the insults you’d both made at the other’s social rank.
“I do like you,” he sounded earnest, his voice soft.
You paused, “you like me?”
“Yeah, you’re not what I thought you’d be like.” You frowned and Eddie cringed, “I didn’t mean-” he attempted to grasp for the right words. “I thought you’d be a stereotype, but I was wrong. I’m sorry for what I said when we first met.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Not really,” he leant back against the headrest, his face turned to watch you. The moonlight reflected in his dark brown eyes showing shimmering flecks of amber. “Dustin talks about you a lot. He talks about Harrington too but I’m more interested in what he has to say about you.” You couldn’t help the smile that escaped through your well maintained facade of indifference and Eddie caught it. “That’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.”
You blushed. What on earth was he doing to you? You looked down, a million thoughts raced through your head but the one you focused on was telling you to get it together.
You didn’t hate Eddie Munson, but you didn’t exactly like him either. You didn’t even know him. All you knew about him came from what your brother had told you. He liked metal music, played the guitar, and led the most epic DnD campaigns. He was cool, according to Dustin, Lucas, and Mike, and he’d taken the three freshman under his wing on the first day of school. Eddie Munson hadn’t done anything to make you dislike him, in fact the way he was looking out for your brother and his friends should endear you to him. He’d even apologised for insulting you the first time you’d met. Maybe Chrissy was right, maybe Eddie was a good guy.
You weren’t sure what made you lean in, but within seconds you were kissing him. He tasted like tobacco and beer, and ever so slightly like juicy fruit. His mouth felt warm, his tongue lingering against your bottom lip, like he wasn’t game enough to make the next move.
“Kiss me,” you urged, tugging his head towards you. That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed because the instant his lips met yours for the second time all bets were off.
He groaned as your fingers curled against his scalp, his hands landing on your hips and pulling you across the centre console onto his lap. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it in the backseat and his movements made your back bump against the steering wheel. You didn't care, too focused on the feeling of Eddie’s hands travelling beneath your sweater, your own hands tugging the material of his raglan shirt away from his skin. You shivered as his thumbs brushed below your ribcage and you wanted nothing more than for him to explore further, but you were in his van. And his van was in the parking lot of a shady bar. And people were beginning to file out of the shady bar into the parking lot.
“Eddie,” it came out more like a moan as his lips moved to the skin on your neck.
“Hmm?” You didn’t want him to stop, you never wanted this to stop.
“It’s getting late,” it took every fibre of your being to place your hands on his chest and push him back. You hoped to God he could see the disappointment in your eyes under the flickering neon of the Hideout sign.
“Oh,” hands slipped out from beneath your sweater and landed on your waist. His fingers toyed with the belt loops on your jeans. “You need to get home.”
“I don’t want to,” you really didn’t and Eddie’s mood seemed to lighten at your confession. “But I should. I’m sorry.”
“No, s’fine,” he cleared his throat and loosened his grip on you allowing you to clamber back into the passenger seat. “You live on Vine, right?”
“Yeah,” you felt a little out of breath and you straightened your sweater as he pulled out of the parking lot. You couldn’t figure out why he made you so nervous. You’d been with boys before, popular boys too. But Eddie was different and you weren’t sure why.
The drive was silent for the next couple of minutes, tension thick in the air as you gathered up the courage to make a suggestion. “Eddie?”
“Yeah?” You could see his knuckles whiten against the steering wheel when you said his name.
“If you don’t have anywhere to be,” you drifted off. Snap out of it, just ask him. “Do you want to come in? Everyone will be asleep.”
You could just make out his grin as street lamps flashed passed. “Absolutely.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
You told Eddie to park a few houses down, saying you didn’t need to explain to Dustin why his friend’s highly recognisable van was parked out front of your house in the middle of the night.
“My brother’s room is next door so don’t talk too loudly,” you hurried Eddie into your bedroom, softly closing the door behind you and sliding the lock shut. It had taken some begging but your mom finally let you put a lock on your door after Dustin kept recording Saturday Night Live over the top of your tapes of The Love Boat.
The room felt suffocatingly quiet and you were certain Eddie could hear the hammering of your heartbeat, so you moved over to the cassette recorder and chose a tape; the opening notes to More Than This softly played through the speakers. Eddie took a seat on your bed, looking around the room while you twisted the vertical blinds shut and closed the sheer pink curtains.
“For some reason I pictured more posters of Ralph Macchio.”
“They’re all inside my closet,” you kicked off your shoes and sat cross-legged next to him. “Along with my shrine to Thomas Magnum.”
“Is it the moustache that does it for you? Because I’ll tell you know if I grew one I’d look like a 70s porn star.”
“Wouldn’t that be kind of hot?” You moved a little closer to him, your knee pressing against his thigh.
“Have you seen the guys in porn? Definitely not.”
“I think I’ve seen maybe one porno in my entire life. Something where a girl orders a pizza-”
“With extra sausage? Then you’ve seen most of them,” he’d placed his hand on your knee now, slowly inching it up your thigh.
“This is not how I thought my night would go.”
He started to pull back but you grabbed his hand to keep him close. “Are you regretting it?”
You shook your head, your fingers intertwined with his. You wondered if his rings would leave indentations in your skin when he gripped your thighs. “No, not at all.” You took a deep breath, ready to admit to the butterflies that had been sitting in your stomach since you’d left the Hideout. “You just make me nervous.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “I make you nervous? Princess you terrify me. I’m shaking in my boots here.”
“So we both feel the same way.” You dropped his hand back against your thigh, pushing it slowly between your legs. You still had a pair of thick denim jeans on but Eddie got the message. “Maths states they should cancel each other out. You should kiss me to make sure.”
“If that’s what maths says,” he leant forward and you instinctively fell back, your head hitting the quilted pillow. Eddie was hovering over you, his lips soft and pink about an inch above yours. He dipped lower, brushing against the underside of your jaw, below your ear, and over your cheekbone before he finally pushed your lips apart with his. This kiss felt different from the last, not as flustered or bruising. His tongue moved languidly against yours; it felt like he was trying to memorise the shapes and textures, taking his time and eliciting little gasps when he nibbled and sucked. You lost yourself in the feeling of him, time slowing and the sounds of Brian Ferry’s vocals becoming nothing more than a humming buzz of white noise.
You were normally great at multitasking, but Eddie had left you in a haze. You’d done this a few times before, notable players including the asshole basketball star in your sophomore year and the college kid who’d returned home for the holidays when you were a junior. You’d even slept with Steve a few times over the summer out of sheer boredom, but none of them had made you tingle with electric energy the way Eddie did. You were so focused on the rhythm of the kiss that you hadn’t even realised he’d unzipped your jeans until his fingers pushed your panties aside and dipped between your folds.
“God you’re so wet already,” you squirmed when you felt the pressure of his finger against your clit, a little whine getting stuck in your throat. “Is this okay?”
You nodded wildly, hair falling in front of your eyes.
“Need you to use your words, sweetheart.”
“It’s good Eddie. I need more,” you jerked your hips upward and he obliged by rhythmically rubbing your clit. He could only do so much with his hand down your pants, his movements awkwardly affected by the denim. “Faster.”
“I can’t, your jeans are in the way.”
You huffed, pushing him back so he was sitting on his heels. You pulled off your jeans, frustratingly throwing them to the ground. You ripped off your sweater while you were at it, leaving you only in your panties and your bra. “Better?”
“Your underwear is still in the way,” he sounded genuine but you could see the smug glint in his eye.
“Take off clothes, you’ve got your dirty sneakers on my bed,” you folded your arms across your chest and watched as he appeased you. “Have you got a condom?”
“In my wallet, yeah. But I left it in my van.”
You got up and went to your wardrobe, opening a drawer and tearing a condom from the roll hidden beneath your underwear. You turned around to face Eddie and saw him watching you from the bed. He had made himself comfortable, stretched out on top of your floral quilt, his hands clasped behind his head. Your eyes trailed over his body, taking in the tattoos that painted his chest and arms, the line of dark hair on his pale stomach that disappeared beneath his boxers, to the hard bulge prominent beneath the checked fabric.
You handed him the foil packet. “Hope it’s not too big.”
“Ouch, that hit me right in my ego.”
“Like that’s hard,” he moved across the bed as you slipped below the covers. You watched as he pulled his boxers down, his cock hitting his stomach. He was bigger than you’d expected, and his dick was oddly pretty. His hair was neatly trimmed and coarse curls sat at the base, you imagined they’d provide a delicious friction against your clit. The head of his cock was perfectly rounded too, flushed a deep red and leaking at the tip.
“You’re drooling,” he’d rolled the condom on and had dipped below the covers, his thigh pressed against yours.
You realised your lips were parted and you quickly shut them, frowning. “Am not.” You pulled off your underwear and straddled his lap. His cock pressed against your cunt and you ground down. “Shut up.”
“Just saying I’m not opposed to you blowing me.”
“Not happening,” your hand wrapped around the base of his cock and held it steady against your cunt, lifting your hips up so the tip breached your entrance.
“There’s always next time.”
“In your dreams,” you sank down on his length, his cock stretching your walls exquisitely. When you sat flush against his thighs, you could fill the head nudging at the spongy spot deep inside your core.
“This is better than my dreams, believe me,” he gripped your waist, helping you slide up and down on his length. You rolled your hips, changing the angle and he let out a guttural groan. “Fuck, do that again.”
You arched your back, your hips doing most of the work. You reached down, your hand between both your bodies as you rubbed your clit. Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off the space between you where your bodies met, watching as his cock slipped and disappeared inside you, only to emerge glistening wet before repeating the motions. “God, I can feel you squeezing around me, fuck, princess, keep doing that.”
“Eddie.” He’d replaced his fingers against your clit with his own, his pace was sloppy and desperate but it was just what you needed.
“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since we met. God, I’ve dreamt of your pussy but it’s so much better than I ever imagined. It’s magic, sweetheart. You have a magic pussy, I swear.”
His words sent you over the edge, your legs trembling as your hips stilled against him. Eddie bucked into you a few more times before he too came with a shuddered moan. “Fucking hell.”
“Fucking hell,” he agreed, brushed the hair that had again fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear. “You are a devil woman.”
“Me?”
“Yep," he helped you off his lap, his hand naturally gripping your thigh when you settled onto the mattress next to him. You were pleased to find that his rings did leave little marks against your skin. "Tempting and taunting me with your perfect body. I was an innocent man before I met you.”
Your head fell against his shoulder, watching the rise and fall of his chest. “Innocent? Really?”
“You’re not playing along, you have to play along.”
“Oh sorry,” you cleared your throat. “Now that I’ve put you under my spell I can do whatever I want to you.”
“No, evil sorceress, please don’t use me to satiate your sexual desires. I won’t be a part of your satanic bidding, for I’m just a humble, God fearing farm boy.”
“How much backstory do you have for this character?”
“Too much. We’ll work on it. Get you a pair of devil horns and really flesh it out.”
Eddie stayed for a while, talking to you in hushed whispers long after both sides of the cassette had been played. He ended up crawling through your window just as the sky began to lighten.
“You look tired, honey. What time did you get in last night?” Your mom poured coffee into her mug, frowning at you.
“Not too late,” you pushed cereal around your bowl. “We got sidetracked by a girl who used to be on the cheer team and when I realised the time it was too late to call.”
“Next time, call anyway. It makes me feel better knowing you’re okay,” she patted your shoulder, adjusting the bow on your ponytail. “I hope you had a good time, you need to have fun while you’re still young.”
“I’m sure she had a blast,” Dustin smirked, his eyebrows wiggling. You shot him a questioning look but ignored him like you did most mornings. Once your mom had left the kitchen, Dustin leant across the table. “So I heard something funny last night.”
You kept your expression as neutral as possible but internally you were cringing. “Oh yeah? What did you hear?”
“Kind of sounded like someone falling out a window at 5am.”
“Wow, that’s so weird. Crazy what you hear early in the morning.”
“You had a boy over,” Dustin laughed in a sing-song voice.
You clapped your hand over his mouth and looked wildly around for any indication that your mother was in ear shot. “Shut up, virgin.” His brows furrowed and your expression faltered, you wanted him to be quiet but you hadn’t meant to be mean about it. “Sorry, low blow.”
“You know Suzie is waiting till marriage.”
“Doesn’t help that she’s in Utah.”
Dustin ignored you. “So, who’s the mystery man?”
“Just some guy. Probably won’t see him again.”
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
After the first time, sneaking around with Eddie became your new favourite hobby. It became a normal part of your day to steal kisses in mop closets, or find hastily written notes stuffed in your locker giving you compliments or asking you to meet him in the woods during your next free period.
What started out as a hot and heavy romance filled with make out sessions and Eddie almost breaking his neck sneaking out of your window slowly turned into movie nights and pancake dates at the diner off I-69. During one such night where Eddie had finally caved to watching Romancing The Stone, he’d introduced you to Uncle Wayne as his girlfriend.
“Girlfriend? When did that happen?” You’d asked in an attempt at a nonchalant tone. Underneath the blanket your heart was pounding.
“A few weeks ago. I figured when you started coming ‘round to watch movies and you weren’t trying to get in my pants there was something more to this than just sex.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl on your lap. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah. I’m okay with that.”
Since you now had a boyfriend, you wanted to go out and do things on a Saturday night. You hadn’t planned for your night to be spent chaperoning your brother while he hosted Hellfire in the basement, but your mom didn’t trust a group of teenage boys to behave. She had a singles mixer in Indy and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow so she’d left you, the responsible older sister, in charge. At least that meant Eddie was around, even if he’d be spending his evening playing DnD with your younger brother instead of playing adventurer and tavern wench with you in your bedroom.
“What kind of pizza do you guys want?” You didn’t bother descending the steps instead choosing to poke your head around the basement door and call down the stairs.
“Pepperoni.”
“Extra sausage!” You could guess who called that one out.
“Cheese.”
“Mushroom.”
“Supreme.”
You sighed, descending a few steps so you could see the boys sitting around the table. “I’m going to need a straight answer, it doesn’t work if you just shout different toppings at me.” You were wearing skimpy pyjama shorts and you could feel the boys’ eyes creeping up your bare legs. When you scanned the table Mike and Gareth quickly looked away, their necks flushed red at being caught gawking, but Eddie just smirked, his eyes still stuck on you and his tongue tracing his bottom lip.
“Get two pepperoni, one cheese, and one supreme,” Dustin looked around the table for approval, which he got in the form of nods. “No one wants mushroom pizza, Jeff.”
The problem with Dustin hosting Hellfire was that they’d drank all your soda. You had your head stuck in the fridge trying to find a can of something fizzy to drink when you felt a smack against your ass.
You jumped, hitting your head on the shelf in the fridge. “Jesus Christ.”
“Nope, just me,” you spun around to see Eddie grinning playfully at you. When you frowned, hand pressed against where you’d hit your head, he pouted. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you but your ass was right there.” He pulled you against him by your hips, smoothing your hair flat and pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head. “There, all better.”
You smiled into his chest, the sharp pain had suddenly disappeared. “What do you want, idiot?”
“Just came to see what the plan is tonight since your mom is away.”
“I think Lucas and Mike are staying over. Might be a little risky.”
“No biggie, I’ll park in the next street and sneak in through your window. Risky is hot.”
“I forgot danger turns you on." You kissed his cheek. "Pretty sure Gareth was checking me out when I came downstairs.”
“Have you seen these shorts you’re wearing? Almost made me cream my pants, Jesus H. Christ.” His hands cupped your ass and squeezed the flesh. “So distracting, you’re throwing me off my game.”
“Since when do you have game?”
“Pshaw, I have game. Got you to sleep with me, didn’t I?”
“But you love me.”
“Mmm, I do.”
Your skin felt like it had been lit on fire. He loves you. You hadn’t said those words to each other yet. It had only been a couple of months since you’d started seeing each other. You thought you felt something like love for him, but you weren't sure. You’d been feeling something deep, something that pulled at your heartstrings, something that made you feel safe.
You pulled back to look at him, searching his eyes for any hint of regret. Maybe he’d misspoke, maybe he was just playing along.
“I do love you,” his hand slipped beneath your sweater and stroked the skin on your lower back, it was like he was grounding himself to the moment. “You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready.”
“I am ready,” you nodded, your hand cupping his cheek. “I love you too, Eddie.”
He dipped his head down to reach your mouth, his lips slotting perfectly against yours. You let out a sigh, relaxing into his body as he sat you on the kitchen counter. Your legs wrapped around his thighs pulling him closer until you could feel a growing hardness pressing between your legs.
“Ew, ew, ew,” your younger brother’s voice shattered your reverie. Your stomach dropped and it felt as if you were plummeting back to earth. Your head shot back and you saw Dustin, alongside the rest of the Hellfire gang standing inside the kitchen. “What the fuck?!”
You went to pull your body away but Eddie’s hand on your back kept you in place. “Relax, Dustin,” he spoke steadily, but you noticed his pupils were still blown and he had a dreamy sort of calmness to his expression.
“Relax? You’re devouring my sister. We eat here! What’s going on?”
You hopped down from the counter but stayed close to Eddie’s side, his arm still tightly wrapped around your waist. “We’re dating. We have been for a while.”
“Oh my god,” realisation hit Dustin like a semi truck. “He’s the guy who’s been sneaking into your room at night? She’s the hot chick you’ve been seeing?”
You lightly hit Eddie’s shoulder, “you told them? What did you say?”
Eddie winced, “not a lot.”
“You said you had sex at Lover’s Lake last week!”
You swatted his chest, a little harder this time. “Eddie, oh my god, why would you tell them that.”
Gareth laughed, “ha! We totally thought you’d made that up, that’s awesome.”
Eddie waved his hand dramatically, “see I told you it was cool!” At Dustin’s look of horror he frowned. “I’m sorry, we didn’t think you’d find out this way.”
“We were going to tell you,” you nodded. It was a flat out lie you definitely weren’t planning on telling Dustin anytime soon but he didn’t need to know that.
“When? When I’m bailing you out for public indecency?”
He was not letting this go, you had to pull out the big guns. “Eddie’s coming over for dinner tomorrow. I’m going to introduce him to mom.”
“Oh,” Dustin’s expression changed. He knew you must be serious if you were introducing Eddie to mom, you’d never introduced a boyfriend to your mom before.
“I am?” You stomped on Eddie’s foot and he got the message, “yes, I mean I am. Super excited.”
“And he’s staying over tonight,” you added. Eddie would just have to deal without the sexy addition of risk. You’d much prefer to have him leave via the front door than falling out the window again.
“But they’re staying over tonight,” Dustin gestured to Mike and Lucas.
“And we do not need to hear your weird sex noises,” Lucas chimed in from the sidelines, Mike nodding.
Your eyes widened, “excuse me?”
“Our sex noises are not weird,” Eddie said taking an odd amount of offense to the comment.
“Not what I was going to say, babe. We’re not going to have sex with you lot down the hall.”
“We’re not?” Eddie asked.
At the same time Dustin snidely remarked, “never stopped you before.”
“Dustin, please be cool about this. I know he’s your friend, but we like each other a lot.”
“Yeah, man. Like a lot, a lot.”
Dustin looked between you two, noticing how you’d never pulled apart from each other. “Fine. This is going to take some getting used to but okay. But if you hurt him,” you raised your eyebrows at Dustin, waiting for him to explain how he would exact his revenge on Eddie for hurting his precious older sister, but Eddie was watching you. Your brain reset. He’d said if you hurt him.
You blinked. “Wait, if I hurt him? What about if he hurts me?”
“You’ll be fine,” Dustin brushed off your concern. “Eddie, however, would never recover if you broke his heart.”
“It’s true princess. I would forever be a broken man.” He brought your hand up to his lips and placed a chaste kiss to the skin.
You sighed in defeat but still squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, I plan on keeping your heart safe for a very long time.”
Thank you @edwrite-munson for this request! Oh my god guys this fic drained the life out of me please send me some love 💌
@geekyfifi @babyfrosty @e0509 @becca-alexa @toomuchtimeonmaihands @munsonology @celestialuna13 @neewtmas @silky-luxe @lokis-little-fawn
join my tag list (must be 18+ - no ageless blogs)
This blog was super helpful in regards to 1980s teen bedroom decor!
Both! Both is good shy Obi who then respectfully doms!!!!
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader (Clone Wars era)
Words: 34,895 (things clearly got out of hand)
Warnings: lap dance, lots of touching, Obi-Wan wholeheartedly consents but he feels guilty that he's enjoying the “attention” (in the beginning at least), scent kink, lots of kissing, lots of fluids, shy to respectfully-dominant Obi-Wan, Oral (male receiving), squirting, some humiliation/dirty talk, overstimulation, slight religion kink, slight praise kink, slight breeding kink, incorrect use of the Force.
Summary: “And what-” the words die in his throat as soon as he feels the heat of your mouth engulf his thumb completely, and he clenches his jaw tightly when your tongue swirls around his finger several times until it’s completely drenched with your drool. “I apologize, what have you thought of when you studied them?” He manages to ask when you finally stop torturing him, but the relief barely remains because you drop his hand suddenly and throw your head back in pleasure when his palm accidentally grazes your breast, the wet thumb barely coming in contact with your nipple before he’s snatching his hand away as if you were molten fire. You snap your attention back to him a moment later, smiling to yourself when you see his pink features blush a deeper shade of red.
A/N: I refuse to apologize for whatever this is. This is not-so-loosely based on one of my less-dignifying posts which @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories decided to make better and which I dedicate this to. I hope y’all enjoy this as much as I did writing it. This is not beta’d so if you see anything misspelled, know that it is because I was flustered while writing this lovely story. You can add yourself to the taglist here.
An almost bored expression takes over your features as soon as your comlink beeps and signals a request for a private dance. When you notice how long the requested time is, you ask your handler to lead the client to the VIP room, and let them know that you will be there in a few minutes. You smile at the gentlemen flocking around you like a bunch of loth-cats in heat and excuse yourself, telling them that you will happily enjoy some more time with them once you finish the private dances for the night. Turning around to the stage, you signal one of the twileks to come and take your place so you don’t leave them without any service, and as you make your way to the private dance rooms, you can’t help but turn around to glance across the floor briefly, eyes immediately searching for the familiar brown and beige robes that have graced the establishment for some time now.
Strange, he didn’t come today.
You shake your head in disappointment and make your way past the smaller rooms, fixing your lingerie and hair with each step you take so you look presentable to the client. Whoever it was, they certainly didn’t beat around the bush, asking for a longer time than usual and agreeing to the price of your services without making a fuss to your handler. You throw a kiss to the gentleman guarding the door of the room, and when you see the teasing smile he’s throwing at you, you narrow your eyes at him and take a step closer to the door.
“Anything I should know about our guest?” You raise an eyebrow at him when he immediately shrugs his shoulders and steps out of your way. .
“I know nothing sweetheart…except that I might not see you for the rest of the night.” It’s the first time anyone has dared to respond so crudely to you but you aren’t in the mood to give him a piece of your mind so you shoo him away and tell him not to disturb you. When he’s out of sight, you return your attention to the closed door and send a quick prayer to the maker that whoever it is wouldn’t try anything strange with you, or at least nothing that you aren’t willing to get onboard with.
Dropping your gaze to the ground, you stretch your shoulders and knock twice before pushing the button on the side of the wall, the soft sound of the door swishing open giving you another few moments of peace before you meet the challenge of the night. You walk in slowly but don’t bother to raise your head just yet, instantly reaching for the lock on the door to push it so you can let the client know you will not be disturbed for quite some time.
It’s only when you turn around and allow your eyes to gaze at the figure sitting in the middle of the couch that you finally catch onto the meaning of the words thrown at you not a moment ago.
Kriff, he was even more beautiful up close.
And his gaze was unwavering in its intensity, making you forget how to breathe for a moment before you remember why he was here. Forcing yourself to remain calm, you offer him your friendliest smile before slowly approaching him. But a few steps is all it takes for you to recognize how uncomfortable he is in your presence. Whereas you would normally accompany your client on the couch, perhaps tease them a little with soft touches to their shoulders or brief caresses to their hair, you opt to remain farther away from him. His body language visibly eases when he notices the sudden halt in your movement, and he gulps nervously before he corrects his posture and tries to appear more confident than he is.
You get the sense that this man was not used to feeling so out-of-place, and you think that this may have gone a little more your way if you weren’t showing so much skin. He certainly didn’t appear to be uncomfortable by the environment, far from it if the last week proved anything. It was most likely due to the state of your attire, or lack thereof. Tilting your head to the side, you giggle when you look into his eyes and see a bead of sweat form just above his brow, the furrowed muscles giving him away instantly.
He definitely didn’t appreciate what you were wearing.
Or maybe, considering what you learned fairly quickly about his line of work, he was perhaps a little too appreciative of your almost nude figure, and the guilt was eating away at him because of said lifestyle.
“I was wondering when I’d have the pleasure of your company.” You let your hands roam over the flimsy material of your lingerie, barely holding back from laughing out loud when you see the handsome stranger clench his jaw tightly in irritation.
Or was that appreciation?
He must take notice of how closely you’re studying him because in an instant, his facial expression grows neutral, and he raises a curious eyebrow at you, his lips upturning slightly in an attempt to tease you in return. Oh, this was definitely going to be entertaining, perhaps more enjoyable than you initially thought.
“You’re acting surprised for someone who’s been here for an entire week and never asked for a private room.” You remark as you take hold of the pole in the middle of the room, twirling your body around it once before you rest your forehead against it, eyes refusing to look anywhere else by the blue, slowly darkening orbs staring into your soul.
“Surely my presence was not obvious.” As soon as the words leave his mouth and reveal the low guttural sound of his voice, a coarse shiver takes over your body, and you have to grasp onto the pole tightly to try and ground yourself. If he sees the way his voice affects you, he chooses to say nothing and instead crosses his legs while fixing his robes. Your attention falls instantly on the dangerous weapon hanging on the belt around his waist, but you turn away before you think more of how you’d like him to thoroughly use you for his pleasure.
“Maybe to others it wasn’t,” you remark as you raise your knees against the pole and allow him to get an eyeful of your inner thighs, “but it sure was to me.” The second his eyes shift below your neck, you bite into your lower lip and smile as his cheeks suddenly become a deeper shade of pink.
“I find that hard to believe.” You turn around to avoid his gaze, knowing that he will surely notice the reaction of your body to his voice. He’s only spoken twice thus far, but you come to accept rather quickly that there was nothing you could ever deny him should he continue to speak with such an arousing, soft baritone to you. When you face him again and see how adamant he is on keeping his sight above your neckline, you decide to push him a little, wanting to get a closer look into his personality.
“Why? Because I’m just another whore selling her body for money, or because I must be stupid since I’m just another whore selling her body for money?” You continue to dance for him, completely ignoring the wince he offers in distaste of your diction as he reorients himself on the couch.
“You gravely misunderstand me, my lady. I only meant to remark on your exceptionally discerning abilities when this fine establishment promises the utmost attention when- when being served privately.” He struggles a little in his response, and you can’t help but giggle at the respectful manner he upholds even further out of fear of offending you by accident again.
“He’s smart and polite. You’re definitely not from these parts of the woods.” Your words briefly put him at ease, but then his body language shifts once more when you slide your hands across your barely covered skin and throw your head back to give him a full view of your stretched neck. You flutter your eyes at him when you return his gaze, amusement washing over you as soon as he clears his throat and pretends to study his surroundings.
“The color of the room isn’t pleasing to you.” You comment when you notice the pout he gives at the dominating color overshadowing the two of you, and for a split second, you are distracted by thoughts of him dominating you right at the center of this very room.
“Red is not my color, but it will suffice for now.” Your amusement turns into irritation when you realize his attempts of painting an untruthful image of himself for your sake at the expense of his discomfort. The thought of being the cause of his tense muscles and uneasy aura makes you uncomfortable, and you stop your routine long enough for him to take notice and finally meet your eyes again.
“I’m sure it isn’t…Master Jedi.” You assumed he would reveal his identity to you as soon as you walked into the room, but the fact that he was taking so long to start the session was beginning to hold the opposite effect of whatever he was intending. When a rather shocked and almost lost expression meets your curious orbs, you groan in regret for revealing your knowledge of his identity.
Kriff, he wasn’t planning on telling you at all.
“Don’t act so surprised…and don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone what you are. Tell me then, which of those lovely gentlemen I spent time with last week recommended me?” You sigh in relief when his shoulders visibly relax at your admission, and you sway your hips down to the ground until you’re kneeling across from him. He gulps nervously and finally allows his eyes to roam your body when you palm the pole and bring your thighs around the cold metal. Slowly, you raise yourself and rub your core against the pole long enough to startle him. The lewd motions come to a stop, however, when he responds to you with yet another question.
“I beg your pardon?” His voice is hoarse, that you are sure of, and you decide to put him out of his misery and settle down for a moment until he answers your question. Unfortunately for him, your lack of movement seems to distract him further, and you clear your throat loudly to snap him out of whatever spiraling thoughts overtaking his mind. He must notice the deeper shade his features are becoming because he reaches for his beard and strokes it as if he was searching for an answer in response to an important business question.
“Don’t be shy, tell me. I only wish to repay them the favor for sending me such a fine specimen as yourself.” You coo at him, hoping that the calm tone of your voice would in turn pacify him, or at the very least, show that you meant him no harm. He blinks at you in confusion before he inhales deeply, and you swear he is purposely trying to hypnotize you with his body language, the thought coming to you rather humorously because it was your job to flirt with him, not the other way around.
“I- I am uncertain to whom or what you are referring to.” He is rather serious when he finally breaks the silence, and your smile fades for a moment at the odd sentiment before you nod in return and smirk at him yet again.
“Huh, so you’re not here on recommendation…which means, you’re here by luck or you’re on the job.” You raise an eyebrow when his jaw clenches tightly, and if it wasn’t your job to read people with one glance, you would have missed the way his entire body becomes rigid at your conclusion. He breaks your gaze and quickly scans the room, the action letting you know that he was by no means in your company by accident.
No, he wanted to be here. Or perhaps, needed to be here for an important reason, one that left him no other option but to pay for your time.
“On the job then.” You sigh heavily before sauntering towards him, and making yourself comfortable to his left. You leave enough space between the two of you for his sake, not wanting to give him any reason to leave you so soon. There was something about his presence that felt oddly comforting, even though he clearly did not want to be here.
“How did you know who I am?” The Jedi finally asks, and you take the chance of finally meeting his eyes to bring both of your legs up onto the couch, and resting your cheek on your knees. Your skin glistens with goosebumps when he allows his attention to roam down your exposed skin, and you shrug your shoulders in response as soon as he looks at you with a warning expression.
“For one, your clothes give it away. Word of advice, if you want to lay low in these parts of town, don’t go around wearing your most Jedi-looking robes. Makes you stand out like eye candy…not that you need any help in that area.” The neutral look on his face falls for a split second when he registers the compliment, but you don’t comment on it, instead throwing your arm across the back of the couch until the tips of your fingers graze his cloak. He flinches at the sudden touch but relaxes almost immediately when he realizes you won’t become more bold with your handling of him.
“And I happen to know a few Jedi myself. Your kind comes by here all the time.” You tilt your head to the side and bite into your lower lip as soon as his eyes widen in shock at what you just admitted to him. But his eyebrows furrow soon after and he looks down to the floor, not bothering to hide the distaste of your revelation as he strokes his beard again.
Kriff, you desperately wanted him to stop doing that.
“Just because you don’t partake doesn’t mean others don’t as well.” Your tone is not as welcoming as before, and he must sense your dislike of his reaction because he shakes his head as if to apologize for how his reaction may have come off.
“You have…entertained Jedi before?” The reluctance swimming in between his inquisitive words almost makes you lean back in laughter, but you force those giggles down and instead dwell on his diction and the attempts at being respectful towards you.
“Oh I did more than entertain sweetheart, otherwise they wouldn’t keep coming back from more. I suspected one of them sent you here to let loose a bit and you were just making sure I’m up to standards, which is why it took you so long to come here, but it seems that I was mistaken.” To his credit, the Jedi Master tries his best to give you his undivided attention as you respond to him, but you choose to look anywhere but his eyes for fear of giving yourself away should he finally understand how much of an effect he has on you.
“May I ask who had the pleasure of your company?” You are a little surprised by his line of questioning, mostly because you didn’t think he would want to know anything of the sort, let alone discuss other Jedi’s intimate habits in the presence of someone who clearly knew more than she was letting on.
“A girl doesn’t kiss and tell, Master.” As soon as that last exclamation leaves your lips, the man inhales deeply and hides his blush behind a thoughtful expression. His eyes betray him, however, when you watch him drag his intense gaze down your body before zeroing in on your lips.
“Hmm, and it wouldn’t be good for business if I go around and start telling people who I spend time with here. After all, you have a reputation to live up to. What would happen to the good people of Coruscant if they knew their beloved Jedi enjoyed fucking like animals in their downtime?” You look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, wanting him to know that you caught him eye-fucking you while pretending he wasn’t interested. The obscene response makes him wince, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s never heard profanity in his years serving the galaxy.
“My apologies, I forget how prudish some of you are.” You graze his arm with your fingers as you apologize, feigning innocence as you squeeze his clothed muscles before taking your hand away once more.
“I am not a prude.” He sounds a little amused, but you can tell he was still having a difficult time keeping up with this game.
“In that case, I will try to watch my language so I don’t offend your sensibilities.” Your declaration distracts him yet again, not because of the clear lies hidden behind your promise but because you choose to lower one of your legs and push it underneath the other, giving him a perfect view of your barely clothed pussy slowly soaking the flimsy material shielding you from his eyes. He knows what you’re doing, and you quietly applaud him for not falling into your trap so easily and turning his head towards the lighting of the room instead.
“Would you like me to change the color of the room then, perhaps match those pretty blue eyes of yours?” If you were being honest, those beautiful orbs were no longer blue, and you got the sense that he knew just as well how dilated his pupils were at the moment.
“That will be unnecessary, my lady.” His voice is more balanced than moments ago, more confident as it wraps deliciously around the title he decided to grace you with. You shouldn’t be surprised by his politeness, especially since he’s been nothing but respectful to you ever since he walked in. But you are stunned at the word he chose to call you, only because no one has ever associated you, in this line of work, with such a title before.
“I’ve been called many things before, never ‘my lady.’”
“I do not mean to offend you. If you wish-” Panic washes over him at your remark, and you reach for him once more to set his mind at ease when he stutters through an apology. He grows silent when he feels your hand grasp his forearm, but unlike before, when his whole body tensed at the mere touch of your hands, he doesn’t flinch now and slowly turns his whole body to face you.
“Relax sweetheart, I don’t care what you call me as long as you’re enjoying yourself.” You don’t let go of him just yet, wanting to test out his comfort with the proximity between the two of you.
“That is a rather horrifying sentiment, which I can happily discuss with you once my business here is finished.” The amusement is evident in his voice, and you chuckle at his need to illustrate his rather progressive opinion on your claims. If only he knew what the others called you when they visited your chambers every other week. The more you think about it, the more you recognize the deep need slowly filling your chest for him to call you all sorts of unholy names if it meant he was bringing you pleasure and using you for his own.
“Business then.” You break the silence out of fear of what you might do should he continue to look at you in such a way. The man had an uncanny ability of knowing just what to say and how to move to hypnotize you, and you were beginning to feel weak from the simple action of maintaining contact with his darkening blue eyes.
“I’m here for the man you have entertained several times this past week,” you admire his ability to move on from, what he probably considered, a rather uncomfortable conversation. But as the question settles in your mind, your admiration becomes nothing but a deep irritation. He was involving you in business you did not wish to be a part of, and whether or not he knew how dangerous this could be for you, you knew he would not leave until he got the information he came for.
“Ah, so that’s what this is about.” You move away from him and pretend to pick at the loose strands of one of the pillows behind you. His attention doesn’t falter once, and you hate how difficult it suddenly is to breathe in his presence. You got the sense that it would not be easy to lie to him and decide to feign ignorance instead.
“Has he ever spoken a word to you about any shipments he smuggles through Coruscant?” The Jedi Master continues his questioning, and you hate how quickly his tone turns from one of curiosity to hope.
“What shipments?” You ask in return and turn to look at him, instantly regretting the action when you realize he can sense that you are hiding something from him.
“He is a notoriously dangerous smuggler, my lady. He must have revealed even the smallest of details by accident.” The man shifts his body towards you, reaching out to touch your hands as they continue to fiddle with the black covers stretched around the pillow. A sizzling heat courses across your skin when you feel his warm hand atop your own, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was practically interrogating you on one of your clients, you would have returned the gesture and made him blush. Instead, you slip your hands away and relax against the back of the couch, the hint of hurt flashing across the gentleman’s features not going unnoticed by you.
“You must really think me a bore if you truly believe that “notoriously dangerous” men will speak of their work while I’m…what is it you said, entertaining them.” You respond perhaps a little too angrily, and you watch as his expression turns yet again to a somewhat neutral impression at your unnecessary outburst.
“I am sure you are marvelous in your craft but-” He looks to the ground as he speaks, but you don’t give him a chance to continue, knowing that he might easily get the upper hand on you if you let him soothe you over with gentle compliments.
“But I can’t be that good.” His gaze shoots up as soon as you throw those words at him, and you can’t help but smile when you see his attempts to hide his embarrassment. Against your better judgment, you cross your legs and slowly twirl your hair around your fingers, hoping that your confirmation of his suspicions would suffice for now and prevent him from asking more questions.
“Well, if you must know Master Jedi, Barlac did in fact mention a thing or two about the shipments he smuggles through here. But I’ll have you know, he only spoke of these matters when he was having a moment of respite. I work hard you see, and sometimes, my clients like to take a break before we return to our…extracurricular activities.” Without thinking much, you tease him about his earlier remark, barely managing to hold back your giggles when the pretty blush that spread across his cheeks a moment ago deepens and descends down to his neck.
“I see.” The curt response is reluctant, and you watch as he rubs his beard several times, most likely thinking of the name you had just given him.
“Don’t pout like that, it’s distracting.” You don’t realize what you blurted out until he looks up at you with nothing but shock filling his eyes, the hands on his chin ceasing all movement when he realizes you were being dead serious. Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of having the man touch you so intimately, but you knew better than to go down that line of thinking now of all times.
“Well, aren’t you going to make me an offer for the information?” You break the silence, hoping that the question distracts him from what you just admitted. You had assumed that he would jump at the chance, but when he relaxes against the back of the couch and rings his fingers, you realize that he was debating continuing this little chat.
“I have insulted you more times than I dare count, my lady. I fear I have lost any right I may have had to continue this conversation.” It is not the answer you expect out of him, especially now when you were willing to give him whatever knowledge he came for. The shy persona that takes over turns you on more than it should, especially when you have only pictured the Jedi in more compromising and violent positions, most of which involve you completely surrendering to his dominant demands.
“Do all Jedi give up this easily?” You let your arm fall behind him again, biting into your lower lip when you manage to touch the tips of his hair without having him shy away from you.
“Far from it, my darling. But unlike the others, I know when I should hold my tongue.” The pet name is surprising, so much so that you can’t control your thighs from clenching tightly as you imagine him calling you ‘his darling’ as he rails into you from behind.
“A true sign of a gentleman. But I still think you should try and make me an offer.” You are proud of how little you falter, more so because of how direct his gaze seems to be as he stares at you. There’s something on his mind, but you know better than to expect him to reveal it to you now so you brace yourself for whatever he is about to say.
“I will humor your remarks merely because you have been patient with mine. How much do you require in return for what you know?” He crosses his arms, and you swallow the lump in your throat at the slightly deeper and more strict tone his voice takes when he gives you his undivided attention yet again. Silence fills the space as you try your best to get control of the situation once more, but you know as soon as he smirks at you that you would never be fully in charge when it came to him.
“I have no need for your credits.” You bite your lower lip and wait for him to register what you’re after.
“You will have me beg only to refuse my offer?” His question is not the response you are hoping for, and you restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at him or simply straddling his lap to show him what you had in mind.
“You and I both know that cannot pass for begging. And besides, I may be cruel but only when I’m paid to be. I would never lead you on if I wasn’t sure you can deliver.” You are sure your words will drive the message across, but when he continues to look at you with nothing but confusion etched on his pretty face, you throw all caution out the window and get a little more forward with him. As slowly as you can, you slither your fingers across his jaw and down to his neck, not pausing for a moment as you descend to his chest and rest the palm of your hand on top of his heaving chest.
“What I want is not on the financial spectrum…but more physical in nature.” You make no other move on him, knowing that this is probably more than what he bargained for when he first entered the establishment. You sense the unease rolling off of him in heavy waves, and when you notice that he cannot take it anymore, you remove your hand and bring it to your nose, not caring for how ridiculous you look as you sniff it to try and get a whiff of his scent.
“P-Physical?” His voice breaks momentarily, and you almost apologize for making him uncomfortable, but then you study his body language and recognize all the signs you usually look for in a client.
The ones that tell you when they were ready for you.
“One hour of your time. That’s all I ask for.” You lean over until your lips almost touch his ears, whispering gently against his skin in hopes of easing whatever worries storming his mind.
“T-to do what exactly?” He clears his throat before he speaks, and if you weren’t still unsure of whether you were forcing yourself on him or not, you would have attacked his neck then and there to show him how much you craved him.
“I think you know.” He sucks in a deep breath at the sound of your confirmation, and you instantly regret how strongly you are coming onto him when you look down and see how tight he’s holding onto his knees.
“I- I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” It’s not the question you want to ask, but it is the one that escapes your lips when you finally move away from him and stand up. You have no right to ask him such an intimate question, and before you can apologize for your lack of propriety, the Jedi responds to you with such decisiveness that halts your thought process.
“Can’t.” He answers immediately, the quickness hurting you more than you cared to admit.
“I see.” You say nothing else as you lazily twirl around the cold pole in front of him, purposely letting the moment die out for his sake. He tries to catch your attention several times, but you ignore him and continue to distract yourself with the coolness sliding against your flushed skin.
“That’s hardly fair and you know it.” A hint of anger slips through his words, and you raise an eyebrow at him when you turn around and watch his features harden soon after. You were prepared to let it go, but the manner in which he gazes upon you, as if you were being unbelievably unhinged forces you to respond in kind.
“For me perhaps, certainly not for you.” You say in passing as you move towards the flasks on the table beside him. You don’t bother elaborating on your comment as you pour drinks for the two of you, but when you hand him his glass and watch the way his eyes shine with curiosity and reluctance, you sigh and step towards the pole on the platform once more.
“You’re telling me you find it unfair for you that I would both pleasure you and give you the information you seek in return for an hour of your time and no credits?” You down your drink instantly before setting it on the floor, unsure of where this conversation was now going.
“You cannot, in good faith, expect me to be so intimate with you, a complete stranger who may harm me in a moment of…vulnerability?” He hesitates, and you don’t bother stopping the laughter from bubbling up your throat at the last relayed sentiment. He must have considered you a great deal of danger if he thought you were capable of hurting him, a Jedi Master.
“Harm you with what? By all means, search me if you must.” You step towards him, and without thinking twice of why your actions could possibly prevent you from ever seeing him again, you unclip your bra and roll the straps down your arms, tossing it behind you before you place your hands on your hips and shrug your shoulders at him. The man’s eyes shoot wide open as he turns away from you to give you some semblance of privacy. You twirl around several times before seating yourself on the platform right next to his feet, purposely stretching your legs out to touch his calves. He glances at you once and clenches his jaw tightly when he notices your thighs fall wide open, giving him a perfect view of your clothed cunt.
“I- I think, perhaps, I should leave.” He’s finding it extremely difficult to breathe, that much you can tell, and you would consider it a small victory had it not been for the manner in which he rubs his knees harshly to focus on anything but your nude form.
“Hmm, maybe you are just shy after all.” You remark as you close your legs and cross your arms over your breasts to hide yourself from him.
“Well, it was worth a shot I guess. The shipments usually come at night once a week, not on an exact day from what I gathered though. I heard him say something about the new water supply cycle system? They’ll use it to smuggle things on and off world.” You can tell the second he registers what you’re telling him, his head snapping to you as soon as you start talking. You, on the other hand, can’t find it in yourself to look at him, especially now when you were barely clothed and giving him what he wanted all along. You come to regret the decision soon though, when you realize he was not planning on looking elsewhere as you continue to relay all that you knew.
“He also said they’re relying on heavily-populated areas to get by…said the best way to go unnoticed is by doing things out in the open on levels that are too busy for the guards to care for.” You dare to glance at him once, but as soon as you meet his eyes, you turn away instantly, unsure of what exactly his gaze was portraying at the moment.
“Next shipment is tomorrow night, not too far from here. Look for a restaurant with a logo that has a loth-cat riding on top of a droid…and I only know that because I remember him saying an extremely disgusting joke about paying to watch a loth-cat actually ride a droid…fucking bastard.” You try to ease the awkwardness of the circumstances the two of you now found yourselves in, but when he doesn’t budge, let alone make a sound to convey shock or gratitude, you stand up and turn to face the doorway, wanting to give both you and him a moment to collect yourselves before the eventual, awkward goodbye.
“If there’s nothing else, Master Jedi, I suggest you leave before-” The words die in your throat when you hear him stand up and approach you. Thinking that he was going to move around you to exit, you step aside and face the other way in an attempt to avoid his bold gaze.
“Little one,” the sound of his voice sends a bolt of lightning down your spine, momentarily distracting you from the cloud of compassion slowly showering you with warmth. It’s not until you feel his hand come up and rest on your shoulders that you realize he is not attempting to leave, but to turn you around so you could gaze upon you. You aren’t sure when your embarrassment is replaced with a need to touch him, and you can’t find it in yourself to care as you drop your arms from around your chest and reach for the robes tightly wrapped around his own. You rest both of your hands on top of his heart, wanting to feel grounded before the floor falls from beneath your feet as soon as he breaks the unbearable silence engulfing the two of you.
“You would part with such valuable information, knowing I could walk out this very instance and offer you nothing in return?” You don’t dare look up, afraid that you would break whatever semblance of control still left within you if you find kindness flowing within the blue orbs.
“I- I’m not cruel. I’ve been in this line of work long enough to know that being forced to be with someone takes away a part of you that you can never get back. I’d never want anyone to feel that way, especially someone like you who isn’t as used to this as someone like me.” The self-deprecating chuckle that fills the space between the two of you makes him flinch, and you finally muster up the courage to look up into his eyes when you notice his hands squeeze your shoulders tightly. What you find staring back at you is a feeling you never thought the universe could ever offer you, and you whisper an apology to amend whatever you said that made him uncomfortable.
“Besides, you’re just trying to do your job, and I won’t get in your way if it means you’re saving lives. My…desires…they’re nowhere near as important as whatever you’re trying to do.” The reluctance that halts you right before you admit your need for him makes him inhale deeply and you remove your hands from his body as soon as he takes a step back and walks behind you. You turn around just in time to see him remove the outer robe shielding him from your eyes.
“What- what are you doing?” You ask as he folds it neatly and sets it aside, not once bothering to pay you any attention as he unhooks the infamous, deadly weapon from the belt around his waist and sets it above his robes.
“You asked for an hour of my time,” the man finally responds, and you watch as he sits back on the couch and crosses his legs, the smile etched on his features letting you know that he was far from joking, “and an hour you shall get.”
“As much as I want this, I see reluctance and regret swimming in your eyes. I will not have you this way.” You bite back at him, not caring for your nudity as you approach him and point towards the door. You hope he can see how deadly serious you are in wanting him to leave, the mere thought of touching him in any manner after the clear discomfort he’s revealed to you making you more angry than you wished to be.
“Then in what way shall you have me?” He raises an eyebrow at you as he reaches for his drink and sips from it leisurely, as if he had all the time in the galaxy to continue having this conversation with you. If it weren’t for the fact that he was currently getting on your very last nerve, you would have spent more time admiring his reddened lips as they glistened with the corellian whisky he has ordered on every visit to the establishment.
“As long as you want this as well, I’ll have you in whatever way you’re most comfortable with. But again, I don’t think you truly want this so-” You fiddle with your fingers, the anger surrounding you suddenly ebbing away with each passing moment you continue to hold his gaze. He had an uncanny ability to set you at ease with just a glance, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was a Jedi that may have been controlling you—at least that’s what the rumors always said—or if it was because it was him.
“If- if I asked you to do what you wish with me without removing any of my robes, would you still want me?” He clears his throat mid question, and you snort in response at the absurdity of it. His demeanor, and quick avoidance of your eyes as you chuckle at him, confirm your suspicions from early on.
He had no sense of self-awareness, at least not when it came to understanding how inherently attractive he was.
“I find it difficult to think of any circumstance in which I wouldn’t want you. I have spent a great deal of time thinking of you in the past week. So, believe me when I tell you that I- maker, I desperately want you.” As much as you hate to admit it, you know that there is no point in lying to him after the past few minutes. You are defeated, and it surprises you how little you are annoyed by the admission you just offered him. Whereas you usually try to entice your clients enough for them to spill their desires to you first, you realize that this is much different than all of the others. You want him to know how much you crave him, even if it made you appear pathetic in his eyes. It was preposterous to ever admit to holding feelings for a Jedi, that much you knew from your time with the others, but to be so forward in your neediness in front of one was a one-way ticket to absolute madness.
“You barely know me, sweet one.” The deep accent, mixed with the endearing pet name easily falling from his lips, make you shiver where you stand, and you make your way to the couch to sit down beside him.
“I know enough. I know that touching you, even above your clothes, would give me pleasure I have not known in a long time. I know that looking into your eyes as I dance for you would make my heart beat faster because you- you seem like the kind of man who enjoys holding eye contact when you’re…being attended to. And- and I know that hearing you speak to me in that lovely accent of yours, no matter what you say, would make me come in a matter of minutes.” You wrap your arms around your shoulders again, suddenly feeling shy beneath his gaze. The way his body seems to buzz with energy with every confession you relay to him should have put your mind at ease, but when you look down and notice how tightly his fingers dig into his clothes, you can’t help but become more affected by his presence, and the clear way in which he was reacting to you in return, as if he was barely holding himself back from touching you.
“You don’t have to do much for me to be at your will.” You finally manage to turn your attention to him, and you regret it almost instantaneously when you see the mischievousness etched in his dilated pupils.
Fuck, maybe you weren’t so far off in reading his body language after all.
“Is that so?” His voice is deep, much deeper than a second ago, and you gulp nervously as you acknowledge the reason behind such a change.
“Yes, Master Jedi.” Your answer lingers in the tense air, and you rub your thighs together when you notice his jaw clenching tightly at the sound of his title being whispered with a lewdness unfit to be aimed at him.
“Obi-Wan.” He says as he reaches for his drink, chuckling to himself when he turns back to you and sees confusion written in your eyes.
“My name, sweetheart, is Obi-Wan.” He repeats, and it takes you a moment too long to finally register the name he just claimed as his own. A hint of shock and apprehension takes over you, and if the Jedi Master notices the way your body becomes on edge as soon as you replay his name in your mind, he doesn’t comment, not wanting to give you any reason to feel fearful as well.
“Y-you’re General Obi-Wan Kenobi?” You don’t mean for your voice to come out as squeaky as it does, but the smile that greets you sets your mind at ease. Had you known the man you have been dreaming of for the past few rotations was Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, you would have attempted to stop your mind from wandering sooner.
“You are familiar then?” He asks, as if he doesn’t know that his reputation precedes him everywhere he goes.
“No wonder they leave your image out of the holos…you’re too damn beautiful for your own good. One look at you and the Temple would get an influx of job applications just so people can glance at you.” You allow your eyes to roam down his form more obviously this time, wanting to show him that you were not afraid of continuing whatever game he was playing with you.
“Flattery will not gain you another hour, dear heart.” Obi-Wan teases as he rubs his auburn beard, and once again, you can’t help but lick your lips as you watch his fingers comb through his hair with ease, pretending they were caressing your own chin as you gave yourself to him.
“It’s not flattery, believe me. I’ve seen my fair share of handsome men from across this galaxy, but I must say…none have ever made my mouth water with the mere sight of them.” You say as you cross your legs and throw your arm over the pillow in between the two of you. Ever the gentleman, his eyes never once drop to your breasts, and you get the sense that he was trying his hardest to pretend that he didn’t want to memorize every bit of your nude skin.
“Maker, your tongue is a dangerous weapon, one I should disarm before it causes any more damage.” He turns to face you, mirroring your actions and throwing his own arm behind the back of the couch. His fingers almost descend to touch your forearm, but he holds himself back, unsure of whether he was allowed to be so familiar with you or not.
“If you give me the chance, I can show you just how dangerous it can be.” Unlike him, you stop shying away from his touch, and extend your fingers above until they come in contact with his clothed biceps. You thought he would flinch as soon as he felt your fingers, but he doesn’t and decides to return in kind. He moves his hand down and caresses the top of your shoulder with two fingers, smirking to himself when he sees goosebumps erupt across your skin instantly.
“As tempting as that sounds, I do believe you owe me a dance.” Obi-Wan refuses to take his eyes off from where he’s warming you with his touch, and against your better judgment, you lean down far enough until you feel his knuckles bump against your cheek. You pray that he understands what it is you’re asking of him, and when he lets go altogether and returns far from your reach, you sigh with desperation and move to the platform in front of him.
“Before we start, I need to ask. What am I allowed to do to you?”
“Whatever you desire, as long as it leaves no visible markings.” Obi-Wan’s self-assured smile drops for a moment before it graces his features again, and if you weren’t already so desperate to attend to him, you would have stopped and reminded him that he was welcome to leave any time he wanted to. You twirl once around the pole before making your way to the screen at the other end of the room, scrolling through the varying tunes to find one that you thought perfect for him.
“Where can I touch you, Master Obi-Wan?” You ask as you continue your search, not wanting to turn around until you are sure of the song.
“Wherever you please, my lady.” Whereas he took a few moments to respond to your previous questions, his reply is instantaneous, making you smile at how affected he was quickly becoming by you. As your eyes dance over the different tunes, your fingers stop sliding across the screen when you finally find what you’re looking for. You select the track and clear your throat before turning around to face him.
“You are sure?” You ask one last time, not wanting him to feel any ounce of regret before you begin.
“Positive.” He says as he takes another sip from his drink and licks the droplets adorning his lower lip.
“What if I- if the moment calls for it, may I kiss you?” You approach the pole slowly, reaching for it and sliding your palms up and down the cold steel while maintaining eye contact with him. He chooses this moment to finally take in your nudity, and you nearly topple over when you see him bite his lip and slide one of his hands down his chest until it rests against his navel. You follow the movement like a loth-wolf, only looking away when he clears his throat and speaks.
“You are a needy one, aren’t you?” He scratches his stomach lewdly, and for a brief moment, you think he may move his hand a little lower to cup his crotch and relieve the pain he was surely feeling.
“Please?” You beg as innocently as you can, batting your eyelashes at him as you trail your fingers across your breasts until he groans lowly and slithers his hand lower.
“Since you plead so sweetly, yes. You may kiss me if you wish…wherever you want.” Obi-Wan adds the last bit when he sees you getting distracted by the slow movement of his hand across his crotch, laughing to himself when you trip over your own feet and nearly topple over.
“Maker,” you barely manage to stand up again, reaching for the pole with both of your hands so you don’t embarrass yourself and fall over before you even start. You want to narrow your eyes at him for playing dirty with you, but as the low beat of the song increases in volume, you do your best to shut him out of your mind long enough to regain your composure. As the words finally wash over the room, you twirl around and gently lower your body down the pole, never once breaking eye contact with Obi-Wan as you let the music lead you through the slithering movement.
With each touch of your fingers against your damp skin, Obi-Wan feels his pants growing tighter around his cock, and you smile to yourself when you notice his smirk falter for a breadth of a second before his face suddenly turns blank. You fear that you may not be pleasing to him, but as he drags his attention down your form and palms his crotch slowly, you throw your head back and sigh in relief. You wanted to show him what he’s missing, and as you move to the ground and arch your back along with the sensual tune, you turn to face him again and bite into your lower lip, not caring for how wanton you may appear to him as you spread your thighs wide open and push two fingers into your mouth.
To his credit, he somehow doesn’t react to your behavior, but you notice the hint of red making its way across his sweaty skin as you slide your fingers down your sternum and stomach, making a mess of your drool as you continue until your fingers touch the edge of your lace panties. Obi-Wan doesn’t blink, and part of you wants to ask him if he was feeling unwell, tease him a bit like he has for the past week, but you choose to say nothing and push your fingers into your panties.
He takes in a deep breath through his nose, the hissing sound making you gush down your thighs almost instantly. The sound is more erotic than it should be, and you forgo every reason why you shouldn’t do what you’re about to do next. Before you can think twice of it, you push the flimsy article of clothing aside and rub the wetness glistening across your cunt.
Obi-Wan’s expression becomes stern, and his muscles seize up as soon as you push the tips of your fingers past your wet folds, the shallow thrusts driving out more of your cum for his eyes to commit to memory. He swallows thickly and tilts his head forward, wanting to get a better view of your pussy as you alternate between teasing your clit with figure-eights and pushing your juices in and out of your cunt until they stream down your cheeks.
As soon as he leans his whole body towards you however, you remove your fingers from between your legs and push your body up, kneeling directly in front of him so you can rest your hands on your thighs. The Jedi Master clenches his fists tightly, and you hope that this is what finally pushes him to claim you. But when he doesn’t move another muscle, you pout and fall forward on your hands. Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at you, and you aren’t sure if he is angry or unbelievably horny at your teasing. You pray to the maker that it’s a bit of both, and just to push your luck further, you crawl his way and tap against his knees, silently asking him if you are allowed to touch him any further. He says nothing, and for a second, you think he may actually shake his head and ask you to move away from him. Thankfully, you don’t turn your attention elsewhere and manage to notice the little nod of consent he offers you.
As carefully as possible, you move to your feet and turn around, bending down one last time as the music shifts to give him a perfect view of the wet fabric shielding you from his hungry eyes. He moves his hands away from his legs in time for you to descend down and seat yourself in his lap. His thighs are wide open and you shiver when you get comfortable and feel his hard cock jut against your asscheeks. You roll your hips several times and laugh when you glance to the side and see his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s fisting his hands.
Not wanting to drive him away, you throw one leg over each of his thighs and lay back until you can feel his firm stomach support your back. You look up and giggle at the furious gaze already aimed at you, the sound only making the Jedi Master’s eyes glow dangerously. This close, you can smell the intoxicating, masculine scent of him, and it makes you dizzier with each breath you take. For a moment, you forget what you’re meant to be doing, but when the song reaches a high note, you remember your mission and reach your hands above your head, softly caressing the skin of his neck and feeling a sense of pride fill your chest when you feel how hot he is.
You’re about to ask him if he is still willing to have you continue your dance when the song changes and distracts you. As the tune registers in your mind, goosebumps erupt across your skin at the prospect of being at the mercy of the gentleman beneath you. You had expected him to be more disheveled by now, but when you sit up and turn around in his lap, you find him quiet and direct in his gaze. You falter in your actions, unsure of what you should be doing now that you can see how less affected he was than you. You want to break the tense silence filling the air, but as your eyes take in the specimen of the man, you can’t help but reach out and rest both of your palms against his chest. It expands as soon as you begin to gyrate your hips once more, and before you know what you’re doing, you move one hand to his broad shoulders while the other descends down and digs into his stomach. He’s all hard muscle beneath you, and your breath hitches at the prospect of being underneath his body, with nowhere else to go, unable to do anything that he doesn’t allow.
The sound of his soft laugh scares you out of your haze, and you remove your hands immediately, not wanting to offend him by your forwardness. Before you can completely move off of him, however, Obi-Wan reaches for your wrists and pulls on them until you’re seated fully on top of him again. His eyes roam down your flushed skin before returning to your own dilated orbs, not saying anything as he continues to chuckle and puts your hands on his chest. He doesn’t let go until he’s sure you won’t move away from him, and as soon as he removes his grip, you mourn the loss of his touch, looking down at your skin to see if the fire spreading across your fingertips was real or if it was merely a feeling he imprinted on your body.
“I- I must really not be pleasing to you if you’re looking at me and laughing.” You crack a smile, but it barely reaches your ears. You hope that he doesn’t notice how disappointed you are in his reaction to your performance, but when you turn your attention from his collar to his features, you can tell that he can see the sudden lack of excitement exuding from your whole body.
“It is not your performance I find amusing, little one, but the manner in which you gaze upon me.” Obi-Wan remarks as he allows himself to touch you more intimately, sliding his palms up and down your thighs as if he was trying to calm down a loth-cat. You shiver at the contact, not bothering to hide the effect he was having on you as you melt against him and slowly place your hands atop his. He doesn’t stop, and instead smiles softly at you as he reaches past your upper thighs and grabs your hips. He squeezes you gently, and when your breath hitches at the heat spreading across your form, he holds onto you a little bit harder until you can’t help but meet his gaze.
“How so?” The question barely comes out louder than a whisper, and you watch with fascination as the Jedi Master shamelessly eyes your heaving chest and licks his lips at the sight of your hardened nipples.
“Of the two of us, I am more decent. Yet you look upon me as if I am a jorgan fruit when it is I who should consider you among the ripest of sweets.” The eloquence with which he speaks elevates your heart rate, and you don’t realize how hard you’re breathing until he drags one of your hands to his mouth and lays the softest of kisses right above your wrist. You stop breathing altogether, too captivated by the gesture to focus on anything but him, and the confidence he exuded with something as simple as a kiss.
Obi-Wan doesn’t let go of you, not even when you look away from him and attempt to get back to what you were doing before. He rests your hand on his chest again, letting go of you only to drag his fingers across your nude form until he has your waist beneath his touch. You expect him to guide you across his lap, but he does nothing of the sort, opting to just keep his touch on your heated skin while you take whatever you want from him.
“Hmm, it’s a shame they hide you behind all those hideous Jedi robes.” You say as you guide your hands up and down his chest, not caring for how wanton you must appear to him as you slide one of your fingers past the brown robes covering his chest so you can get a little closer to his body. You know he must be wearing multiple layers but something about feeling his muscles a little better than before sends you into a frenzy, and you roll your hips against his crotch in an attempt to get a rise out of him.
But he wouldn’t be who he is if he didn’t have unspeakable self-control, and you silently curse him for being so contained when he doesn’t even increase pressure on your waist or change his expression to warn you. He just stares, and although the blue in his eyes is barely visible, you can tell that he isn’t going to fall to your antics any time soon.
“Then again, we can’t have you walking around distracting everyone with your impressive form.” You lean forward until his breath fans over your cheeks, and as you turn to the side to kiss his jaw, you slide your hands up his body and cup his neck to make sure he won’t turn away from you. To your surprise, his grip tightens around your waist and pulls you firmly against him. You’re not sure if he wants you to comment on the thickness hitting your inner thigh or not, but you say nothing and enjoy the slow and steady movement he’s leading you through against him.
“On second thought, maybe they should put you in more revealing robes. You can distract the enemy with those thick thighs of yours, perhaps even your hands.” You shut your eyes and whisper into his ears, giggling against his skin as he digs his nails into your muscles and forces you to stop. You want to lean back to get a better look at him, but something tells you that if you were to make eye contact with him now, you would forgo whatever self-respect you still had and get on all fours for him. Thankfully, Obi-Wan breaks the silence and responds to your brazen remarks.
“I have heard many compliments before, but never one addressing my hands.”
“That’s a shame, Master Obi-Wan,” you sit up slowly and wait until you have his undivided attention before you take hold of one of his hands, winking at him as you intertwine your fingers with his own and squeeze them gently, “your hands are the first things I noticed about you.”
“Hmm.” Obi-Wan hums when he sees you drag his hand to your mouth until your lips come in contact with one of his fingers. The low sound emanating from his chest makes you shift across his lap to alleviate the pressure threatening to embarrass you further, and you stick your tongue out to lick the tip of his thumb as soon as you notice his eyes roam down your body and almost take notice of the damp material shielding you from him.
“The way you rub your beard with them when you’re in deep thought makes me wish I could feel them on my skin. They’ve been on my mind all week long if I’m being honest.” You somehow manage to confess your desires to him without tripping over your words, and you choose to suck his thumb deeper into your mouth right as he attempts to respond to you.
“And what-” the words die in his throat as soon as he feels the heat of your mouth engulf his thumb completely, and he clenches his jaw tightly when your tongue swirls around his finger several times until it’s completely drenched with your drool. “I apologize, what have you thought of when you studied them?” He manages to ask when you finally stop torturing him, but the relief barely remains because you drop his hand suddenly and throw your head back in pleasure when his palm accidentally grazes your breast, the wet thumb barely coming in contact with your nipple before he’s snatching his hand away as if you were molten fire. You snap your attention back to him a moment later, smiling to yourself when you see his pink features blush a deeper shade of red.
Unlike before, when you could clearly see discomfort etched across his entire body from how intimately you were touching him, you’re taken aback by how oddly calm he is now, and you gyrate your hips a little more aggressively on top of him when you feel his hands grab even harder onto your waist and push you back and forth against him. Neither of you say anything as he slowly moves against you, and you return your attention to his chest in an attempt to ground yourself. The last thing you expected from him, especially after the earlier conversation, was to be so comfortable in touching you, let alone allow you to be so forward with him. You bite into your lower lip when you see him wet his unfairly-kissable lips, and as he mirrors your actions and his eyes darken the longer he looks at you, you moan at the thought of finally tasting him.
“I thought about if they would feel soft as you trailed them across my neck…or if they would feel calloused from battle as you- maker, as you touched me somewhere more intimate.” Throwing all caution aside, you slither both of your hands down his body until they’re right above his wrists, and before you can get embarrassed by what you’re doing, you drag one of them up your body until he cups one of your breasts, pushing the other one in between your thighs to show him just how much you want him. Obi-Wan sucks in a harsh breath at finally feeling the effect he is having on you, and he barely manages to hold back from fondling your tits or slipping his fingers past your wet panties. He doesn’t dare move a muscle, afraid that whatever spell the two of you were bound by would evaporate and he would be reminded why he shouldn’t be here, beneath you, allowing you to touch him so carelessly. Before he can take his hands back, however, you finish the rest of your confession and send his thoughts into a frenzy, one he hoped he would never fall into again.
“I thought of how difficult it would be for me to break from them if you held me down as you- stars, as you moved against me.” With each word you whisper to him, you thrust your crotch harshly against the hard outline on his trousers, all the while moaning his name when his hands flex unintentionally and send a strike of pleasure down your spine. He is yet to move his fingers on top of you, but you find ecstasy in the warmth of his skin regardless. When you look down and see his eyes glaze over with pure desperation, you stop moving your hips and lean forward until you’re a hairbreadth away from his lips.
“I thought of how deliciously painful they would feel if you tugged on my hair as you, hmm.” You don’t finish the rest of your sentiment, a part of you hoping that this would be the push he needs to put the two of you out of your misery. Obi-Wan says nothing for what feels like hours, but as soon as you tilt your head to the side and hover your lips over his, he breaks the silence and shuts his eyes in anticipation.
“As I what?”
He expects you to finish what you started, let go and mold your lips with his until neither of you can breathe. He even parts his lips and leans forward to let you know that he doesn’t mind whatever you want to do to him. But when he doesn’t feel you grow closer to him, his eyes flutter open and he furrows his eyebrows as he registers the smirk etched on your pretty features.
“I don’t want to offend your sensibilities, remember?” You whisper to him teasingly, and if Obi-Wan hadn’t spent decades mastering the art of self-control, he’s sure he would have had you caged beneath him on the floor within the blink of an eye. You raise a curious eyebrow at him, letting out a faint giggle when you look into his eyes and see the fury threatening to overtake you at any given moment. In all honesty, you expect him to pull you into his embrace and kiss you harshly until you can’t feel anything but him. You even thought he would ask you before he would do such a thing, seeing as he was more of a gentleman than the others who visited you.
Or so you thought…
What you don’t expect, however, was to suddenly feel his hand combing through your hair and tugging on it violently until the only thing you could register was the pain spreading across your scalp. You fall forward rather unceremoniously, crying out in a mixture of ecstasy and hurt when he drags the other hand up your body and rests it across your neck. You barely have any time to come to terms with what’s happening, and as you try to sit up so you can look into his eyes, the Jedi Master brings you flush against him and sits up, not bothering to apologize for the way he’s manhandling you as he applies more pressure on your neck to grab your attention.
“As. I. What?” He spits the words out while studying your features for any discomfort, and you smile deeply at him the harder he chokes the air out of your lungs. The hand in your hair tugs violently onto your locks and you try to throw your head back to move along with him, but he doesn’t let you, instead keeping your head centered so you can’t look anywhere else but into his eyes. What you find staring back at you should be terrifying, the sheer need to possess and claim every bit of you coming to light so naturally to him, but you swallow the lump in your throat and surrender yourself completely to him, knowing that you would never be safer than you were in this moment.
“As you fucked me until the whole of Coruscant knew who was making me feel so kriffing good.” You choke through the words, whimpering his name to plead with him one last time in hopes of finally getting what you want. The sound of his name falling from your lips must be all he needs to hear because your entire body falls forward soon after, and you are met with a pair of soft, hungry lips covering your own in a heated kiss. You're shocked by the turn of events, but the surprise wears off a second later when Obi-Wan sneaks his tongue into your mouth and begins to taste you. You want to maneuver yourself to get more comfortable, but the hold he has on you doesn’t give you any room to move a muscle without his approval. He must know what you want to do because he tilts your head to the side and moans as you melt against him and part your lips wider. You shiver at his dominant touch, grasping onto his robes to keep yourself grounded when the hand in your hair slides down your backside and pushes you impossibly closer to him.
Your lips fall apart at the intimacy of the moment, and you feel your skin flush with goosebumps at being so naked with a fully-dressed Jedi beneath you. He doesn’t slow down once, continuing his assault on your lips until you can no longer breathe, until the only option left for you is to silently beg him to break apart. Your heaving chest draws his attention for a fraction of a second, his eyes trailing down your neck to your sternum with a hunger he never thought he would feel again. When you don’t open your eyes, Obi-Wan leans down and licks across your clavicle, moaning your name repeatedly as the taste of your sweet perfume and sweat seeps into his senses. You call out his name repeatedly, pushing your breasts closer to his mouth in an attempt to tempt his lips to wrap around your nipples and stake his claim on you. Obi-Wan takes advantage of your incoherence, pulling away from your nude body until you were no longer experiencing the heat of his body. He waits until your eyes flutter open before he completely lets go of you and rests his hands on his thighs.
“Good girl, now get on your knees.” He eyes your shaking form and chuckles to himself at the ease with which he already has you wrapped around his finger.
“W-what?” You try to escape the haze he’s placed you under, but all you can think of is the heated look he’s giving you as he reaches over and grabs his drink. You’re still seated in his lap, but unlike before, when he ensured you were touching every bit of him, Obi-Wan spreads his legs wider until you can only straddle one of his thighs.
“I said, on your knees.” He nods towards the ground, taking a sip from his drink and making a show of swallowing the bitter liquid as you obey him and move to the space in between his thighs. You keep your hands on his knees, unsure of where exactly you were allowed to touch him. Your compliance makes his cock painfully hard, and he hisses in discomfort when he tries to adjust himself and only brings his crotch closer to your mouth. It’s getting extremely difficult to breathe, and Obi-Wan attempts to distract himself by reaching for your hair and moving it to the side so he can take a better look at you. You follow his touch like a kitten, and he bites into his cheek to prevent himself from dragging you against the wall and shoving his cock into your wet pussy until you couldn’t feel anything but him. He snatches his hand back, afraid of what he would do to you should you continue chasing his touch the way you are now.
“Now, be a dear heart and make yourself come on my shoe.” Obi-Wan commands with a dominance you never thought you would be at the receiving end of, let alone from him. Sure the other Jedi tended to lean towards similarly assertive tendencies, but something about the tone with which he was aiming at you now made you clench your thighs and sigh in desperation.
“I- I don’t think I can.” You respond with feigned innocence, wanting him to slowly approach the point of no return with you. You had a feeling he was capable of much more than he was showing you now, and you wanted to see how far you can go before he would lose it all together and do whatever he pleased with your willing body. However, Obi-Wan was much smarter, and even more patient, than you gave him credit for. He smiles deeply, an expression you would have credited to a Sith than a Jedi, and leans down until you can practically taste his breath on your tongue.
“Perhaps you would be more willing to try if I offered you an incentive? Make yourself come on my shoe before I finish my drink,” he makes a show of swirling his drink around until he was sure you were giving him your undivided attention, “and you can use either of my hands for your own pleasure. I will, of course, happily oblige should you need the necessary…motions.” His eyes glisten dangerously, and had you not seen his kindness firsthand, you would have thought him capable of the most vicious mind tricks, ones that led you into this very moment purposely. You eyes the drink for a moment before gazing into his eyes, not bothering to hide your nervousness as you swallow the lump in your throat and reach for his hand. He doesn’t move a muscle, taking in the way you caress his knuckles slowly with one finger before enveloping his whole hand with your own. Neither of you is sure whose skin is running hot, but you don’t dwell too long on it, certainly not when he was letting you touch him so closely without disagreement. You pass your fingers gently over the veins adorning the top of his hand, and if you weren’t being asked to make a decision quickly, you would have asked him if it was possible to worship both of his hands to further prove how much you ache for him.
But that wasn’t the case, and you needed to give him an answer soon, before he thought twice of what he was doing and retraced his words.
“But you said that I can’t leave any visible markings on you!?” You mean to tease him further, long enough to prepare yourself to do whatever he wants, but your words have a somewhat opposite effect on him because a flash of regret, just a slight bit, passes through his features before the smile settles again. You expect him to come to his senses now, realize that he shouldn’t be doing this with you, but the opposite occurs, and you sink comfortably against him as he leans back and relaxes against the couch.
“The terms have changed,” the effortless manner with which he answers you makes you shift closer to him, and you grab onto his thigh when he widens his stance and moves his leg until the leather of his boot nestles perfectly in between your thighs, “and right now, I desperately wish to see you drench me with your essence.” Obi-Wan doesn’t react to your surprised expression, tilting his head to the side in amusement when you blink nervously at him as you look down and settle yourself on top of his shoe. You dig your nails into the fabric of his trousers in an attempt to have better control over your motions. The Jedi Master doesn’t move one muscle, wanting to see how willing you are to listen to him, especially now that he’s requested from you a rather embarrassing feat.
Ignoring the embarrassment quickly filling your lungs, you bite into your lower lip and look up into Obi-Wan’s eyes as you move your hips forward once. Your breath catches in your throat at the coarse sensation spreading up your spine, and you regret not taking off your panties before getting down on your knees for him. When you find nothing but sheer pleasure etched on Obi-Wan’s face, you buck your hips once more, moaning softly when you feel his foot move to rub against your clothed cunt a little more harshly. With each motion you take over his boot, the Jedi Master moves his foot along with you, all the while taking small sips from his drink to enjoy the effect he was having on you.
As your ministrations increase, you find more pleasure in the contact between your wet folds and the wet, rough patch of your lace panties as they catch against your clit each time Obi-Wan raises his foot or pushes it forward to stroke you harder. At a particular push from Obi-Wan, your body falls forward and you rest your cheek against his thigh. As soon as you hear his chuckle, you begin to fuck yourself on his shoe without a care for how you look, the need to reach your pleasure outdoing any shyness you may have held for acting like loth-cat in heat.
“Oh little one, you would truly obey any command I give you, wouldn’t you?” His chuckle should have pushed you away from him, made you realize how ridiculous you look as you use his foot to get off. But it holds the opposite effect on you, and you manage to look up through dazed eyes just in time to respond to him and push yourself down harder on his now soaking boot.
“Yes M-master.” Your response must not be what Obi-Wan expects because his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he clears his throat and takes another sip from his drink. He watches with fascination as you continue to ride his boot, briefly looking down at your shaking thighs to commit to memory the dance your body was gracing him with.
“Look at you, using my shoe to get off. You must be desperate to come if you’re acting like a cockdumb w-” He shakes his head as he talks down to you, and it’s only when you part your lips and bite into his thigh that he catches the words that were about to spill into the air and offend you. His body goes rigid, not because you seem to quicken your actions at the outburst of words he threw at you, but because he allowed himself to be careless enough to almost degrade you.
“Please, keep…keep talking,” you’re panting at this point, violently rubbing your pussy down on his foot to reach that little high he’s promised to extend should you obey his commands. When he doesn’t respond right away, you force yourself to look up at him and silently beg him to continue.
“I- I didn’t mean to-” Obi-Wan trips over his words, and you groan in irritation when you feel your orgasm begin to fade away now that he wasn’t moving his foot or talking you into coming on him.
“Stop fucking apologizing and keep talking. I don’t care what- what you say. Call me whatever you want to call me, just please…please keep talking.” You snap at him in anger, only to panic as you realize how he may react. Maker, if he chose this very moment to punish you for your words, for presuming to speak with him in such a way, you think you might actually die from the sheer sexual frustration he’s placed you under. A few silent moments pass, but you don’t stop once, widening your legs further so you can feel as much of the leather of his boot pass over your cunt as possible. You throw your head down, resting on his knee as you fuck yourself on his boot, and only when you sense him moving beneath you do you finally look up into his eyes.
“My darling girl is nothing but a whore for me, isn’t she?” His voice is raw, his tone almost as needy as you are, and you drag your lower lip in between your teeth as soon as he comes forward and whispers down at you. “You’re a whore for a Jedi Master you barely know. I have barely touched you, yet your sweet cunt is weeping for me, begging for me.” The truth overshadowing his words shouldn’t make you want him more, but you cry out his name as you wrap your mind around what he’s revealing to you. A small, more coherent voice in the back of your mind warns of the consequences of proving him right, but you brush it aside as his boot moves up and down against your clothed cunt. “That’s it, get my shoe nice and wet for me. Let me walk around with the scent of you etched on my clothes.” You move your hands up his thighs, closer to where you wish you can touch him, and Obi-Wan waits until your palms near his crotch before distracting your mind, winking once at you as he tips his drink back and swallows down the bittersweet drink.
“How do you feel, little star?” He sets the drink down on his other thigh as he rubs his mustache and beard, his chest filling with pride when he sees the effect such a simple action has on you.
“I- I want more, please.” You plead with him, letting go of his clothes to reach down and push your panties to the side. But Obi-Wan is much quicker, and you feel an invisible hold clasp onto your wrist and prevent you from moving so much as an inch. Shock replaces the shameless hunger that has overtaken your entire body, and you look down to see if he’s somehow grabbed hold of your hand without you noticing. When you see that there was clearly nothing wrapped around your skin, you shoot your attention back to him and gasp as realization washes over you.
Maker.
He was using the Force to control you.
Not even the other Jedi dared to dominate you in such a way. They often spoke of how unique and sacred their connection with the Force was. To be at the receiving end of such power, especially when it was Obi-Wan who was coaxing you into submission, made you feel special.
It was exhilarating.
“Give me what I asked for, and you will get more.” He says matter-of-factly, causing you to flinch at the sudden edge dancing in his voice. You don’t try to move your hand again, unsure of what would happen should he mistake your attempt to return your hand to his thigh as a silent request to let go of you. He must be able to read your mind somehow because he moves your hand back to his thigh for you, the corner of his mouth turning up into a grin as your body shakes with newfound energy. He doesn’t dwell too long on your reaction to having him control you through the Force, knowing that if he were to humor it for another second, he would have complete control over your body in the blink of an eye and decide to have his way with you.
“Kriff, can you at least ahh-” Your needy response snaps him out of his momentary haze, the sound of your voice turning into a rather inappropriate groan shooting straight to his cock. He can feel himself harden the longer he studies your ecstasy, and it takes every ounce of control in his body to not reach down and free his cock so he could shove it in your mouth.
“What does my needy little cockslut want? Use your words, my darling, and tell me what it is you desire.” He asks instead, hoping that you can distract him long enough to finally give him what he wanted ever since he walked into the room.
“Y-your hands.” The whispered confession makes him straighten his back, and were it not for the constant pull and push of your hips against him, Obi-Wan is sure he would have been the one begging you to touch him.
“How do you want them?” He humors you, knowing fully well that he isn’t going to retract his promise and give you his hand sooner than he intends.
“In my hair…a-around my throat, in my mouth…I don’t care Master, I just want you to touch me with your hands. Please, I’ll do anything you want.” The sinful exclamation hits Obi-Wan like a blaster, and he realizes quickly that his previous thought was far from the truth. He was sure of the extent to which you wanted him, but he never thought you were the type to be so lust-hazed and shameless to the point of outright telling him that you would do anything he asked of you just to have him touch you with his hands.
“You may regret those words, darling girl.” Obi-wan comments dangerously, and you frantically shake your head at him to prove to him that you are telling the truth.
“Oh maker, I’m so close. Please Master, touch me.” You beg one last time, praying to the maker that he has mercy on you and gives you what you need to finally reach that inevitable ecstasy. You’ve lost yourself to the sensation dragging deliciously against your wet cunt, focusing every last bit of your attention on rubbing your clit over the smooth leather of his boots repeatedly until you finally come and please him. As you drag your pussy over and over again, you vaguely feel him moving above you, and somehow manage to open your eyes just in time to see him stare you down as he brings the glass to his lips and drink down the last bit of whiskey, the few droplets adorning his lips forcing you to cry out in pain at the thought of not meeting his expectations, and in turn, missing out on feeling his hands roam over your body.
“No, no please I’m-” before you can finish whatever desperate plea threatening to make you look even more ridiculous, Obi-Wan slams the whisky glass down on the table beside him before reaching out and taking hold of your neck. You throw your head back to relish the hot, tight feeling of his palm as it squeezed your jugular tightly, only to gasp his name lewdly when his other hand twists in your hair and tugs on it until he has full control of your upper body. You part your lips in a silent scream, looking into Obi-Wan’s dilated orbs through heavy-lidded eyes as he brings your attention back to him in time to watch you fall apart at his touch. He parts his lips in kind, exhaling slowly as he commits to memory the intimacy of the moment, the quickness with which your beautiful, debauched features change as you’re on the verge of coming. The Jedi Master leans down even closer until he’s breathing the same air you are, and he tightens his hold on your neck one last bit, enough to push you over the edge and watch as you come undone for him.
“I…I’m cuh- ahhhh,” the words die in your throat as you seize up, and Obi-Wan uses this moment to his advantage, quickly moving his foot back and forth when he notices you are no longer able to move on top of him. He glances down just in time to see his boot glisten with your cum, and he swears silently at the filthy sight of your lace panties drenching further the harder he rubs his boot against you. He tilts his head to the side to lay the softest of kisses over your forehead, not bothering to stop his ministrations until he has coaxed every last ounce of pleasure from you. He had asked you to fuck yourself on his boot, and you obeyed him with enthusiasm. Although you didn’t particularly carry out his command, Obi-Wan understood the difficulty of what he asked. His “aid” had nothing to do with his need to mark your body with his touch or see evidence of your pleasure seep onto his clothes. Not at all.
At least that’s what he would tell himself long after he returns home.
His attention returns to you once more when he feels your body go limp against him. Your hands suddenly let go of his trousers and you sigh heavily as you melt into his touch. Obi-Wan feels an invisible string tug at his heart when he sees your vulnerability push through everything else threatening to distract him away from the intimacy of the moment. He’s unsure of the sudden emotions threatening to overtake him, and it’s only when he opens up to your Force signature that he finally understands the storm brewing in his chest.
You were, in every sense of the word, completely submitting to him.
And your Force signature, with its fiery and heated flares, was longing for the merest of touches from his own, somewhat controlled aura. He was shaking, partially from the trust you were offering to me, but mostly due to the yearning he felt through the Force, as if you were reaching out to him with reluctance and hope, wishing that he would offer you a similar sentiment.
His hold loosens around your neck as he becomes increasingly distracted by you, and as he tries to maneuver you around so you don’t fall to the ground, he accidentally moves his foot and causes you to flinch to life from how sensitive you probably were. A shiver courses down your spine at the touch of the leather in between your thighs, and you try to help him with your body weight, but fail miserably when it occurs to you that he’s truly rendered you motionless.
“Come here, little one.” He soothes your muscles as he drapes you over his lap, until you rest your head on his shoulder and your legs lay across his body comfortably.
“You did so well for me, so well for your Master.” Obi-Wan tilts your chin up, smiling down at the blissed out expression you grace him with before he leans down and kisses your forehead again. The hair of his beard tickles you softly, and when he begins to move away, you seek him out and slide your hands up his neck, wanting to touch as much of him as possible. He chuckles at your neediness, throwing his head back momentarily when you nuzzle into his neck and inhale deeply.
“T-thank you,” you whisper in return, all the while fisting your hands into the fabric of his beige tunic to feel grounded. It’s not possible to return to your senses so soon, but you feel as if your skin will crawl with ants if you aren’t touching him closely and relishing in the proximity he’s offering you so willingly. You stick your nose into the side of his neck as you bring yourself impossibly closer to him, wanting to commit his scent and his taste, and the rigidity of his muscular body to memory. The man has only teased you for the past week, even more so in the past hour alone, so you couldn’t pass up the chance of diving into this sensation if you could. He was here, in your arms, letting you do as you pleased with him as if you were more to each other than complete strangers, as if your link of work wasn’t accidently entangled with his for the time being.
Your eyes flutter open when your brain finally comes to again, and you’re met with a rather reddened patch of skin extending down from his cheeks to his neck. You turn away to take a better look at him, your breath hitching dramatically when you find his normally blue eyes almost as black as the night. It wasn’t as if you thought he wouldn’t be affected by your actions, but you were definitely shocked by the extent to which he was, especially when you were the one pleading for him to pull you towards that high. You blink once before you lean up and kiss his jaw, finding the thick hair adorning his handsome features more of a turn on that you cared to admit. He groans when your lips rest on his cheek, the simple gesture meant to illustrate to him the depths of your need instead sending a strike of heat straight to his cock. He hates that it makes him twitch in his pants, how soft your lips caress his skin, how heated it makes him feel when it doesn’t compare anywhere near what you just did to him.
For him.
When he’s sure you won’t mind it, Obi-Wan slips his hand over your clavicle and grabs the hair at the nape of your neck, waiting until you pull away from him before he breaks the silence.
“As promised…my hands to do with whatever you desire.” The cheeky comment breathes life into your body and you rest your head on his hand when you notice him trying to pull away. He pauses for a moment, looking across your features to commit every crease and every flushed skin to memory. Knowing that it would be unfair to hold out any longer, he takes his hand away and roams it down your body, briefly passing his palm over your nude torso as he pays every inch of you equal attention. You shiver when one of his hands wraps around your waist and squeezes you tightly, only to feel the other dig into your upper thigh until the flushed skin turned a lighter color.
Gods above. You hoped he could handle you a little harder, leave his mark for you to reminisce over long after he leaves. You’re close to asking him to do so even, but then you meet his gaze and instantly drop your focus to his reddened lips. Gone is the need to have him color your body with brushing devotion, the feeling immediately replaced with a desperation to have his lips engulf your own in a heated kiss overtaking your entire person until you can no longer hold back from asking him the necessary question.
“Master Obi-Wan, may I please kiss you?” You reluctantly inquire, never once breaking eye contact with him out of fear of missing any discomfort he may try to hide for the sake of “repaying” your hospitality. You’re about to spiral down that line of thought when Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows curiously at you, as if you just asked him a completely random, and unnecessary question.
“Have I not given you permission before, dear heart?” His hold tightens around you when your body moves, and you beg your heart to calm down, afraid that it may betray you and fool you into thinking that he fears you removing yourself from him.
“Yes but-” You try to explain to him that you value his consent above all else, but he doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else, launching himself forward and smashing his lips against your own. Whereas the earlier kiss stole your breath away with how aggressive and demanding it was, this one makes you forget how to function altogether. You shove your hands into his auburn locks as soon as you feel the hand around your back slide up to your neck and push on your head. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was as desperate for you as you were for him, but you don’t think on that, once again afraid of what your mind might run away with if you allowed it to humor such a sentiment. Parting your lips for him, you dare to sneak your tongue into his mouth to explore him as you dreamt for so long, sighing heavily against him when you’re met with an equally excited but more dominant tongue swirling around your own. The taste of him is intoxicating, somehow sweet and bitter at the same time. You think perhaps that the latter comes from the whiskey, but you realize that he may be a combination of both naturally.
It quickly becomes unimportant to you as soon as Obi-Wan growls into the kiss. Up until now, you’ve barely heard any reaction from him except for the occasional low moan, but here he was, assaulting you with a hunger you never thought you would be at the receiving end of, and revealing to you just how much he wants you. The sounds escaping his throat make you clench your thighs together, and you try to break the kiss to ask him if he can slip his hand in between your legs but as soon as you pull away, the fingers intertwined in your hair tug harshly and force you back against his lips. You don’t try to do anything of the likes again, content with surrendering yourself to the Jedi Master you prayed to the maker would spare you a second glance. It’s only when you accidentally grace your nails against his neck that he pulls away and swears openly against your mouth, his breaths coming in harshly and quickly, as if he was trying to breathe in the air leaving your lungs and nothing else.
“Oh sweet one, your lips must have been crafted by the angels, for they are the softest creation I have had the pleasure of touching.” Obi-Wan doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else, returning his attention to your lips once more in an attempt to make you forget everything except him. He becomes more bold, waiting until you sigh openly into his mouth before taking your lower lip in between his teeth and biting down on it. You’re not sure what it is that makes you jump in shock, the rather aggressive behavior he was allowing himself to experience with you or the sheer desperation that must be clouding his thoughts to the point where he felt the need to claim your mouth with such ferocity. You don’t bother trying to think of anything else except how full and dominant his lips feel around your own, and only when he pushes his tongue violently into your mouth that you suddenly have the urge to suck on it. You do without a second thought, hoping that he doesn’t find the action too childish or presumptive. His opinion on the matter is revealed instantaneously when he moans lewdly against you and tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss.
You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there drowning in each other, but when the need for air outgrows the desire for each other, Obi-Wan lets go and sits back against the couch, wrapping his arm around your waist to make sure that you won’t try to pull too far apart from him. He nudges your hair with his nose, taking in a deep breath to fill his senses with your sweet scent. He isn’t sure how to make sense of it, but he thinks that it compliments your Force signature well.
“You don’t need to say those words, I- I will do anything to make you feel good.” You interrupt his journey to memorizing every aspect of your presence, and it’s only when the self-deprecating claim finally registers in his mind that he leans back and frowns at you.
“You think my words are untruthful?”
“It…they’re not- I didn’t…” You’re not sure why his reaction makes you regret ever speaking your mind, but you cradle his neck as you try to explain to him why you had to tell him how you feel. Thankfully, Obi-Wan notices your struggle, and he removes his hand from your nude skin, mirroring your actions and cupping your cheek until you are forced to only look at him.
“Little one, if the past hour proved anything, it is that you are willing to offer yourself to me without anything in return.” He says strictly, the tone of his voice, although edgy, manages to soothe you into satisfaction. The contentment washing over you isn’t out of pride, as if you wanted to hear those specific words uttered from him, but more of a reflection of your insecurities when met with someone as kind and beautiful as him.
“I need not lie to get what I crave from you.” Obi-Wan continues, the thin cerulean line visible behind his dilated pupils shifting you back into a trance where he is the sole ruler of the universe.
“So I assure you, whatever falls from my lips journeys straight from my heart.” The conviction with which he delivers the soulfull sentiment sends you into a silent frenzy, and you try to thank him for putting your mind at ease, for understanding the battle currently storming across your mind, but all that comes out is his name, barely louder than a whisper, breathed enough only for him to hear, as if the universe would fall apart if anyone else heard you.
“Obi-Wan.”
“Besides, the acquaintance of your beauty, and honor, will never fail to amaze me. I- I find it difficult to speak less of the effect you have on me, sweet one.” He passes his thumb over your lower lip, utterly mesmerized by the tenderness and compliance returning his affections. The cloud misting over him lifts when Obi-Wan notices a hunt of giddy unrest fills his senses. He knows it’s not him, because he’s never felt this calm and wanting before, so he’s instantly alert because the prospect of being the reason behind the sudden spike of panic in your Force signature brings discomfort to the forefront of his mind.
“I- I need you. Now, please. Whatever you’re willing to give me, I- I just want you to touch me.” Your voice is shaking, a manifestation of whatever your mind and body were currently experiencing, and as much as the Jedi Master hates to admit it, it makes him feel better that your agitation was born out of the sheer need you reserve for him and not because he’s done something to upset you.
“Where do you want me to touch you?” He wonders as softly as he can, wanting to bring your nerves back down so you could tell him exactly what you want from him.
“Anywhere…e-everywhere.” Your breathing is somewhat less erratic than a moment ago, and Obi-Wan’s chest fills with pride and possession at the thought of being the sole reason behind your nearly-tangible arousal.
“Hmm, as tempting as that sounds,” he makes a show of drawing his eyes across your body slowly, licking his lips and humming in approval when he notices how hard your nipples are. He continues his journey down your form, already knowing where he most wants to touch you, but he decides to toy with you a little bit longer, wanting to drag this out as much as possible so your pleasure reaches a new height when he finally slips his fingers in between your thighs.
“Obi-Wa..ahhh-” you whine his name, only to throw your head back when you feel his fingers come to rest against your clothed, heated core. He has barely touched you, the palm of his hand only managing to contain the damp, hot sensation pulsating across your slit, but you can’t find it in yourself to say anything, let alone breathe properly, out of fear of splitting your attention with the feeling of his capable, strong hand as it held you tightly.
“I think I will start with this sweet little cunt that has been weeping for my attention.” Obi-Wan coos against your skin, licking the shell of your ear as he tests the waters and gently rubs the damp patch of the lace panties shielding you from him. Your thighs fall wide open almost immediately, causing him to move down the sofa so he can accommodate you better. He spread his own legs to ensure that you won’t slide off of him, unable to hold back the moan that rumbles through his chest when he looks down and sees just how soaked you are.
“Oh darling darling girl, you are positively drenched for me. Is this all for me? Are you this wet for a man you barely know?” He questions lewdly, his voice a mixture of unabashed hunger and barely-contained excitement. You shut your eyes to relish the sensations his careful, unhurried ministrations are sending up your spine, only to flutter them open when he taps twice against your engorged clit in warning. You barely manage to open your eyes, and when you turn to look at him, you shudder at the absolutely maddening, lust-filled gaze he throws at you. It’s only when he draws lazy circles over the flimsy fabric that you remember he’s asked you a question, and you nearly shake your head to try and recall what it was he wanted to know.
“Yes- oh maker, yes. It’s for you…it’s all f-for you.”
Your response must please Obi-Wan because he clenches his jaw tightly and forgoes the plan he originally held for you. Without a warning, he lunges forward and swallows your moans as he slips his fingers beneath your panties, coating his hand with your wetness right before pushing two, thick digits into your cunt. You arch your back as soon as you feel his expert fingers slide deeper into your aching pussy, your own hands shooting to his robes in an attempt to grow closer to him. You expected him to set an unforgiving pace, make you cry out from the possessive nature of his fingers, until your body recognized the marks of his touch and waited for them again. But he doesn’t, and a small part of you wishes he was as cruel as you thought him capable of being.
“H-how are you this fucking tight? Stars, the things I could do to your filthy body.” He breaks your train of thought, breathing the words harshly against your lips while sliding his fingers inside you until your walls flutter around the length of his calloused digits. He doesn’t move then, wanting to simply feel the heat of your cunt. When he does finally move, it’s as if a thousand stars exploded across your body, all due to the expert curl of his fingers and the delicious way the ridges along the palm of his hand slide against your clit. You part your lips to let out a scream, but only silence follows as the thickness filling you passes perfectly against your tight walls, deep enough to tease that spongy, sensitive place that makes you cry in ecstasy. Obi-Wan grins at you, leaning over and kissing the corner of your mouth until the only sensation you are experiencing is him.
“If I asked you to get on your hands and knees for me…right this moment, would you listen to me dear one?” He practically growls the question, the pet name falling from his lips driving you mad with need to have him only ever call you as such. You’re rather shocked by how easy it comes to him, but you don’t question it, not wanting him to withdraw such sentimental words and call you something else.
“Yes Master, I- I would. I’ll do anything you want me to do. I- oh gods…I promise.” Your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, only to switch into a lewd scream when he rubs his palm against your clit while circling his fingers against your quivering walls.
“You may want to retract such valuable words.” The Jedi Master warns, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin with the serious, almost threatening tone of his voice.
“N-never.”
“You do not know what I am capable of, my darling cockslut. I could pull you apart with a mere snap of my fingers, could have you begging for mercy with the flick of my thumb…if I wanted to.” He licks across your sternum, parting with his desires for you with each new bit of flesh he marks with his tongue. Obi-Wan waits until you’re so far gone in the new sensation he’s delivering to your body before making his way across the valley of your breasts, chuckling menacingly to himself when he bites just above your aching nipple and sends you into another frenzy.
“Do y-your worst General, I can ta- ahhhh,” he cuts you off before you can finish your thought, managing to catch you off guard with his other hand as it ascends up your back and wraps around your neck while his mouth assaults your nipple. You’re not sure how he is capable of such quick, limber movements, but you find that you don’t particularly care as he grips your jugular tighter while his teeth nip and tug on your hardened peak.
“Ah ah ah,” Obi-Wan parts his lips to warn you again, but his teeth never once ease up on your nipple as he continues to speak, “I do not recall allowing such a tone from your lips.” He manages to retort before he finally shows some mercy on your flushed skin, alternating between licking the reddened flesh and sucking on your breasts to leave more harsh marks wherever he pleases.
“Master, I-” There’s not an ounce of coherence left in your mind, and you aren’t exactly certain of what it is you were about to ask him, but the moment derails quickly when Obi-Wan cuts you off, yet again, and offers you a delicious proposition.
“Deserve to be punished?” He inquires, twisting his fingers inside your wet pussy as if his goal was to turn you into a stuttering, puddled mess. He presses down on your jugular as he increases the ministrations of his other hand, his own pleasure reaching a new zenith with he feels your throat move as you gasp for air. Obi-Wan takes this moment to truly gaze upon you, and he finds himself overflowing with hunger when he roams his eyes down your body and sees the erratic movement of your chest as it rises and falls with each harsh breath you take.
“I can feel your cunt begging to come undone for me. Go on my sweet fuckdoll, and come for your Master.”
It is frowned upon, the emotions swirling through him and threatening to make him forget what he is. Who he is.
Obi-Wan is a Jedi, a Master who is on the Council of his kind. He knows better than anyone the dangers of feeling this level of possession of someone, this degree of attachment solely centered around an individual’s pleasure. He knows this would only complicate things, not only for himself, but for you as well.
But as he regards you now, in the throws of passion, your lithe form giving up all control for him…to him…he simply cannot find a single care for anything expected of him, not when you were offering him such intimate salvation, a level of fulfillment and rapture unlike anything he has ever encountered before, with nothing expected of him in return.
Master Kenobi decides, then and there, that whatever transpired this night would not be amongst the growing list of regrets he’s kept hidden in his heart ever since he came to Coruscant all those years ago.
No, the universe, perhaps even the Force itself, was offering him a guide, one that would aid him in navigating whatever the future held. Who was he to deny stardust from finding its way back into the living universe once more?
Because that’s what he considered you—after everything he witnessed in the past few rotations, and the titillating, silent conversation he’s held with you long before he walked in here—a constellation of stardust seeking him out to show him the way to a happier existence, one filled with light, warmth, and authenticity.
“I- I think I’m…Obi-” He feels his heart threaten to leap out of his chest when he turns his attention back to your features and finds your eyes glistening with unshed tears. Whether they are of pain or pleasure he is unsure, but he knows that he would wipe them away with his tongue should they roll down and caress your cheeks. Something switches in his mind, and Obi-Wan decides to put you out of your misery, wanting more than anything to watch you as you experience pleasure at his hands.
“I know dearest, I know. And I want you to. Be a good girl and come for me. Baptize me with your essence.” He encourages you, curling his fingers violently inside you and pushing down on the curve of your walls in a come-hither gesture, watching with fascination as your muscles seize up before rippling above him. You moan rather loudly into the air, and Obi-Wan can’t help himself from shoving his fingers into your mouth to silence you. He wants nothing more than for everyone in this sector to know who’s pleasuring you, but the need to push his digits into your mouth to feel the wetness of your tongue outgrows the primal and possessive behavior over your existence and everyone around you.
It’s only when he vaguely hears the increasing volume of wet sounds as he continues to fuck you with his fingers that he finally looks down and sees the mess you’re making of him.
“Fuck, look at you falling apart on my fingers. You are t-the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld.” He remarks with excitement, his eyes zeroing in on your heated core as he elongates your orgasm and forces you to gush like a stream over him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s aware that you’re soaking his clothes, but he doesn’t care one bit, wanting to ensure that you have reached your high properly, sweetly. If he wants to walk around with the scent of your cum etched on his clothes, if only to feel a unique sense of joy, he doesn’t bother to make a mention of it, knowing that it would mean so much more to the two of you if he voices said desire out loud.
When the bite of your teeth over his fingers becomes slightly too painful for Obi-Wan to handle, he relaxes his hand and stops his movement altogether, not wanting to drive you into any uncomfortable oversensitivity. He doesn’t remove his fingers from your cunt, wanting to relish the way your walls quiver around him in your post-orgasmic haze. Your body shakes less violently now, but your heated core continues to flutter around him, and he doesn’t remove his eyes from your face once as he drags out his fingers a little, smiling to himself when your eyebrows contort along with your lips as feeling him softly pass over your engorged clit. He tries to remove his fingers from your mouth next, but you shift your face and follow his hand, only relaxing more into his chest when you’re sure he won’t remove them.
The sweat clings on Obi-Wan’s forehead as he watches you suck and roll your tongue around his fingers, and if he were a better man, he would have taken this as a sign to stop this interaction before it leaves an irreversible mark on his memory.
“T-thank you, Master Kenobi.”
Then he hears your voice, your soft, hoarse, content voice as it thanks him, and the Master Jedi is sure he wants nothing more than for things to get out of hand. In fact, he thinks he might cease to exist if he doesn’t, at the very least, feel your mouth on him. He schools his features as best as he can, even though he doesn’t mind you seeing him so unhinged, so needy for you. But he’s sensed your Force signature earlier, and he knows you don’t mind if he’s a little rough with you. Waiting until you turn to look at him, Obi-Wan smirks as he leans into you and kisses just below your ear. You whine at the close proximity, the sound turning into a lewd moan when he removes his fingers from your cunt completely and raises them until you can see them. You gasp when you follow the trail of wetness down his arm and notice evidence of your orgasm across his robes. There is a moment of panic that fills the silence stretching between the two of you and you turn to him quickly, your mind already racing with apologetic words you should tell him so he doesn’t leave you now.
But you don’t find an angry or disappointed look in his eyes as you expected. Instead, Obi-Wan is staring at you as if you’ve given him such a precious gift, one he’s been longing to receive for so long now. You swallow the lump in your throat as he drags his wet hand across your body and spreads your cum all over your breasts. When you still seem stuck in your mind, he pinches one nipple and rubs the pain away with his thumb until your eyes convey some sense of presence once more.
“Hmm,” he hums deeply, the sound reverberating through his chest making him sound like a predator happy with the prey he just caught, “do not think my generosity flows as enthusiastically as your cunt, little one.” His words send a new wave of heat across your body and you part your lips in an attempt to apologize again, but Obi-Wan shakes his head and removes his hands from you, leaving you cold and desperate for him. He nods down to his robes and throws one arm against the back of the sofa, making you wish his skin was not hidden from your hungry eyes.
“You made a mess of my Jedi robes, and I expect you to clean them. Thoroughly.” The command surprises you, mostly because you were sure he would leave now that you broke one of the two rules he set in place before you started. You don’t mention his prior words though, knowing that he probably didn’t forget what he asked earlier, and was merely extending his ‘limits.’
“Y-yes Master.” You whisper as you push off of him, slightly wobbling on your feet as soon as you stand in between his thighs. You turn back around and feel your face flush with heat at the grin on Obi-Wan’s face. Of course he was proud of what he’s done to you. A deep breath of courage fills your lungs as you descend to the ground and sit in between his thick, wet thighs for the second time that night. You look up at him, silently asking him if you could proceed. He raises one eyebrow at you, the barely-visible cerulean of his eyes briefly shifting down to where you marked him before returning to meet your own orbs again.
You lick your lower lip before capturing it in between your teeth, trying your best to set aside the nerves threatening to well up in your chest. He pleasured you with ease, ensuring your satisfaction was met, twice over, when he could have easily ignored you and sought out his own ecstasy. A part of you wished he could tell you exactly what he wanted you to do to him, but you got the sense that he was leaving it up to you so he wouldn’t be forcing you to do anything you didn’t want. Little did you know that Jedi Master currently eye-fucking you didn’t care what you did as long as you touched him. You take in the impressive body you somehow still had access to, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach up and place your hands on his chest, not caring for how ridiculous you probably looked as you dragged the palms of your hands down his body until you memorized every rough and soft ridge of him.
When you reach the lower part of his navel, right above where you wish you could taste him, you look back into his eyes and spread your hands as far out as possible before moving them around the painful tent in his trousers, towards his inner thighs.
“F-force help me,” Obi-Wan hisses at your teasing actions, and you notice the skin of his knuckles turn even whiter as he fists his hands in the cushions around him. You want that level of passion to leave indents on your skin, but you don’t say so just yet, unsure of whether he’d be willing to go that far with you or not. Not daring to break his gaze, you oh-so-slowly lean down and shove your nose where you think the base of his cock is, shamelessly inhaling deeply until the only thing you can smell is his deep, natural musk and the faint scent of your cum sticking to the wet fabric of his trousers.
Obi-Wan flinches at the obscene sound of your breathing, and his hands shoot to the cushions around him when you moan your pleasure against the side of his hard dick. He’s never seen such an unhinged act before, and he knows he’ll never witness one so filthy and wanton ever again. The knot in his stomach tightens further, and he tries his best to meditate on anything but the unrestrained behavior you were gracing him with, but he can’t find a single, coherent thought to latch on because you don’t stop what you’re doing and decide to pay equal attention to every inch of him.
“What- what do you think you are doing?” Anyone else hearing the tone of his question would think he was incredibly irritated but you smile at him as you rest your cheek on his thigh, wetting your lips one more time before tilting your head until your mouth rests against the side of his cock. Without missing a beat you lay the softest of kisses on his trousers and watch with fascination as the Jedi’s hands itch to shoot to your hair and pull harshly on it until you answered his question.
“Ever since you walked in here, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about scenting you. I wondered if you would smell like the woods, earthy and inviting…or if you would smell spicy like cinnamon and chamomile.” You pause between every other word, continuing your journey across his crotch and sniffing as much of his as possible. You shut your eyes to enjoy the moment, knowing that you’ll never have another Jedi so submissive and patient beneath you as you mapped his desires. You know it’s taking every ounce of control for Obi-Wan to not push you underneath him and remind you who’s in charge, and you relish the feeling of having this much of an effect on him. With each bit of new fabric you sniff, you feel his cock twitch against you, pushing you into leaving a trail of kisses where you wish you can touch him without any barrier. And although the thought is quite pathetic, you find yourself jealous of the cushions currently being fisted beneath his hands.
“And maker in heaven, you…smell…absolutely…divine.” You inhale deeply in between every word, pushing your nose as violently as possible into his clothed dick until his hips buck against you. Even when you stop, you still feel him trying to push his crotch closer to your mouth, and you don’t bother denying him, parting your lips until the heat radiating off of him fills your mouth with every bit of him he attempts to shove into you.
“F-fuck,” Obi-Wan swears desperately when he sees you stick your tongue out and drag it across the length of his cock, not stopping until his trousers hold evidence of your drool and your cum everywhere. You remember how you got into this position, and decide to take the task to a whole new level. As your eyes flutter open once more, you seek his out and wait until he shifts his focus from your mouth to your gaze before shoving his thighs farther apart. His legs spread as wide as possible and you take advantage of the shock written on his face to push him a little more. Moving your tongue around, you collect as much saliva as possible on it before spitting down on the hardness threatening to rip his trousers. Obi-wan growls, and you swear you’ve never heard a more beautiful sound in your life. Not wanting to waste any more time, you lean down and spread the new wetness across the tight fabric hiding him from you, smiling in satisfaction when you push your nose against the head of his cock and smelling the faint scent of his own pleasure seeping through the damp material. You pout when you look down and find a dry spot on his pants, and without missing a beat, you spit on your fingers and rub the trail of saliva across the base of his cock, whining your desires to him when you feel his balls against the palm of your hand.
Obi-Wan is sure he’s died and joined the Force because never in his life did he think he’d ever be wanted so desperately. He thought you’d lick him for a few moments before asking him what else he wants from you, but it seems that you took his words more to heart than he thought you would. With each pass of your tongue, the Jedi Master feels his heart drum wildly against his chest, and with each little sniff you steal as you push your nose harshly against his achingly hard cock, he prays to the maker that he doesn’t cum in his trousers and embarrass himself in front of you.
Up until this moment, it was clear how much you wanted him. You even told him so when you began to dance for him. But never in his wildest dreams did he think you capable of such disgustingly beautiful behavior. And even though he enjoyed every touch you offered him, he was slowly starting to fear what such knowledge would do to him following this night.
The thought quickly evaporates from his mind, however, when you grow more bold with your hands and knead the length of him with one hand while the other reaches down to fondle his balls through the now-irritating material of his trousers.
“No wonder you’re so confident. Your cock is so hard and thick to the touch…so hot.” He’s not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself, but he finds that it turns him on regardless because that part of him, that laid dormant for so long, was finally receiving praise for being objectively exceptional. Obi-Wan was not a vain man, far from it, but the fact that he was clearly pleasing to you made his chest fill with pride, especially since he was not the first Jedi to partake in such acts with you. He prays you continue to whisper your approval to him, not because he is doubtful of his physique, but because he needs you to never stop thinking of how perfect he is for you. “And your scent is…fuck Master, your scent is so masculine, and so fucking mouthwatering.” You lean down and fill your senses with the scent and taste of him, unable to hold back from telling him how much you crave him.
And fuck, you did crave him…painfully. But you knew better than to ask him to cross that boundary and move into uncharted, probably uncomfortable, territory with you.
“The- the mouth on you could raise w-worlds to ashes.” He finally breaks his silence, his voice hoarse from how dry his throat has become. It only makes you smile deeper at him, and you kiss along the hardened length of his cock to further prove his words, the taste of your cum now almost gone from him. You’re about to massage him through his trousers when he pushes his hand into your hair and pulls you off of him. The sting coursing through your scalp distracts you momentarily, but it is gone as soon as Obi-Wan lets go of your hair and immediately fumbles with the edge of his pants.
“What-” You ask at the sudden shift in his behavior, unsure why he was now willing to cross that line, let alone take his clothes off in front of you. You want to reach out and stop him before he reveals himself to you, but you can’t find it in yourself to do so, that overwhelmed, needy part of you—that came to life as soon as you walked into this room and saw him—telling you that this was finally your chance to show him how good you can be for him.
“Free my cock, sweet one. Now.” Obi-Wan’s breathing is erratic, and your fingers itch to aid him with his trousers when you see the intoxicating, dazed spirit that befalls him as he unfastens the top of his pants and roughly pushes them down his thighs. Your eyes widen with hunger when you look down and behold the tight, darkened undershorts leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It’s embarrassing, the way your mouth salivates all of a sudden, and you almost choke on your breath as soon as Obi-Wan slips two of his fingers beneath the elastic of the fabric and threatens to lower them as well.
“But you-” the last, coherent bit of your brain attempts to remind the Master Jedi of his earlier conditions, but he shakes his head and removes his fingers from the edge of the undershorts. You sigh in relief, thankful that he remembered the orders he gave you before, but that sense of ease evaporates when you remove your eyes from his darkened orbs and watch as he touches himself through the wet material. You feel as if your mind is in the middle of a fiery storm, one that you had no means to escape, and the guilt from before rises again as it occurs to you that you may have accidentally forced him into such a state of arousal. You know he craves stimulation more than anything, and as much as you wished to be the one to please him, you didn’t want him to regret you at the end of the night.
Obi-Wan must sense the turmoil overtaking your body because he stops his movement altogether and leans into your space, until the two of you are breathing the same air.
“I care not for what I said before.” Gone is the crazed tone ordering you to unclothe him, and you flinch unintentionally when he grasps your cheeks in between his warm palms. He doesn’t move then, afraid that you would fear him, or think him capable of forcing you into an act you did not want to engage in with him. The latter thought is enough to force his heart to stabilize, but when he notices the way you continue to look into his eyes, and the raging tempest begging for every fiber of his being to unfold you, he understands why you shook from his touch.
It was not out of fear of himself, but fear of what you would do if he didn’t think through this.
You wanted him, to an alarming point, because if he continued to speak of his desires for you, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from giving him whatever he wants. You would ignore the earlier agreement, and lay with him, thus potentially causing him to regret his actions once the two of you passed this lust-filled haze.
With as much certainty as he can muster up, Obi-Wan speaks the next words against your lips, all the while praying to the maker that you believe the demand filling him completely, one that prayed your name until it became a sweet benediction.
“I yearn for your touch, my lady. Please.”
The sentiment is laced with an overbearing sense of ache, one you need, more than anything, to itch until it either powers over you or dissipates into a soft, flickering flame. You cease to breathe at the whispered plea, and you discover that no verbal response you can offer will ever properly convey to him the craving hunger you feel for being the one he calls upon to soothe his lust.
“In- in that case, allow me.” You don’t recognize your own voice, and Obi-Wan releases a sound that can only be described as an anticipated moan in the form of your name. You drift your hands across his thighs, purposely digging your nails into the tight material of his underpants so you can catch another unhinged response from him. He shivers at the stinging sensation, laying back against the sofa if only to keep whatever sliver of control still remained in his body. You bite the inside of your cheeks to feel grounded, and although you know he wants you to drag the article of clothing down his muscular thighs, you don’t do so yet, relishing in the heat radiating off of his form as you played with the elastic around his hips.
He thrusts into the palms of your hands unintentionally, causing you to stifle a giggle as you slip your fingers beneath the top of fabric and move them back and forth. You don’t bother looking up at him, knowing that the growing fury in his dilated pupils may distract you from the task at hand. Taking in a deep breath, you lean down again and kiss the bit of skin just above his underpants, the dust of hair covering his navel tickling your lips deliciously and making you wish you could see the rest of his body without anything to hide him from you. You know you should stop teasing him, but the part of you that has dreamt of worshiping him forces you to part your mouth and lick across the edge of his underpants. You hear Obi-Wan growl in irritation, but you pay him no mind as you pepper wet kisses everywhere you can reach.
When you’re satisfied with the state of near delirium you’ve put him under, you pinch the top of his underpants and pull them down slowly, moaning his name obscenely when his cock catches against the tight material and makes you tug on it harder until you can free him. You’ve pictured doing this more times than you can count, and in every single image engraved in your mind, you thought you would be patient and gentle, not wanting him to finish the fun too quickly. But as the thick, hard length of his dick is finally, finally, revealed to your hungry eyes, you can’t help the excitement that fills you, and you yank down his clothes aggressively until both his trousers and underpants are pooled around his ankles.
It’s everything you have imagined him to be, but not quite. He was thick, and all you can imagine is how perfect he would feel as he stretched you out, mouth or cunt. The tip of his cock is a deeper, angry shade of red and your heart drops when you notice him glistening with pre-cum. And then there was the matter of his length. Maker, he had every right to walk around with such cocksure air around him. But it didn’t seem like it would be as uncomfortable as others you’ve had the misfortune of attending to. Jedi were dangerous with the weapons hanging from their belts, but the one beneath you now was menacing and he didn’t require the lightsaber to prove such a thing. He was, in every sense of the word, the most beautiful creation you’ve ever come across.
And by the heavens, how you wished you could come across him as well.
“Oh my stars, you- if I had known your cock would be as beautiful as the rest of you, Master Obi-Wan, I would have fallen to my knees the second I laid my eyes on you.” The remark is accompanied with a spike in your Force signature, one that tested Obi-Wan’s resolve until he snapped and reached for your hair. The only warning you have is the growl reverberating from his chest as he tugs on your hair and grabs his cock with the other hand. You silently plead for him to do something, anything, with you, and the look in your eyes must be all he needs to see because without wasting another second, Obi-Wan spits down on his cock and spreads the wetness across his dick. Your body shakes at the filthiness of his actions, only to have your mind stand with attention as soon as the Jedi Master calls your name.
“Spit.” The order is music to your ears and you roll your tongue around your mouth quickly to give him what he wants. Looking back into his eyes, you make a show of spitting on the tip of his cock, where his hand continues to rub your mixed spit across the hard length of him. You had thought he would immediately push you down so he could fuck your face, but he does something more bold.
With a widening grin, Obi-Wan parts his thighs wider until you’re a hair-breadth away from his dick, and as soon as you part your lips for him, he takes the base of his cock and slams it three times across your face. He sees the second your lust-filled expression turns into one of shock, and he groans your name once before craning your neck back so he could reach the rest of your features more easily. It’s positively vulgar, the way in which he continues to slap your face with his thick cock, and he finds it rather beautiful that you are enjoying the explicit sounds he is repeatedly creating as the wetness glistening across his skin sticks to your cheeks and creates an almost invisible connection between his length and your lips.
You stick your tongue out to taste your combined spit as it smears across your lips, and Obi-Wan doesn’t waste another precious moment, instantly shoving the tip of his cock past your bruised lips until he feels your mouth engulf him completely. As much as he wants to push you down on his cock, he holds himself back and waits until he’s sure you’re ready for him. You widen your mouth and slide your hands from his thighs to the base of his length, holding him steady as you slowly take his cock down your throat. The Jedi Master must have not been prepared for your immediate response because his breath catches in his throat and he lets go of your hair altogether and fists his hands into the pillows around him. The moans escaping his throat are exceptionally filthy, and you grasp his hard length tightly in hopes of hearing more of his groans.
“Ahhhh f-fuck, that’s it dear heart. Take my cock, take it in that cockdumb mouth of yours. Let me feel the heat of your throat.” He calls out for you, and you suddenly feel distracted when you shift your attention to his hands and watch as they slowly turn white from how harshly he’s grabbing onto the pillows and the sofa. The moment is gone soon after when you feel constrict your throat around him and he unintentionally bucks his hips into you, sending his dick even deeper into your mouth. The feeling of his velvety skin as it slides across your tongue should be illegal, and you shut your eyes to focus on not gagging around him, only fluttering the open when you hear him moan your name as your drool slides down his length and makes a mess of your hands. You caress him until he twitches in your mouth, once again finding it difficult to breathe when he accidentally pushes his cock down your throat again.
When you can’t take it anymore, you regrettably remove him from your mouth, taking in a few deep breaths before leaning down and kissing the crown of his dick. You don’t look at him then, knowing you might get distracted if you were to see the look in his eyes as you kissed every inch of him. Only when his body shakes above you do you finally meet his gaze, not stopping once from mapping his length with kisses and licks until he showers you with more praises.
“Lovely girl, you look so beautiful worshiping me.” Obi-Wan reaches down and touches your cheeks lightly. You stop what your ministrations then, finding the sentiment far sweeter than you think he intends it to be. You rest your cheek across one of his thighs, all the while stroking him until his length is covered in your spit. You bite your lip when he doesn’t remove his hand, winking once at him as you bring his cock to your mouth and kiss the slit smeared with pre-cum. It’s borderline disgusting, the way your mouth shines with evidence of his pleasure and your enthusiasm, but you find the heated look in his eyes worth the humiliation.
“Want your mouth again, please.” He begs, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were thoroughly enjoying teasing him, you would have obeyed him and told him to fuck your throat. But you don’t, knowing that the pleasure he would feel once he finally takes charge of you again would be indescribable. Batting your eyelashes at him, you don’t pay him any mind and continue with the kitten licks across his cock, occasionally sucking on the protruding veins until he throws his head back and whispers your name.
“Come on, don’t- don’t be a tease.” His voice is nearly broken, driving you absolutely mad with lust. Again, you ignore his pleas, and allow more of your spit to cover his length. He huffs in irritation, and you smile to yourself as you lick along the side of his cock until you reach where your hands are holding him. Without a second thought, you lay the gentlest of kisses across his balls before licking at them harshly. Obi-Wan’s back arches off of the sofa, and he sits up in an instant, unable to look anywhere else but you, with your flushed lips and your wet tongue bringing him unimaginable pleasure.
“Hmmphh, I- I won’t ask again.” The warning sends a shiver down your spine, yet you almost laugh when he stutters over his words as he attempts to convince you to take his cock into your mouth once more. You know you’re pushing your luck, but you can’t find it in yourself to care because of how absolutely turned on you are by the knowledge of having such an intense effect on him. It must be too much for Obi-Wan, however, because as soon as you rub the head of his cock with both of your thumbs, he growls your name and combs his fingers into your hair.
“Fuck, that is quite enough.” The composed tone of his voice is terrifying, and you brace yourself in preparation for whatever he has planned for you. Obi-Wan slaps your hands away from him, taking his cock in his own hand instead and pulling you away when you try to take him in your mouth. He traces your lower lip with the tip of his dick, grinning at you when he moves you away as soon as you try to feel him against your tongue. He continues to taunt you with his length, tightening the hold he has on your hair when you try to force yourself on him. You’re not sure how long this goes on for, and you hate yourself for ever thinking it was a good idea to tease him. You pout at him when his smirk widens the longer he blocks your attempts of pleasuring him. Thinking you can tempt him with your hands, you reach out to grab him, only to feel an invisible force on your wrists before they’re slammed down against your thighs.
“Tell me, tell me what you are and I may reward you with my cock again.” He smiles when he notices the lack of shock on your features, as if you were waiting for him to use the Force on you. He despises your reaction, but chooses to ignore his satisfaction over your expectation of him using his own religion against you, the need to illustrate to you how far gone he is outgrowing any sense of self-preservation.
“Obi-” You moan his name, only for the man to cut you off with a harsh tug to your hair and another slap of his cock against your parted lips.
“Fucking tell me,” he orders, one last time, praying to the maker that you put him out of his misery and give him what he wants.
“I- I’m your filthy whore…I’m just your cockslut and I- I want you to choke me. Choke me with your hand or your cock…please, I want it. It makes me wet just to think of you fucking my face. Please Master, I- omphh.” At the sound of the honorific, Obi-Wan forgets the controlled manner he wished to maintain with you, throwing all caution aside as he tilts your head back and pushes his dick into your mouth until your nose is flush against his skin. He watches as you choke on his length, never once relenting on the pressure he has on your neck until you shut your eyes and moan around him. He pulls you off and releases the hold he has on your wrists, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other plays with your hair as you jerk him off and suck on the crown of his cock.
“There we go, get me nice and wet for your throat, sweet one.” He breathes down at you, biting his cheek as you switch between sucking on him and taking him so far down your throat until he feels you swallow around him. The pressure of your mouth is a sensation he will likely not forget for a long time, and he dreads the emptiness he will surely experience when he leaves you tonight and returns to the Temple. He’s close to revealing his thoughts to you, but then you shut your eyes, and Obi-Wan suddenly feels a hint of that abyss. He lightly taps against your cheek with the palm of his hand, not hitting you, but just a gentle touch to get your attention.
“No, keep- keep those pretty eyes on me. I want you to look at me as I fuck your face, so you know not to tease me the next time..so you remember to whom you belong.” The words escape his mouth without thought, and he remembers then why he kept himself from such intimacy for most of his life.
“Darling girl, you look breathtaking with your mouth full of my cock.” Your cunt clenches around nothing at the sound of his praises, and you almost reach down to rub your clit, but remind yourself that this was never about your pleasure. So, you focus all of your energy on him, on stroking him firmly and slowly, from where your mouth is wrapped around him down to his balls. As you massage them in the palms of your hands, Obi-Wan can’t help but groan your name over and over again, finding it extremely difficult to maintain his gaze on you as you continue to show him how much you want him.
“Oh gods, you are such a good girl for me. So perfect, so obedient…so fucking wet.” He pronounces every word with a hard thrust into your mouth, and you don’t dare move away from him then, knowing that he must be close if he was beginning to lose his control and fuck your face with little to no rhythm.
“Look at you, you’re making such a mess of me. I- I…the sight of you will plague my dreams in the days to come sweetheart, but I- fuck…I do not care.” You maintain contact with his dazed orbs, finding him even more ethereal as he forgot himself in you. You breathe through your nose to the best of your abilities, laying your tongue flat beneath his cock and quickly jerking him off so he can release his seed into your mouth. You want nothing more than to taste him, roll your tongue around his cock as he comes down your throat and fills your mouth with his essence. But as you alternate between sucking him and widening your lips so he can take his pleasure from you, Obi-Wan throws his head back once and moans your name rather loudly before trying to pull you off of him. Thinking that he probably didn’t want to come down your throat, you tease him with your teeth a little and hollow your mouth around the tip of his cock, kneading the rest of him to ensure his satisfaction is not interrupted.
“Fuck…ahh fucking hells, little one. I- I need you to stop. S-stop, please…now!” The desperation of his voice snaps you out of your haze, and you let go of him instantly, already feeling guilty for whatever you did that pushed him to beg you to stop. You lay your palms over his thighs, lightly caressing his skin to calm him down and show him that you didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. Obi-Wan stares down at you for a few seconds before resting his head against the back of the sofa, and you watch him closely as he rubs his face with both of his hands and sighs heavily into the damp air of the room.
“Did…did I do something wrong?” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, and you’re shocked when Obi-Wan shakes his head almost instantly before looking down at you again.
“Heavens no, you- you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.” His breathing is erratic, and you swallow the lump in your throat when you notice how hard he still is as he twitches lightly in front of your face.
“Then let me make you feel good, let me pleasure you until you come in my mouth. Please, Master Kenobi, I want to taste your pleasure.” You dare to reach for him again, grasping him in one palm as you massage his navel with the other. Obi-Wan doesn’t let you do much though, reaching for your hand soon after and politely asking you to stop moving.
“As much as I want to fuck this pretty mouth until you make me come,” he traces your lips with his fingers, pushing two of them past your teeth so he can feel your tongue slide against him once last time, “I will not.” Obi-Wan removes his fingers from your mouth then, and lightly pulls your other hand off of him so he can lean forward and feel the heat of your breath against his cheeks.
“P-please, I-” You attempt to ask him one last time, but he doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else, slowly reaching for your neck and wrapping his hand around your throat so he can call your attention to what he truly wants.
“If you want me to come undone at your touch, my sweet, then it will be inside that wet, tight cunt of yours.” Obi-Wan thought you would obey him in the blink of an eye, with how willing you were to do everything he asked of you thus far, but when you lose your smile and your expression turns serious, he lets go of your cheeks and takes your hands into his own instead. Neither of you say anything, and it takes him longer than necessary to realize that you were probably waiting for an explanation from him.
“Forgive me, I presumed you wanted to-” He starts to say, but you cut him off soon after, shaking your head and intertwining your fingers with his own in an attempt to let him know that you desperately wanted to lay with him.
“I do, maker knows I do. But-” He lets out a sigh of relief when he hears your affirmation, and although he knows he should let you finish your thought, he can’t help but interrupt you, wanting you to know that you were welcome to deny him this if you wanted. It would break his soul, that he is certain of, but like you, he couldn’t find it in himself to force you to do anything you didn’t truly desire.
“But what, little one? Speak your mind truthfully, please. You have nothing to fear.” His tone is completely different from a moment ago, and your chest tightens when you realize he probably thought you didn’t want him anymore. Taking in a deep breath, you will yourself to tell him your concerns, one last time, while silently praying that he disregards them again.
“I don’t want you to think that you have to…this isn’t, I’d never want to force you to do anything.” You stutter through a response, unable to phrase your hopes and desires in a coherent manner for him. You thought he would either thank you for reminding him of those earlier boundaries and get dressed, or tell you that he was definitely sure of his desires to lay with you, but he surprises you, and does neither of those things. His jaws tense at your comment, and he brings you closer to him with newfound lust, making you regret your words.
“You think I am this hard and wanting because you forced me? You think my desperation to feel your cunt clench around me is nothing but a lie?” The questions are laced with lust-filled anger, causing you to flinch when he pulls your hand and forces you to grab his thick, hard cock. He doesn’t let go of your wrist, repeatedly moving it across his length until he can feel the warm palm of your hand rub him furiously. The Jedi doesn’t look elsewhere but your eyes, wanting you to understand that he was desiring the heat of your cunt out of necessity and not because you were forcing him.
“Obi-Wan,” you lean into his space until your lips mold with his own in a dizzying kiss, all the while not stopping him from continuing to lead your hand across his achingly hard cock. But he breaks the kiss soon after, and you almost complain to him, but then he continues to tell you of his need to feel you engulf him, and you realize that you would much rather listen to his unhinged devotion.
“I have not felt such desire in so long, my lady…the mere sound of my name on your lips has awakened something in me that I daresay I thought would remain dormant for many years to come.” Obi-Wan confesses against your lips, nudging your nose with his own as he breathes the same air leaving your lungs. You shiver at the term of endearment, falling into him as he lays kisses across your cheek while you lazily stroke him.
“And y-you say that my tongue is a dangerous weapon…”
“Will you let me have you, dear heart? Please, let me sink my cock into your pussy. Let me look upon you as you fall apart for me, let me- let me hear my name on your sweet lips as I make you come on my cock, as I fill you with my seed, as you beg me to mark you with my cum.” It’s almost as if those flooding words were waiting for this moment to stream so easily from his lips, and you don’t dare deny him any further, laying one last kiss on his reddened lips before moving to the floor and parting your legs for him. You arch your back as the cold tiles of the ground seeps through your skin, and you do your best to ignore the discomfort of the harsh surface as you bite your lower lip while trailing your fingers down your chest to your clothed slit.
“Please, Obi…fuck me. Make me come on your thick cock, u-until I mark you as well. I want you to walk out of here with my cum on your robes, so everyone knows who made you feel good. So you- so you can come back to me again and fuck me all night long.” You know better than to ask him for anything beyond this night, and you shamelessly push your panties to the side, spreading the wetness across your slit when you notice Obi-Wan’s unfaltering gaze zeroing in on your core. You sigh heavily as you rub your clit in slow circles before pushing in the tips of your fingers past your folds and into your aching cunt. The Jedi Master isn’t bothered to hide his lust from you, and you smile to yourself when you see him reach for his cock and palm it lazily as he descends onto the floor near you. He doesn’t come closer though, and you push your fingers deeper into your pussy in an attempt to provoke him to do something, anything, besides staring at you as you touch yourself. He’s clearly having a difficult time breathing normally, the rough, shallow breaths filling the otherwise silent air turning you on more than they should. You stop your ministrations and tilt your head to the side, silently asking him what he wants from you. He notices you staring at him and manages to look away from the slick wetting your thighs, narrowing his eyes at you as he moves forward until he’s kneeling in between your thighs.
“Is that what you want, my darling?” It’s almost as if his question is calculated, and you can’t help but notice the hope laced within the question as he reaches down and caresses the length of your leg with two of his fingers. “You want me to return in between your thighs once more, fill you with my cock until your pussy knows my touch?” His voice is captivating, like a rope of fire gently slithering around your frame and forcing you to focus on him, and him only. “Till you memorize the thickness claiming you and refuse to come unless I am fucking you?” You barely manage to nod, eyes moving towards the soft skin gliding along your legs to your knees. His fingers stop there, and you wish he can forgo whatever this teasing foreplay that’s clearly so enjoyable to him. “Tell me, tell me and I promise to make you feel good.” Obi-Wan promises one last time, and you shiver at the sensation of his hands as they massage your outer thighs just as he leans down to your body. Thinking he was going to take you now, you don’t bother responding to him, throwing your head back and blindly reaching for the beige robes still hiding his upper body from your eyes. But a quick slap to your already heated skin snaps you out of your haze, and you look up in time to watch the man descend upon you with a hunger unlike anything you’ve ever seen. He takes both of your wrists in his hands and slams them above your head, bringing his body flush against your own until the only thing you can feel is him.
“Tell. Me.”
“Yes Master, I want you to take me now…and tomorrow…and the day after.” You blurt out whatever comes to mind, and it must be satisfying for him because the mischievous smile that spreads across his features pulls you deeper into him, making you wish you were the only one worthy of his attention. You reach up and graze his lips with your own, and if Obi-Wan wasn’t hellbent on pushing the two of you past unseen pleasures, he would have quieted you with his tongue and stretched you on his cock in an instant. But he wanted more, and he knew you would appreciate the fulfillment more so if he stretched this out just a little longer.
“Keep- oh kriff, keep talking.” Obi-Wan breathes against your cheeks as he looks down in between the two of you. Against his will, he shuts his eyes to focus whatever coherent energy left within him on your heated core. His muscles are buzzing with energy, but he pays his own needs no mind as he grips your wrists tightly to prevent you from writhing beneath him. As soon as he moves aside your panties, the words on your lips gush without any coherence, and he huffs out a little chuckle as he begins to pass an invisible sensation against your engorged clit.
“I want you to- to claim me every night, again and again and again, until I can’t come without your cock. Please, fuck me Obi, make me feel good, make me see the stars in your eyes. I- ahhhhh…”
Obi-Wan knows better than to use the Force for such blasphemous devotions, but it occurs to him, in the midst of this mind-altering interaction, that he would be committing the ultimate sin if he held back from worshiping you with everything that he’s got, everything that he is. Was it not the Force that called for him to become one with all that is around him? Was it not this mystical energy that reached for him so he can experience the most heartfelt moments with an elated, undistracted mind? Was it not this spirit of the universe that guided him every second of his life, so he can feel the intensity of such valuable experiences with an ecstasy unrepressed by the noise around him? He questions himself, and finds the answers rather easily, awfully quicker than many other inquiries he met in the past decades. And with each response ringing across his mind, Obi-Wan imagines the softness of your slit beneath his fingers, as clear as day, alternating between moving the hidden energy across your clit and into your cunt. He nearly overstimulates himself from how focused he becomes into coaxing your essence out to flood his Force signature. The harder he pushes you towards that zenith of bliss, the more his cock twitches against your inner thighs, begging to be engulfed within your walls, or at the very least, for some release from the torment he was bestowing upon the two of you.
Obi-Wan sobs against your neck, the euphoria within his heart threatening to engulf him completely the longer he continues to assault your bundle of nerves. Only when you cry his name repeatedly does he open his eyes and look down to see why you’re suddenly begging him to stop.
Force help him.
Were it not for the distracting sight of his cock soaked with your cum and perfectly framed by your shaking thighs, Obi-Wan is sure he would have continued to stroke your pussy until you passed out. He loosens the hold he has on your wrists, but doesn’t dare look anywhere else, momentarily forgetting how to breathe when he sees the puddle beneath you. Without thinking much of what he’s doing, he lets go of one of your hands and brings his fingers to your inner thighs, passing over the quivering muscles lightly, only to pull away when he sees you flinch at his touch.
“Obi-Wan,” you sigh his name as you finally catch your breath, the sound of your wrecked voice snapping the Jedi’s attention to your face once more. “I need you.”
Those three words halt whatever apology forming on his lips, and you watch as he swallows thickly before nodding at you. Neither of you address what he’s just done, and even though you want nothing more than to ask him if he meant to use the Force on you in such an intimate manner, you opt to say anything. Obi-Wan moves his hand from your thighs to his cock, and you furrow your eyebrows when you see him stroking himself and spreading your cum across the length of his dick, from his balls to his tip. It’s filthy, the way he rubs himself against your wet folds to coat himself with your essence, but you don’t mind it one bit. Although you want to grab onto him as he finally, finally, slides into your heat, you don’t dare move your hands from where he left them, not wanting to give him a reason to stretch this out any longer.
You thought he would continue to look down where the two of you would soon join, but Obi-Wan returns his eyes to your features, looking straight into your own dazed pupils as he brings himself closer to you. Pushing your leg with his thigh, he brings his index finger against your slit, rubbing you tenderly until you sigh his name with a whisper. He leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth as he gently moves into you. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, and you arch your back against him as the head of his cock stretches you out. It’s everything you’ve imagined—the thickness of his length, the pulsating ridges along his cock, the hard and hot feeling of him as he fills you up—but somehow so much better. You lean into his mouth, breathing heavily against his skin the deeper he pushes into your pussy. You can feel him shaking above you, and you’re suddenly filled with an unbearable sense of satisfaction at the prospect of having an effect on him similar to the one he has on you.
He stops all of a sudden, and you try to wiggle closer to him, force more of his thick cock to fill you sweetly, but his hand shoots to your waist and holds you against the ground, preventing you from moving altogether.
“Ohhh ff-ffuck, you- you are heavenly, sweet one. And you are so kriffing tight.” Obi-Wan groans against your neck, finding it extremely difficult to not thrust into you harshly now that he finally had you where he wanted. He remembers how sensitive you might be, especially after what he’s pulled moments ago, and he bites your shoulder to feel grounded, the action pulling a lewd moan from your lips that almost makes him break. He licks the reddening flesh to soothe the pain, his mind reeling at the prospect of leaving such a visible mark on you.
Only when he believes he has a good grip on his urges does he push his cock deeper into your cunt, pulling his head back a little to watch your features as they contort in pleasure.
“Go on, take me deeper inside your cunt. Take me deeper so I can mark your womb with my seed.” He growls his desires, watching as your chest rises and falls with harsh breaths the more he moves into you. You barely manage to open your eyes and look at him, and were it not for the fact that you were struggling to adjust to his size, you would have told him how beautiful he looked, with his focused eyebrows and his bruised lips and the sweat forming against his forehead that made his hair stick to his skin and fall on his eyes.
Maker in heaven, he was ecstasy itself.
“Obi- you…you’re so thick. I- I need to…” Your words make him swear beneath his breath, and whatever coherence left in your mind jots that little detail down for later. It shouldn’t surprise you that he loves being praised, especially when the compliment addressed his impressive size, and you try to relax for him, wanting to show him how good you can be for him in return.
“Be a good girl and take the rest of me in that pretty little pussy. You have done beautifully for me, my lady…you can take more. I know you can.” He coos against your damp skin, leaving kisses across your forehead and cheeks before he silences your moans with his lips.
“Obi, oh-” you gasp into the kiss, and Obi-Wan sneaks his tongue into your mouth instantly, the action sending you into a frenzy and making you reach for his hair. He nearly lets go of your hips to force your hand above your head again, but he doesn’t drag your touch away, knowing that it would be better for you to become distracted so you can let loose a bit. Your fingers get lost in his soft locks, and he deepens the kiss when you tug on his hair and scratch the nape of his neck with your nails. The harder you pull on his hair, the louder his moans become, and Obi-Wan finds that he rather enjoys it when you are as rough with him as he is with you. He breaks the kiss for a moment, the need to tell you how exquisite you feel around him outgrowing everything else.
“I can almost feel the beat of your heart, little angel. Can feel it beating as your cunt clenches around me.” He smirks down at you, finding the lost gaze in your eyes so intimate to the point where he leans down and kisses each of them, if only to try and feel whatever it is your aura was conveying to him. He’s been trying his best to focus on anything but your fluttering walls as they welcome more of him inside you, but the second he takes your lips against his own once more, he can’t help but move all of his attention to your cunt. “Be a good girl and t-take the rest of me. Your pussy is gushing for me sweetheart, it’s recognizing my touch and I am yet to give you all of me.” Under normal circumstances, the Jedi Master would blush at the shameless desires leaving his tongue, but he finds that he doesn’t care at the moment, not when your cunt felt like a tight, wet glove as it pulled more of him inside. He never thought this act could be so mind-bendingly sublime, but as he feels the fluttering corners of your heated core plead for him to deepen the connection, Obi-Wan is sure he will never, ever, get enough of you. He brings himself a little closer to you, until your legs give out and wrap around his hips in an attempt to bring him as flush to you as possible.
“Please, Obi-Wan…just- do it now. Take me now, and don’t be gentle.” You beg, one last time, your words washing over him like a sweet benediction. It is as if your request goes right through him, clutching his heart tightly until he does nothing except obey you.
“A-are you sure?” Even though he already knows your answer, he asks again, if only to ensure that you were as undeniably gone in him as he was in you. His voice is shaking, nearly as distracted as his breath, and you reach out to hover your lips over his own, to breathe in his hidden desires until they intermingle with your own.
“Please…fuck me.”
The sentiment clouds over the two of you like a lust-filled tempest, one that has been waiting for the right moment to unleash its brazen fires over your coalesced, wanton forms.
“With pleasure,” Master Kenobi growls in response, no longer caring for making this last as he thrusts his cock into your heat, until he hits a deep corner within your walls that forces stars across your eyesight.
“Gaahh-” you throw your head back and cry out as soon as you feel his fat, hard dick fill you to the brim. He nuzzles into your cheeks, breathing heavily against your skin until you can only hear the air parting from his mouth. He moves his palm from around your wrist to your hand, intertwining your fingers together and squeezing them tightly as he expertly ground the base of his cock against your core.
“Ahhhh s-sweet one,” it’s his turn to sob in ecstasy when he feels your pussy tighten around him the harder he pushes into you. Whatever control left in his body evaporates, and he drags his length out of your clenching walls before driving back into you again, sending another scream of pleasure from your mouth against his cheek.
“O-Obi, you feel so good.” You barely manage to say as he sets a rough pace, pushing and pulling his cock deep within your cunt until the only sensation you could focus on was the delicious drag of the protruding veins along his dick against your sensitive cunt.
“As do you, oh fuck…as do you, my darling girl.” Obi-Wan confesses, finally managing to push himself up far enough to look down at you. He finds your eyes instantly, the fire simmering behind them surely mirrored in his own. He can’t help himself, moaning your name like a prayer when you tug on his hair and bring him back to you again. You want to feel as much of his body against you as possible, the sentiment completely understandable to the Jedi Master since his own Force signature screamed to dance and blend with your own. He feels his mind give away to overstimulation again, and he fears that the spirit within him may get too accustomed to having your aura call and lure him in with its passionate and raging arousal.
His pace falters briefly, and Obi-Wan realizes it is possibly because he’s beginning to give himself completely over to your presence. In an attempt to distract himself, and against his better judgment, he breaks the kiss and pulls back completely, letting go of you and forcing you to remove your fingers from his hair. You try to reach out for him to bring him back to you but Obi-Wan nods at your hands until they are slammed above your head yet again. You gasp at the sudden action, knowing that you will never quite get used to the feeling of having him restrain you with the energy of the universe. Slipping two of his fingers beneath the fabric of your panties, Obi-Wan tugs on it harshly until it rips from your body, the violent behavior sending a fresh wave of arousal across your body and making you clench tightly around him. He sighs and shuts his eyes briefly, wanting to commit this moment to memory. When he thinks he has a grip on himself, he opens his eyes and looks straight into yours as he brings the torn fabric of your panties to his nose, breathing in deeply until your scent fills his senses before shoving it into the pocket of his robes. You move your hips in tandem with his own, biting painfully into your lower lip when you feel his hands grab your hips tightly and pull you back against his cock until you feel bolts of lightning trail up your spine.
“Look down, look down and see where we are one.” Obi-Wan demands, picking up the pace when you moan his name as you obey him and look down to where you are joined. The sight of his hard cock as it disappears into your cunt almost throws you over the edge, and you don’t dare shift your attention elsewhere, wanting to relish in the feeling of being stretched over his dick over and over again the harder he drives into you. “Oh maker in heavens, you are positively sinful.” You hear him swear as he continues his assault on your core, the sound of his skin slapping against yours suddenly making you shy. While a part of you hopes that the guard waiting outside of your door left, you pray that he was still there, wanting someone to know how good Obi-Wan was fucking you, and how obedient you were for him.
“Please,” you can’t bring yourself to say anything else, your throat hoarse from overuse and the repeated sobs you let out the more unwavering his brutal thrusts became.
“Use your words, my sweet. Tell me what you desire.” Unlike you, Obi-Wan can still form proper sentences, something that makes you quite jealous considering the mess he is making of you. You clench and unclench your fists, thankful that the hold he applied on your wrists was giving you all the necessary pressure you needed to bring your body against as he slid his fat cock against the quivering walls of your pussy.
“Your…hands. I want your hands to- to…” He distracts you with a dangerous grin, settling himself deep inside you without moving a muscle, until you could feel him twitch against that spongy, innermost corner of your cunt. Obi-Wan grinds against you, sending you into a frenzy when you feel your clit throb with need the more he teases you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock making it more difficult to not scream for him to just use you.
“Tell me.” He warns, lifting you up until your thighs rest on top of his own. Your lower back erupts with goosebumps when he grabs your waist tightly and slowly moves you around in small circles, so his cock marks every inch of you he can touch.
“Here, please.” You can’t move your hands so you do your best to mime where you need to feel him still, eyes nodding down before you decide to extend your neck as far back as possible until he gets the hint. You think he’ll jump at the chance, but when he halts his movement, you realize the request might be too far for him. He lets go of you then, roaming his hands across the length of your form, not caring for how shameless his touch appears as he cups your breasts and pinches your nipples. They pebble beneath the palm of his hand, and your lungs threaten to erupt when he flicks each peak with his thumb before sliding one hand past your sternum, to the base of your neck.
“Little angel, I-” he doesn’t move again, and you think your heart might just stop then and there when you notice the tender look in his eyes. Gods, after all of this, he was still being so respectful to you.
“Oh my maker, I’m already so close Master. I just want you to keep touching me, wrap your hand around me. I want you to, I- I need you to.” You’re not sure of what you’re saying at this point. All you know is you want Obi-Wan to take full control of you, have you submit to him completely until you can no longer recognize where you ended and he began. Thinking he’ll now use this against you, you arch your back and try to move beneath him. But as Master Kenobi proved throughout the night, he was much quicker than you, and without missing a beat, he returns one of his hands to your waist to prevent you from moving without his permission again, the other instantly wrapping around your throat and applying pressure that sends you into the next galaxy.
“Filthy little whore, craving such violent needs.”
He groans as he clenches his jaw tightly and snaps his hips against you, sending your body off of the ground before it falls back against him. The force of his thrusts, combined with the tightening hold he has on your jugular and the filthy words leaving his lips, coaxes pleasure out of you that you have not experienced in decades.
“Master, I- I can feel you so deep inside me.” You tell him as you look into his eyes, needing him to feel a sliver of the pleasure he was bringing onto your body. Obi-Wan stutters for a moment, the praising comment wrapping around him like a warm coat, threatening to send him into another dangerous frenzy.
“Feel me, darling. Feel me as I mark you with my cock. Here,” before you can ask him to release you, Obi-Wan moves one of your hands to your lower stomach, pushing your palm down on your navel with the Force while he continues to drag his achingly hard cock in and out of you.
“Oh gods,” you scream as you vaguely feel his length slide against your tight walls, a sudden spike in your ecstasy letting you know that Obi-Wan was responsible for the flood of sensations now coursing through your veins. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he remove the invisible hold he has on your hand, waiting until you were only experiencing him before dragging your attention back to his eyes again.
“There we go, that’s it love. You feel that?”
“I- I’m…” You meet his eyes and feel your soul fall into the ocean of blues now vibrant and visible around his pupils. The rest of the sentence falls away, and you barely manage to breathe as Master Kenobi fills you repeatedly, ensuring that your cunt now recognizes the stretch of his hard, thick dick. You’re on the verge of coming, and you get the sense that Obi-Wan was near ecstasy as well. For a moment though, you notice that Obi-Wan isn’t quite looking into your eyes, but through you.
You want to ask him what he can see, but you choose to prioritize your rapture, chasing it with need in hopes of granting him his own as soon as he feels you come on his cock. You don’t look anywhere else though, the sight of his hair sticking to his face and nearly hiding his eyes from your gaze forcing a string of expletives to leave your tongue. The man somehow managed to look gorgeous in the throws of passion, and you make sure to remember to tell him later that you never thought you would ever see someone look so alluring and provocative yet handsome and graceful as they fucked you within an inch of your life.
Like you, Obi-Wan can almost taste the rhapsody of his body, and he yearns to fall over the edge along with you. But as he takes in your form, so beautiful and wrecked, he can’t help but reach out to your Force signature one last time, wanting to memorize its fiery nature one last time before he completely loses himself to the heat of your cunt as it flutters around him. He inhales deeply, focusing as much of his energy on you as possible, and as he allows his eyes to roam over your shaking body, he finally tunes into the bright, red aura branching away from your entwined bodies and across the dimly-lit room.
Never has Obi-Wan seen such beauty before, the dancing rays of intense red beams filling his mind’s eye with such elation that he can’t bring himself to think of anything else but how incomparable you are to everything that exists in this galaxy, almost as exceptional as the Force itself.
The last thought should scare him, but as he lets go and allows your Force signature to take over his, Obi-Wan comes to one conclusion, the idea of which makes him smile down at you as he presses impossibly deeper into your pussy.
Perhaps red is all I ever needed to touch after all.
As he accepts the reality of this silent revelation, he can no longer hold back from telling you how beautiful you are.
“Feel me, little one. Feel me as I fuck your tight cunt…feel me as I brand your body. Stars, I- I wish you could see yourself the way I do, dear heart. You are radiant…your Force signature is- never have I seen such a bright and pure energy. Oh fuck, I must have you again, I must.” It is unlike him to whisper such vulgar words out loud, but Obi-Wan wants you to know that having you once will not suffice. He hopes you understand that he may be referring to an intimacy beyond this act, but he files that need for later, when he is less terrified of the effect you have on him. He fucks you without abandon, the hold he has on your neck tightening even further when he looks down and watches as you slide your hand up his chest to his neck. You cup his cheek in your palm, willing him to look into your eyes as you give yourself to the pleasure.
“Obi-Wan, don’t stop. I- I want to come on your cock, I want to feel you come inside me…come with me. Fill me with your seed, Master.” You throw your needs into his hand, knowing that the two of you only need the other to reach pleasure so you can fall into your own. When his chest rises and falls erratically, you dig your heels into the back of his thighs as hard as your muscles will allow, wanting him to fill you with his cock until you can feel nothing but him.
“S-sweetheart, I- I can’t last much longer.” Obi-Wan’s voice breaks, and he falls over you when he feels your thumb trace his lower lip lovingly. He rests his forehead against your own as his rhythm falters, but he ensures to not loosen the grip he has on your neck, not wanting to take away any touch that aids in bringing you pleasure.
“Then come with me Obi, come for me.”
“I’m- stars…I- please, my lady, fall apart with me. Come undone on my cock, I’m right there…r-right- ahhhh,” the words die in his throat as he feels the blazing fire of your Force signature strike through him, sending him over the edge along with you so instantly that he forgets how to breathe for a moment. He grinds into you, his cock pulsating harshly against your own fluttering walls as long, hot spurts of his seed shoot deep into your womb. Obi-Wan shuts his eyes as he hovers his lips over your own, breathing in the air leaving your mouth as your body shakes violently beneath him. He can’t feel anything else except the heat of your pussy as you clenched tightly around him and milked every last drop of his cum deep into your cunt.
As his hips stutter, you reach up and mold your lips with his own in a chaste kiss, moaning against him when he unintentionally bucks a little too harshly into you and forces you to squeeze around him in your post-orgasmic haze. Obi-Wan groans in return, loosening the grip he has on your neck and moving his hand to the ground so he doesn’t crush you with the weight of his body. He explores your mouth with his tongue, wanting to make this moment last as long as possible before he pulls out of you. As you move your arms around his neck, Obi-Wan can’t help but smile against the touch of your lips, finding your need to feel as much of him as possible heartwarming. He leans into you a little but makes sure to keep his weight off of you, only wincing lightly when the gentle movement makes him grind against your mound and forces you to break the kiss.
“Little one, are you alright? Have I hurt you in any way?” His voice hovers over the skin of your forehead, smoothing away any doubts beginning to form in your mind now that the two of you were not completely distracted by the touch of the other. You hum contently, nuzzling deeper into his neck as you throw your leg over him and shift closer to his body. A shiver courses across your skin, and you fist your hands into the robes still shielding him from your eyes as soon as you feel your combined juices trickling down your thighs. You flush with heat at the prospect of going back to your home with evidence of this man’s pleasure deep inside your pussy. It’s only when he lays a kiss on your temple repeatedly that you remember the question he asked you not a moment ago.
“Only in a good way, Master Jedi.” You move your hand up his chest until you feel the skin of his neck beneath your palm, and before you can bring it elsewhere, Obi-Wan clasps your hand in his own and pulls it to his mouth. Your eyes flutter open just in time to watch him as he rests his lips right above your wrist and kisses it, gently placing the palm of your hand on his cheek before looking down to meet your eyes. There’s something rather intimate about the Master Jedi allowing you to touch his beard, the gesture oddly more personal than anything else you’ve done thus far.
“No, don’t…please, call me Obi-Wan.” He furrows his eyebrows, the pout forming on his bruised lips distracting you briefly before your mind catches up with what he just said. You blink at him as the teasing grin growing on your expression sends a blush across his face. He swallows the knot in his throat, avoiding your gaze for a few seconds before returning to meet your eyes again. You think he’ll return the smile but when he stares at you with that same, slightly concerned look, you decide it best not to tease him any further. The man has done more with you than he initially wanted so he must have been reconsidering much while he remained in your arms. The least you could do was ease away whatever thoughts were beginning to storm his mind regarding you, and the compromising interaction he’s carried on with you throughout the night.
“Okay…have I hurt you anywhere Obi-Wan?” You trace invisible circles across his beard, wishing the two of you were anywhere else but here. Even though you know he didn’t spend time with you in return for the information you offered him, you still can’t help but feel that this space was overbearing, or at least, subconsciously making you think of your line of work and his ‘beliefs.’
“Yes.”
The second you hear his response, you sit up and begin to study his body, your hands going from his neck to his arms, down to his stomach and lower where you think you may have somehow left a mark.
“Maker, where have I- oh gods, I didn’t think that-” Your mind is racing with ways you could have made tonight less hurtful to him, but before the waves of anxiety overtake you completely, Obi-wan is sitting up and cupping both of your cheeks in his hands. He rests his back against the edge of the couch, not bothering to ask if it’s alright with you as he pulls you into his arms and brings you across his lap.
“Breathe, dearest. Breathe.” He sighs sweetly, resting his forehead against your own and increasing the volume of his breathing so you can mirror his actions and calm your elevated heart rate. As you inhale and exhale along with him, Obi-Wan lowers one of his hands to your chest, urging you to do the same thing so you can feel his heart through his clothes. Only then does he notice your breathing stabilize, and he dares to open his eyes and look upon you, hoping that his answer is enough to set your mind completely at ease.
“You have hurt me by giving me that which, I now know, I cannot part from.”
The words fall from his lips like the sweetest wine, one that washes over you with an ease you’ve never felt before. The desirable effect slowly flows through your mind, and Obi-Wan pulls back further to meet your gaze so you can see for yourself that he was not lying to calm you, but whispering a confession he was afraid would make this complicated.
“Obi…” You whine his name as you lean into him and mold your lips with his own. It’s a chaste kiss, one that neither of you have experienced in a long time, and the Jedi beneath you sighs deeply into the faint touch as he brings his arms around you to bring you as close to him as possible. When you break apart, you leave a trail of kisses across his face, praying to the maker that the man beneath you understands what it was you were trying to convey to him now.
“You have ruined me, love. In the best way possible.” He says as he drags his hands across your neck and tugs you into his chest, until the only thing filling his senses is your Force signature singing to him, for him. It has been past the hour he’s originally offered when the two of you agreed to whatever this is, but neither of you dare to move or break the moment, afraid the other suddenly remembers propriety and ends this.
Obi-Wan takes advantage of having you in his arms without anything to distract him, rubbing his hands up and down your back until your body sags against him. He dares to rest his cheek against the top of your head, the action making you fist your hands into his robes even tighter, as if you were afraid he was going to leave you now. He has to report back to the Council, perhaps even run over some plans with Anakin, but he can’t find it in himself to move just yet, wanting to relish every moment he gets to be in your presence. When he shifts to accommodate you better, you wince and push off of him, eyes attending to the wet fabric of his pants and shirt.
“Your clothes-” you frown when you realize you made a much bigger mess of him than you initially thought, but Obi-Wan shakes his head and takes hold of your chin, bringing your attention back on him as he smiles at you.
“Should not be a concern to you,” he finishes your thought, his fingers combing your hair away from your face so he can take a better look at you. Under normal circumstances, you’d laugh at the change in sentiment or perhaps joke about his lack of concern for his attire when he made a great deal of it a while ago. But you got the feeling that it wouldn’t be right if you were to treat him like any other customer. As far as you were concerned, he stopped being one a little over an hour ago.
“I have never met another like you.” Obi-Wan says as he trails his fingers down your arms and brings both of your hands to his lips, kissing each palm as gently as possible before placing your hands on his chest again. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he enjoyed it when you rested your hands on chest, and the thought of knowing that he didn’t mind you feeling his heart as he remained in your presence sends a new shiver down your spine.
Maker, you hoped you weren’t reading into this.
The prospect of feeling more for him than he was for you halts whatever train of thoughts swirling in your mind, and you decide to derail whatever conversation he’s trying to start instead of building on the intimacy of the space.
“Flattery will not gain you another hour, dear heart.” You throw his words back at him, hoping that he understands why you are so reluctant to reveal your heart’s desires to him the way he was so easily confessing his own to you.
“I need only look at your beautiful eyes to feel satisfied for the rest of my days.” He pushes yet again, and your heart skips a beat when you feel his thumb slowly trace the top of your lips before cupping your neck and forcing your eyes to stare into his own. Gone is the cocksure smile he was gracing you with a while ago, replaced with stern yet gentle furrowed eyebrows as he continued to memorize every inch of you.
“You- you really do have a way with words.” You chuckle nervously when you notice the needy expression remain on his handsome features, and before either of you know what you’re doing, you’re closing the gap in between the two of you once more. Obi-Wan wants to taste your lips again, but he knows that should he go down that path now, neither of you will be leaving this room any time soon. Instead, he lays the most gentle of touches atop each of your eyes, until your Force signature becomes nothing more than a dancing flame around his own, subdued aura.
Whatever exploration both of you wished to carry out before things escalated suddenly unfolds now, with Obi-Wan tracing faded scars and tattoos littered across your body while you caressed any bit of skin visible to your eyes. He leaned away from you when you got to certain parts of his neck and you almost lost it at the fact that the Jedi Master beneath you was ticklish. It’s only when you meet his cerulean orbs again that you remember something you should have told him before you grew heated and out-of-control.
“I know this isn’t exactly romantic but…well, I just wanted you to know that I am clean, and I haven’t, you know…I never sleep with anyone without precautions.” Had you not been of sound-mind, you could have sworn you said something offensive or inappropriate because the look he returns is one of anger and guilt, and you retract your hands from him instantly, not wanting to worsen whatever feelings currently brewing inside him. But Obi-Wan doesn’t let you back away from him completely, reaching out for both of your wrists and bringing you back against his chest rougher than you anticipated. You fall against him but never break your gaze, afraid that you might miss anything if you were to look away from him.
“My lady, I- forgive me. Please, forgive me. I was so lost in you I never-” It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to frantically part with apologetic words, and you feel guilt eat away at your heart when you see the anxiety welling up in his own threaten to send him into unnecessary panic. He’s tripping over his words, his hands clasping your own tightly, as if he was afraid you’d run away from him. You shake your head at him, but the Jedi throws his head down and whispers harsh words to himself. You can’t help but feel for him, and you mentally slap yourself for not wording the comment better so he doesn’t misunderstand you. When he continues to berate himself, you shake his hands away from you and frame his bearded jaws beneath your fingers, forcing him to look at you once more so he can see that you weren’t lying when you told him everything was alright. His face is flushed, and you hate that it’s not because of your compromising position but due his overthinking mind.
“Relax Obi, I wasn’t saying that to make you feel bad. I just wanted to tell you because I- I wouldn’t have slept with you if I wasn’t sure I am clean. I would never do that to anyone, but you…you’re special, and I wouldn’t dream of taking such a chance. That’s all I wanted to tell you, that I’m clean I mean. Nothing more, I promise.” You look into each eye back and forth, needing to be certain that he fully understood there were no implications behind your comment. But more so, you wanted him to know that he was not like the others, but something more. At least you hoped he could become something more.
Silence follows your calming assurances, and you find yourself able to melt into him again when his shoulders visibly relax and you feel his features contort into a less anxious expression. He nods twice at you before slowly bringing his hands back around your waist again. He squeezes you, silently urging you to wrap your arms around him so he doesn’t think he’s forcing you to be near him. You shut your eyes as you rest your entire body against his chest, the soft material of his Jedi robes a soothing presence against your heated skin.
“So am I, but you probably know that already.” He breathes into the silent air a while later, making you smile against him before continuing to tug and scratch the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I am no Jedi…How would I know that?” You hope the joke makes him less likely to tense beneath you throughout the rest of the night but it holds the opposite effect on him. His hands stop moving again and you pull away far enough to take a good look at his face. You find him blushing a deep shade of red like before, except this time, there is a shadow of a less-than-sure smile threatening to break across his otherwise serene expression.
“Well, as you now understand, it- it does not come easily to me to share this part of myself with anyone.” Obi-Wan parts with the revelation as if it isn’t the most personal truth he will ever confess about himself. You know it shouldn’t be shocking that the man in front of you now doesn’t sleep with just about anyone, but it’s still a surprise, especially since he looked the way he did.
“You- you mean you…”
“It has been long since I have lain with another.” Obi-Wan admits rather proudly, and you bite into your lower lip when you feel his fingers caress the side of your jaw. Unlike the beginning of the night, when you were quite uncomfortable with the exceptionally profound effect the man had on you, you lean into that restless feeling now, knowing that you can trust him with more than your body.
“Oh Obi-Wan,” you lean into the touch, tilting your head to the side to kiss his thumb as it passes over your lower lip.
“It seems you and I parted with important parts of ourselves tonight.” The sincerity behind your words touches Obi-Wan’s heart more intimately than he wants to admit, and he brings you closer into him, if only to try and touch the heated fire threatening to overtake his Force signature.
“Indeed we have.” He accepts the statement with more ease than he thought possible for someone such as himself, the idea of sharing similar moments with you in the future not making him apprehensive.
“And do you…regret any of it?” You inquire, no longer afraid of whether he’ll think you’re mad for holding such affections towards him.
“Not one moment. Do you?”
“Yes,” you respond sternly, barely managing to hold back your laughter when you notice the adorable pout suddenly aimed at you.
“I regret not taking you to one of our better rooms. You would have felt much more comfortable there.” You nod at your surroundings, giggling like a little girl when Obi-Wan pinches you playfully and laughs at your mischievousness.
“If you must know, I do not care for such things, sweet one.” He narrows his eyes at you, but chuckles along as your spiritedness flickers joy deep within his soul.
“Oh yeah, and what do you care about Master Jedi?” You smirk at him, leaning down and mapping his neck with as many kisses as he will allow you before he pushes you away from him.
“Your comfort,” Obi-wan moans, throwing his head back in pleasure when you nip and tug at the skin of his jugular, “…and p-pleasure of course.” He barely manages to finish, already feeling the sweet sensation of your lips shooting southward. Obi-Wan knows he shouldn’t allow you to leave such visible markings across his skin but he finds that he doesn’t care much about anyone seeing evidence of your approval of him, especially when it would only remind him of the time he spent with you tonight.
“Consider the job done.” You hum in approval, licking the bruising marks slowly beginning to show across his beautiful, taut skin.
“Any requests for the next time? A blue room, nicer surfaces, heavier drinks?” The suggestions are meant to be humorous, but as everything else, Obi-Wan takes them rather seriously and he slithers his hands up your arms to grasp your shoulders. He ends up pushing you away after all, but when you do finally meet his eyes, they’re more serious than an hour ago when he was inquiring after your customer.
“If you are not otherwise engaged, I would much rather accompany you to your home than remain here.” Obi-Wan means to ask if it’s possible that he leave with you rather than invite himself over to your place, and he prays to the maker that you find it in your heart to allow him to get to know you better outside of this space. He wants to ensure that whatever passes between the two of you is of your own volition and interest rather than a continuation of what is required of you when you’re in the confines of this establishment.
“And what makes you think I’ll invite you over?” You have already decided you want him to leave with you right this moment, and from the slowly widening smirk the gentleman beneath you was offering you, it seemed that he knew your answer as well.
“Well, I do believe I am yet to taste you properly, and I am sure you would prefer it if I were to part with my so-called offensive robes…both actions for your pleasure of course.” Obi-Wan is finding it extremely difficult to keep his hands from wandering across your exhilarating form, his self-control hanging by the thinnest of threads when he recognizes the buzzing energy coursing through your veins with each desire he unfolds to you.
“My pleasure, hmm?” Your voice is shaking, but you don’t break his gaze for a single moment, wanting to ensure that he truly, and desperately, wants this as much as you.
“Yes, little one, your pleasure. Whether or not the taste of you may bring me to my knees in ecstasy is entirely my business and not your own.” There is a dangerous hint to his tone, and you swallow the knot forming in your throat as his hand slowly reaches to grasp the base of your neck. He taps gently against your skin, making you wish you were already in the comfort of your bed, on your hands and knees, begging him to mark you with his breath.
“Stars above, y-you can bend me to your will just by talking to me.” You shut your eyes and surrender to the peaceful storm gradually overtaking your body and soul.
“They do not call me ‘The Negotiator’ for little, sweetheart. Now, lead the way, and I promise to fulfill all your wishes…including the ones your filthy little mind is too embarrassed to confess to me.”
Tagging people who showed interest in my other Obi-Wan fic/may be interested in this one (some aren’t working): @peachoginuk @purple-mango @zombiesnips-blog @starfirette @marierg @londonian7 @fluffyhales @witch-of-forest @namethathasnotbeentaken @heyhawtdawgs @bluboop @stevenslove @captaincarmel416 @minstens @siidereeus @melifair @midgardianslut @cassrage @tairbutstronger @madnessinwrighting @nicole-lightfoot @storm-breaker7 @pianomad @burningcoffeetimetravel @projectdaydreamer @tropodyn @kenobiquinzel @whydoyouwanna-know @rebloggingfanfictioninthechaos @hellmouthrecs @khapikat222 @pan-dulce135 @black-noir-ink @amunet-06 @hypothetical-strumpet @bigtiddywench @writers-haven-after-dark @galacticspankbank @kagvne @septimaseverinafavfanfic @not1isa @bucket-of-fanfiction @buckmepapi @lights-on-the-ridge @starlady66 @dear-ickis @clonesmybeloved @sinisrebloggin @justmevoldemort @cassrage @icefanfic @uyuartik @feelmyroarrrr @millennial-falcon @littlelioncub43 @astrangegirlsmind @darthjupiter @im-not-great-at-making-up-names @mrsparknuts @cltex84 @fanficsilike-okaylove @poisonous-clouds @mo-i-ra @elledjarin @star-whores-a-new-hoe @justreadingthings @hansonveggieclub @lehns-herr @fnckit-fiction @wheres-the-effing-pie @skvatnavle @stupendouscowboyhairdolover @ilovehimyourhonor @accuningstargazer @metalarmsandmanbuns @buckywhorebarnes @thedaisycrownwitch @artemis-rex @crumbssss @thetimidsarcasticcat @jadesabre83 @teeth-ing @dirty-holy-things
Lucky Me
single dad Eddie Munson x single mom Reader
A follow up to Meet the Parents
You have thought, over the last few weeks, about how serendipitous this whole thing is, how the universe’s mysterious ways brought you here - to Hawkins, to the Hideout that night, to Eddie’s bed, and now this bench, watching your daughters play together.
After your one night stand, you arrange a play date and a date date.
Word Count: 18.5k
Contents: Two love-struck sweethearts (I reccomend reading MtP first). This is not intended for minors, 18+ Oral (M&F receiving), PinV sex, some public groping, Eddie Munson’s filthy (magic) mouth. Eddie & Reader are both single parents. Parent-death mention. Reader suffers a bit with anxiety/gets overwhelmed. No physical descriptors for reader, but mentions wearing Eddie’s t-shirt to sleep in. Food & alcohol TW. Modern AU.
Note: I am incapable of brevity; I am a yapper. But I’ll cut to the chase - writing this has been a silver lining to a lot of change and crap days over the last few months, I started writing this in early January and here we are. I really hope you enjoy this one, and thank you for being patient with me!
Eddie Munson fics | dividers by @saradika-graphics
Your New Year started, as the previous one had - watching the clock and calendar reset to 0:00 as fireworks popped and sparkled beyond your window. The television volume is turned low, not to wake the sleeping girl beside you in her ‘Happy New Year’ hairband and pink pyjamas, sugar-crashed and rosy-cheeked.
Hazel had wanted to stay up for midnight, but she was drowsy-drunk by nine-forty-five and after an early countdown you found on YouTube, she was asleep in your bed after ten. You did not need to be won over or convinced for a sleepover with your favourite person tonight; you would rather be here with her to kiss her warm forehead as the bells rang than rattling around downstairs alone or away from her at some party of sweaty bodies and strangers.
Downstairs there are gold streamers to clean up, plates stained with pizza sauce and melted cheese and glasses sticky with the dregs of ‘fancy cocktails’ (a mix of juice and ginger ale that had Hazel giggling and delighted and dancing around the living room). They can wait until morning. Right now, you are content to settle to sleep next to her, feeling cautiously hopeful for what the year will bring.
Your phone buzzes a few times with texts from friends and family, to be ignored ‘til morning for the most part. And then you see his name among the notifications, the bat emoji and the sweet words and your stomach flips and fizzes.
Happy New Year sweetheart x
Eddie Munson has a consistent track record of making you feel flush all over in the few short weeks that you have known him.
The timestamp reads 0:01; you feel tingling excitement that you were on his mind so soon into the new year.
It’s 0:03 when you text him back, and you wonder if he gets that same tightening feeling in his gut when he waits for your reply, like you do with him.
Happy New Year Eddie xx
Your brain buzzes as you consider double texting, adding in something sweet about him and Fae having a wonderful new year, but before you can type anything, he has messaged back.
I hope you and Hazel had a fun night x
You feel warm all over, smiling involuntarily at his sweetness, and send back a selfie of you both from your party for two earlier in the night - matching smiles and sparky dresses, just coz, and another of Hazel twirling in said sparkly dress.
We partied hard 🥂 bed by 10 😎 How was your NYE? X
That familiar old feeling of anxious excitement and anticipation of texting a boy has found you again since your night and morning spent in Eddie Munson’s company. You have only seen him twice since; once at the girls’ dance recital and once in Bradley’s, when the girls spotted each other and had a high-pitched, excited reunion in the chip aisle (even though they had seen each other just two days before in school). You have spoken to him every single day since that morning in Munson’s, texts that turned into phone calls and FaceTimes. It had been mostly PG (mostly), but your shared simmering want barely contained as you spoke quietly lately into the night.
Eddie returns a picture of Fae tucked up asleep under Wayne’s arm on the sofa, the older man with his eyes closed and head tipped back. A second picture of Eddie with a party blower between his lips and streamers in his hair follows.
Party for one. The lightweights fell asleep before the countdown 🙄
The pictures warm your heart, and you can’t help but go back to the picture of Eddie for a few seconds more before another text follows.
Can I call? x
Heart thudding quicker, you look down at sleeping Hazel, how her body moves with deep peaceful breaths. Her light sleeping phase has passed, now your daughter could sleep through a marching band most mornings.
You have already decided to tell him yes when he texts again.
No worries if you’re too tired. Just wanted to hear your voice Hope that’s not too cringe x
You are so endeared by him and put him out of his misery with a quick tap of your thumb. His voice is velvet on the other end of the phone.
“Hey there,” he murmurs. You can’t see his face but can hear the curved smile on his plush mouth.
“Hi. Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year. I wanted to say it properly. You two looked like you had a fun time.”
Smiling fondly, you look down at Hazel again and brush her hair back with a mother’s gentle touch.
“We did. She almost made it to ten thirty. We’re having a sleepover in my bed tonight, so she didn’t feel like she was losing out on any fun. I hope you’re not too lonely with the Sleeping Beauties?”
Eddie laughs low in his throat. You imagine him looking at Fae and Wayne with his warm brown gaze. “Nah, they tried to stick it out. Can’t blame ‘em. Wayne made burgers and then we did sundaes for dessert, like a build-your-own kinda thing. Food comas all ‘round.”
Their evening sounds comparably cosy to your own - homemade pizzas and the last of the Christmas chocolate to accompany Shirley Temples topped with extra cherries.
“That sounds lovely, Eddie.”
There are a few beats of silence, only breathing and the sound of distant fireworks. Eddie is the one to break it.
“I’d love to see you soon. I wanna see a lot more of you this year, if you want that too.”
Your chest feels tight in a good way, like your heart has grown too big for your ribs. Maybe Eddie can hear its sped-up thudding on the other end of the phone.
“I do want that. I’m still looking forward to that date you promised me, Munson.” Eddie’s low laugh is music to your ears.
“Maybe… Could we meet with the girls soon? On the second, maybe if you’re not busy? We could meet at the park over near the library, get some coffee. Let the girls run around and play fairies or whatever they do.”
Before Eddie can word vomit any more, you say yes. No hesitation. The thought of seeing Eddie coupled with Hazel’s excitement for a play date is too lovely to turn down.
“I’d love that, Eddie. The second is good for me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Great.” You can hear his grin. “This isn’t our actual date, by the way. I have a plan for that.”
In your mind, you imagine his grin melting into the smooth smirk that tempted you when you first met.
“Oh, you do?”
“Oh, I do. Are you free next Friday? I have a capable and willing ‘sitter on hand - he comes included with the date. The girls could sleep over here. If you’d prefer to arrange your own, that’s cool. Wayne offered so… up to you.”
He really had been planning this whole thing out. Your mind starts to race into your own planning mode, looking through your mental calendar and wondering if Hazel would be okay with a sleepover. Eddie’s voice brings you back to the moment.
“You don’t need to answer now. I’m trying to be more organised this year. A resolution kinda. Tell me when we meet up, yeah?”
“Yeah. Thank you, Eddie. I’m looking forward to it.” You want to say more, consider zipping your lip and swallowing down the words before you make it weird or too much. Decide, fuck it. “I can’t wait to see you.”
Eddie breathes out relief. “Me too. Me too, sweetheart.”
You talk for a few more minutes before saying good night, wish each other another Happy New Year and sweet dreams. Hazel slumbers on next to you, and you settle down to sleep with a smile on your face.
January second is not as bitterly cold as you had feared it might be. Bundled in hats and coats, scarves and gloves, you let Hazel pick the music for your short drive to the park with the playground that she always asks to go to.
Your girl buzzes and bounces with excitement, smiley-faced in the rearview mirror.
“I’m sooooo excited to see Fae!”
You catch her eye in the mirror and smile.“I bet she is so excited to see you too, honey.”
“And we’re getting hot chocolate after we play! To warm up.” Hazel parrots what you had told her earlier, as excited by pink and white marshmallows and extra whipped cream as she was about the play date.
Hazel talks and you listen, answering her unending curiosity about everything; if there will be other kids there (maybe), will Fae have her sparkly boots on (I think she will, let’s wait and see), if Hazel can have sparkly rainboots (let’s look next time we’re in Target). Her own boots (shiny red) knock against each other as you get closer to the park, excitement flowing off of her in buckets as your belly flutters with anticipation.
You swing your car next to Eddie’s black truck and try not to wince when Hazel squeals her joy. Fae sits in the passenger seat, waving both hands at her friend - by the slightly pained look on Eddie’s face, she is as high-pitched as Hazel is.
“It’s Fae!! Hi Fae! Mom, let's goooo! I want to see my Fae!” she chirps.
You share a smile with Eddie through the window, warm-cheeked despite the chilly day, and wrangle Hazel out of her seat so she can embrace her friend. Ten days without seeing each other was apparently unbearable, and they hug and squeal and jump like best friends parted for decades.
Eddie lingers, watching you watch them, and reaches to squeeze your arm. A little more than two casual parents chaperoning playtime, and so much less than either of you crave. You had been spoiled by his touch and closeness that morning, only slightly satiated by his thigh and arm pressed against yours as you watched the girls prance and twirl at their dance showcase.
The squeeze dulls the ache and makes it worse all at once.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
The weight of whatever it is between you is more than it has any right to be after the little time you had spent together - even though most of that time was having sex and sleeping together as strangers. Whatever it is, though it is laden with desire and cautious hope, does not feel heavy when you are sharing the load with Eddie.
“Daddy, come on! Let’s rock and roll!” Fae beams, holding Hazel’s gloved hand in her own.
“Mommy, can we go in now? Pleeeeease?” Hazel asks.
Your respective Mini Me’s wear matching puppy-dog eyes and bounce in time on booted feet as they await permission (and assistance) to open the gate and start their imagination games.
Fae Munson has never failed to put a smile on your face. The more you get to know her Dad, you see how much of him she has soaked up into her own self: their shared unbidden laugh, the spark of mischief when they want to push buttons and tease (always in good nature and never ever mean). She reminds you of starlight, breathtaking and sparkling, to your daughter's sunshine-brightness - they are a perfect pair.
“Okay, okay. Chill for a sec,” Eddie laughs, wobbling his daughter’s head fondly, his hand spread wide like a spider over her lilac beanie. He holds the gate open, gentlemanly as you remember, and falls into step with you as the girls scurry on. “Pick a nice bench for us. I wanna check the slide is dry - Fae got a wet butt on it last time and she was not impressed.”
Fae is already telling Hazel about the horrors of the aforementioned wet butt - a horror of her own impatience and Eddie’s sleepy-headedness after staying up texting a certain someone late into the night.
He winks at you before following after the girls, calling ‘wait for meeee’ in a girly voice that makes them squeal-laugh and pick up the pace toward the swings to leave Eddie straggling.
You pick a spot with a good view of the girl's realm to roam, but far enough away that they will feel independent and you can soak up your time with Eddie. He checks the swing seats and the slide, dried by the kids who had played earlier that morning and jogs back to you after giving them both a boost onto the jungle gym. You had no time to quadruple-check your appearance in your front camera - not that this was your date.
His smile widens when your eyes meet, and he slows down a touch to enjoy the vignette of you on the bench in the winter sun, glowing and gorgeous. Ethereal, breathtaking. Eddie kind of cannot believe that you are real; you are here, and you like him (at least he is pretty damn sure you do).
You are warmed through by his gaze and fight the self-conscious feelings that creep in. You have thought, over the last few weeks, about how serendipitous this whole thing is, how the universe’s mysterious ways brought you here - to Hawkins, to the Hideout that night, to Eddie’s bed, and now this bench, watching your daughters play together.
Eddie sits next to you, thinks about pulling you against his side to keep you warm. He knows he cannot, not yet, but maybe someday.
“It’s good to see you,” he says. The sunlight shows flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes and the few silver strands in his dark stubble and hair, and you can see the warm vapour of his voice in the chilly air.
“You too, Eddie. I’m really glad we’re doing this.” There’s an unspoken ‘for the girls’ and a more obvious ‘so that I could see you in the flesh and not just on my phone screen’ that hangs in the air between you. Neither of you needs to say it out loud.
He smiles and knocks his shoulder against yours gently, radiating warmth and his spicy-warm scent. “S’better in person. Not that I don’t like texting with you, seeing you on FaceTime.”
There’s this familiarity between you, forged over text and video calls and a shared yearning for more that has been roadblocked by your responsibilities and real life.
Feeling brave, you wonder aloud, “Is it just me, or does this not feel awkward and weird? Like, at all…”
You watch his smile spread, his dimples deepen. A wash of relief releases the slight tension in his shoulders and on his brow.
“Not just you. We’ve talked most days though… And what’s this, like our fourth time meeting? I think we’ve broken the ice, sweetheart.” Eddie raises his brow, smirking in a way that lets you know that he is remembering that first night and the morning after.
Warmth floods your cheeks and your belly, letting yourself remember how his hands felt on your body, how he took you apart and held you back together again.
“Yeah. Yeah, we smashed that ice, huh?”
His laugh is a smokey, throaty chuckle, bursting from his plush mouth. “Yeah, we did.”
It sets you off, a laugh that you try to haul back, but the seal is broken now, and you have well and truly dashed any iota of awkwardness that may have lingered. Like teenagers who should not be laughing but cannot stop, it gets funnier again just as you stop. The girls look over, curious about their parents shared laughter, and you both wave back at them as you try to settle yourselves.
“Fae was so damn excited to see Hazel today. She woke me at seven - seven goddamn am. I can just about get her up for school, and then she wakes up at seven on the holidays,” Eddie says, watching them play together.
“Mm, Hazel too. Seven thirty, but she hasn’t stopped talking about it since I told her she had a play date with her bestie.”
Your daughter’s laugh blends with Fae’s, both perched in the basket swing that sways back and forth gently. It won’t be long until one of you is called up to push them higher than they can manage themselves.
“I’m glad she met Fae. Having a friend has helped her settle a lot.” Your eyes stay on the girls as you speak, and Eddie’s eyes are on you. “It was hard at first, she missed her old school, her friends, everything. I felt really awful about moving her entire life; she was so quiet, and I felt like the worst Mom ever.”
Your head turns to look at Eddie. “And then she met Fae, and she was like sunshine again. Brighter than ever.”
A warm smile spreads across his handsome face. His hand covers yours, a quick squeeze before retreating again.
“Faerie Dust,” he says, quiet voiced. “She’s good at making things better and she doesn’t even realise it.”
You match his smile, laughing quietly at the marvel that is Fae Munson. “Faerie Dust. Suits her, Eddie.”
“Doesn’t it just,” he says, glancing over to make sure the girls are still okay. “I’m glad she was there for Hazel. Fae… It’s not that she never had friends, but she’s never had a best friend. Not until Little Miss Sunshine over there.”
You feel tears pressing at the back of your eyes, happy relief to match your smile. It is one of those moments, those Mom Moments, when the difficult days and boundless motherly love are affirmed by realising that your kid is just as amazing to other people as she is to you.
“M’glad she could be that for Fae.”
Eddie squeezes your hand; he gets it. Eddie understands the relief of knowing he is raising someone who is filled with boundless goodness and kindness.
This time, he does not take his hand away so quickly. Alongside the adoration and pride for his imp of a daughter that fills his heart, there is a growing whisper of more-than-fondness for you and Hazel too.
You sit in easy silence for a few moments, just watching the girls with their heads together, their giggling and giddy mischief make you both smile. The call comes then (as you knew it would), Fae hollering over at her Dad to come and push them in the swinging basket. She tacks on ‘please!’ and you can see Hazel’s excitement to finally experience the long-fabled crazy-high-swing-pushing that her friend had told her all about.
“Duty calls.” Eddie stands, shares a smile that makes your cheeks warm and the butterflies swoop, and saunters across to them, bringing his mechanic’s strength that earned him the ‘best swing pusher’ title.
With both girls holding on tight, you try not to white-knuckle the bench beneath you as you watch Eddie pushing them in a high swooping arc. Hazel’s little face is wide open and full of joy and her laughter blends with Fae’s delighted whooping.
You see how Eddie is careful not to push too hard, too high, and how he keeps his body agile and strong to catch the swing again before pushing again. His face is animated as he teases the girls, kind-heartedly asking if this is high enough for them before sending them forward again before they can answer. It is easy to let your mind drift and remember his bare arms, dark ink and pale skin and the way they felt wrapped around you.
“Mom, look!”
Hazel’s delighted squeal brings you back to now, making your heart rate spike in a whole other way than your memories had.
You wave over as she swoops up high once more, “Wow, that’s the highest ever!”
Soon, they are giggle-drunk and beg for Eddie’s mercy, and he only toys with them for a little while before slowing them to a stop, spinning them around a few times until they have had enough. When the girls feel steady-footed again, he helps them down to race each other to the jungle gym to climb and conquer the crow's nest at its highest point. You don’t miss how Fae hugs him quickly, foregoing first place for a little piece of her Dad.
Once more, you watch Eddie make his way to you; his cheeks have a rosy glow from the exertion of swing-pushing. Beneath your winter layers, your body yearns to have him close to you again - partly to steal his warmth but mostly because you miss the way you felt when he held you, hugged you, mapped the sweet and soft spots of your body like he wanted to memorise all of you.
“What’s that look for?” Eddie asks, slowing to stand in front of you.
“What look?” you ask, trying to play cool and not smile and flush hot-all-over like a teen with a crush.
Eddie leans in closer, just enough that you can smell his cologne and spearmint gum, hear his stage-whisper.
“Like you want to eat me.”
The heat of his gaze and the way his lips curve in a wolfish smile bring you back to that night in the Hideout, his quiet deep voice takes you back to one particularly flirty FaceTime call long after bedtime.
You stop yourself from saying “because I do” by sinking your teeth into your lip, barely stifling a smile of your own.
Pleased with himself, Eddie retakes his seat next to you and lets his arm rest along the back of the bench, angling his body toward you.
“I was thinking about our date.”
You feel just as pleased with yourself when you see his smooth smile sparkle with something more boyish and exciteful, less suave than before. He had been building up to ask you.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm. I’m looking forward to it.”
When you shift your eyes away from Hazel and Fae and meet Eddie’s eye, your attempt to play it cool and his barely contained excitement spark like flint, cool exteriors cracking your faces into a shared smile. Both soothed by the simmering excitement you share.
“Me too,” Eddie says, his mind racing to pull together his ideas for a great first date and pin them down.
“Claudia’s going to take Hazel for the night.”
Your cheeks heat up at the memory of Claudia Henderson’s intrigued smile and the flash of excitement that made her eyes sparkle when you asked if she would mind having Hazel overnight again. She didn’t pry, but made you promise her that you would be safe and relax, and to call her if you needed an SOS.
Eddie’s fingers brush against your arm, a barely there touch through the layers of sweater and coat.
“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty?”
It’s more than okay, and you have to stop yourself from blurting it out. You temper yourself from being too eager, too enamoured by this man planning a simple date. Later on, your brain will buzz with what to wear and whether you will stay the night with Eddie again, and you will fight that doubting voice that tries to dull the shine of this and ruin your excitement.
“That sounds great, Eddie. Seven-thirty is perfect.”
Behind the leather and the wash-worn Metallica hoodie, the thermal beneath, Eddie’s heart is pounding and his stomach feels fluttery in a way it has not since he dated Fae’s mom. He thought that part of him was long gone, broken and buried.
“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” he says quietly. “I like spending time with you.”
Your heart is in your throat, and behind his smile, you see a glimpse of the same fears that rattle around your head. Your bodies are like two brackets on the bench, facing each other and holding between you the fragile buds and blooms of whatever this is, familiar and brand new all at the same time.
“Me too. I haven’t had something to look forward to in a long time,” you say, quietly sharing a secret in a mirror image of your daughters together at the top of the jungle gym. “Something that’s just for me. Y’know?”
You are fairly certain that he knows exactly what you mean, and you watch his shoulders sag ever so slightly, letting go of a breath that had been stuck in his throat.
“Yeah. I know that feeling, sweetheart.”
The girls steal your attention again, waving and calling for both of you so that you will watch them go down the big slide, Hazel first and Fae shortly after.
Soon, their patience for hot chocolate will wear thin and they will forget the playground in favour of sweet talking and puppy dog eyes with fluttery lashes, asking if it’s time for a treat yet. But until then, they are content to play and share secrets, whisper their shared wonder about what you and Eddie are laughing about.
The return to school and work is silver-lined by your date, a beacon of light in those dark and cold January days. You have promised Hazel a trip to Target for sparkly rain boots on Saturday, fuelled by Mom Guilt for leaving her on Friday night and dressing it up as her own glittering finish line to get through the first week of back-to-school.
The week crawls by in work, doing inventory and taking a few eager and early Valentine's Day orders, planning a trip to the wholesalers in Bloomington before the Big Day and scheduling consultations with the brides and businesses who want the most special arrangements for the most loved-up day of the year.
With the lazy days and late nights of Christmas behind you, your texts and FaceTimes with Eddie are peppered through your workdays and tired evenings, sending little check-ins and anecdotes about customers in the florist and the garage and keeping each other company on video calls while Eddie folds laundry and you load the dishwasher. He has peppered your conversations with little hints about your date: dinner in the next town over so you can escape the bubble of Hawkins but be close enough for any parent emergencies. His excitement has matched yours, his nerves too, and he is counting down the days until he can see you again.
When you see Wayne in the dance studio parking lot on Thursday, there is an extra twinkle in his eye when he asks about your week and wishes you a late ‘Happy New Year’. There’s something of it, a Munson brand of mischief and magic, that reminds you of Eddie. He doesn’t tease or give you the shovel talk but quietly tells you to have a good time just as the girls are released back to you at six pm.
All week, you have carried your excitement with you, tucked safely in your sternum beneath your cosy winter sweaters and your work apron. It is a different kind of simmering excitement and fear than you had felt that first morning with Eddie. As you fall asleep on (what Eddie has dubbed) Date Eve, cheeks still aching from smiling as you flirted hard with the mechanic over text, you imagine it as blowing soapy bubbles with Hazel in the garden when she was smaller. The slow blow, growing the bubble bigger and bigger with bated breath. Will it pop and leave your cheeks wet and eyes stinging, or will it float and shimmer iridescent in the sky? When your brain finally slows down, allows you to relax enough to drift off, you dream of Hazel’s baby laugh and the sun on your skin and bubbles flying up into the blue sky.
You wake on Friday feeling like all of the water in your body has been swapped from still to sparkling. You make breakfast sandwiches with egg and cheese and stow a packet of Mini M&Ms and a little note for Hazel in her lunch box. Hazel is delighted by your extra good mood, singing ABBA and Shania Twain and Love Shack with you in the car, asking (full of innocence) if this is ‘that Friday Feeling’ she had heard grown-ups talk about.
You bring doughnuts into work and share your good mood with your co-workers who ask if you have heard from ‘your guy from the bar’ over the holidays. An unsubtle ‘maybe’ as you arrange a bouquet for a new mom sets them off, excited to know more and playfully frustrated by your elusive answers. You focus on the butter-yellow arrangement and avoid saying too much, smiling too much, or gushing about how you’re seeing him later today.
They already know.
Eddie wanted to get you flowers for your date; he knew you had a particular love for them, one that brought you all the way to Hawkins to manage Ivy Lane Floral Boutique and restart your life in a new town. When he knew you were meeting a supplier earlier in the week, he swung an early lunch and called in to order a simple bouquet with a few ideas of what he wanted, helped along by your coworkers. They kept the order a secret, not wanting to spoil the surprise, off the books and safely stashed away from the other orders in the back. Most importantly, they will make sure you’re busy with something else or already gone home when he comes in to collect it later on.
All day, you wait for something to dampen your sunny mood. A call from the school or a text to cancel or announce a change of plans or a change of heart. Something to drag you down, back to cold reality. Something.
There is no cloud to eclipse the sun, no rain to stop play.
You leave work, pick Hazel up, make dinner for her, and pack her off to Claudia’s without a hitch - no tears, no “I want to stay with you, Mommy!”. You squeeze her extra tight when she lets you and thank Claudia for the hundredth time before heading home for your everything shower and a fortifying glass of wine.
Time moves too quickly and then not at all as you wait for seven-thirty. There are discarded outfit picks and shoe options around your room, and your bathroom bin has black-smeared cotton pads and Q-Tips from an eyeliner mishap and laddered tights that caught on your rings. You look in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the bumps and dips that stand out and re-thinking the black skirt and sweater topped with an oversized leopard bomber (your Christmas gift to yourself). It felt too much and not enough, rethinking your lipstick and the chunky boots and how you had styled your hair.
You’re just about to change back into black jeans when Eddie’s knuckles meet your front door.
Your heart sparks and spikes with excitement. One more look in the mirror; deep breath, relax your shoulders, smooth your skirt one more time. You know you look good.
On the other side of your door, Eddie is vibrating with excitement and the sharp chill of a winter breeze. He can hear your footsteps as you make your way to him, checks his breath again and makes sure he’s not crushing your flowers in his sweaty palm.
“Hi.”
You’re a vision, haloed by the hallway light in the doorway. Like a painting he would have pored over in high school art history.
“Hey.”
Standing on your doorstep in black leather and charcoal, the porch light makes his curls glow like a halo. Eddie looks edible.
It takes a moment for you to see the flowers, a bouquet of sweet-smelling deep reds, complimentary blushes and soft tones, a pop of purple.
“You look amazing,” he says, his smile is boyish and you can’t mistake the hunger in his eyes, see how his gaze lingers on where your skirt hugs your hips and the sheer black tights wrapped around your legs. After not-so-subtly checking you out, he remembers to be a gentleman. “I got you these. I know it’s probably crazy to get flowers for a florist…”
“Eddie, they’re lovely. Thank you. Come in for a sec and I’ll get a vase.”
When the door is closed, you take a moment to feel the weight of ‘this is really happening’ and the realisation that Eddie is in your house and you haven’t tidied much at all. You had accounted for every possible part of tonight, except this.
“Nice place,” he says, looking around at the maximalism of your style and the touches of parenthood until he simply has to get his eyes back on you.
“We’re still making it ours, a few boxes left to unpack in the guest room.”
Your hands cover his, feeling the chill carried from inside and the body-warm chunky metal of his rings as you take the flowers. You recognise them all, lilac, delphinium, ranunculus and rose, recognise their varieties and their meanings. Eddie had done his homework.
“I love them, Eddie. Thank you.”
Standing toe to toe, you breathe in the scent of him and close the chasm to kiss his cheek.
“And thanks for supporting a local business.”
His cheeks flame and dimple as you take the flowers and slip past in a haze of rich perfume, beckoning him to follow with that smile of yours.
Hummingbird wings beat hard in your chest as Eddie follows you to the kitchen. You ask how Fae is and how the first week back to school went for them as you fill a vase for your bouquet to rest in.
Eddie watches you easily move around the kitchen, admiring the bouquet as you untie the brown paper wrappings and lovingly make the flowers at home in the vase. His cheek is scorched from where your lips had grazed him, and yet he somehow manages to not sound like a bonehead as he answers you.
He can’t tear his eyes away long enough to be nosy about how your house looks, if you have any pending DIY jobs you might need a helping hand with (he knows you are more than capable, wouldn’t want to offend with an offer to bang a nail in your wall).
There is no prize for catching him looking at you. Eddie doesn’t hide his awe-filled and hungry gaze that makes you warm all over.
Despite the heat, you bundle yourself in your scarf and wool bomber, and check that your bag has everything you might need for the night (and the morning).
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Eddie smiles and steps closer, both of your black boots toe to toe again, and fixes your scarf slightly as an excuse to touch.
“Perfect.”
You resist ducking your head, decide to be brave instead of shy, and slip your hand onto the buttery leather wrapped around Eddie’s arm.
“Not so bad yourself.”
You watch his gaze drop to your lips and the not-so-subtle way he moves millimetres closer.
Drawn together to meet each other halfway, it can’t be deciphered who kissed who first, a product of mutual longing. Melted together by your kitchen island, you share your breath and your lip stain with Eddie.
There are fireworks behind your eyes and trapped in your veins. After weeks of waiting and wanting, you are both finally put out of your misery.
You can taste the want on Eddie’s lips, his tongue. A man long starved of the affection he deserves, scared to ask for it and try again. He has wanted and waited too, with itchy fingers and a twisting need in his gut, all because of you. The memory of you laid out on his sheets, remembering your body and the taste of you, had almost driven him wild. Now he has you held safe in his hands, and you have him too. You don’t want to stop. You don’t have to stop.
But you do. As easy as it would be to walk blindly upstairs, finding and fumbling your way to bed, you both want more than sex. So much more.
Kisses slow, lips smile. You give in to wanting and share one more kiss, let it linger.
“I really wanted to do that,” Eddie whispers, tipping his head forward against you.
“Me too.”
You thumb gently at his stained mouth, giggling at the mess you have made of him before he has even bought you dinner.
“That colour suits you,” you whisper, before spilling into more giggling laughter, heads together.
Eddie returns the favour, attempting to tidy the smudges and making it slightly worse. Best left to your expertise. Within moments, you look like perfection once again, no bleeding lines or spilled-over stains.
“Better?”
He takes a moment, gives you an exaggerated once-over before nodding. “I liked it messed up. But yes.”
“Like ‘Eddie Woz Here.’”
Your eyes flash, siren-like.
Eddie likes the sound of that, likes the look in your eyes too.
“Careful. Or I’ll mess it up again.”
“I hope you do.”
Eddie’s head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling instead of you. “Oh, I’m in so much trouble with you. Fuck.”
He does not sound too pressed about that, nor does he look too annoyed with that smile on his face. You’re emboldened by his playfulness.
“C’mon, Munson. You promised to wine and dine me. Let’s go before I need to fix my makeup some more.”
His face is split in a grin, pure delight to see this fun and feisty side of you that he had met in The Hideout, the same sweet woman with a devilish side that he had got to know more and more with every text. He does his best to ignore the stirring in his gut when you call him ‘Munson. ’
Waylaid by one more kiss by the front door, you are soon on your way to Bedford with the clock ticking down to the dinner reservation Eddie had made. The thirty-minute drive goes by in a blink, catching up on how your respective Fridays had been and checking in about things the other had mentioned during the week on your calls and in your texts, all soundtracked by Eddie’s loud rock music turned at a low volume.
He squeezed your knee at a few stoplights, and you covered his hand on the gear stick as you cruised down the IN-37. You did not miss how his cheeks looked even more red in the glow of taillights and how his dimples deepened in a way that made your tummy twirl with fondness.
Once his black Ford truck is parked safely in a little lot within walking distance from your restaurant and your activity for the evening, Eddie rounds the bonnet to open your door and offer you a hand.
“A gentleman. I better thank Wayne for raising you right.”
Eddie smiles and squeezes your hand, keeping a hold of it as he clicks the lock and tucks the key away.
“My Mom was big on good manners, but Wayne? He’s somethin’ else.”
Eddie had mentioned that he had lost his Mom young, alluded to the fact that his Dad was absent (and not the best when he was around). His love for his Uncle was clear, and from your interactions with Wayne long before you met Eddie, you know that it is returned in spades.
“That man can swear like a sailor though. Don’t let the smile and Southern Charm fool you.”
There is a sparkle in Eddie’s eyes beneath the streetlights as you walk towards your destination, a little Mexican restaurant that shares its warm glow and spiced aroma from a tucked-away spot just off the main drag of Bedford.
The air is cool, but Eddie’s warm hand makes it all feel warm and glowing. The small town feels different in the dark, looks different. You had viewed a house on the outskirts before finding your home in Hawkins, only saw the centre of town when you were trying to follow the Google Maps directions to the too-small house on the back end of town.
You tell Eddie all about it as he navigates for you both, making sure you don’t need to dodge other pedestrians or lamp posts as he listens to your story. You realise halfway through just how boring it is and trail off. He squeezes your hand like he can read your self-chastising thoughts.
“Well, I’m glad it was a shitty house. Hawkins is poky, but I think you fit in just fine, sweetheart,” he says, knocking your shoulders together.
He winks at you when you look up at him, makes your gut somersault in such a pleasant way.
“You can tell you’re not from there though,” he says. And when you try to decipher why, he simply smiles and says, “You’re way too pretty to be from Hawkins, honey.”
Your shoulder knocks against Eddie’s arm in playful retaliation.
“You’re so full of it, Munson.”
There is no malice laced in your words, and Eddie can tell it is your shields going up. He can see how you have turned in on yourself, self-conscious and self-sabotaging behind a bashful smile.
“I mean it,” he says, squeezing your hand in a double time beat, “And not in the ‘everyone in Hawkins fucks their cousins’ way. Some do. I’ll show you my yearbook sometime, woof.” Eddie stalls your meandering pace a few feet away from the door of the restaurant.
“I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re gorgeous, and you’ve got somethin’ real beautiful in here,” he says, tapping the centre of your chest. “You’re one of a kind.”
That part of you that ruins everything wants to duck your head beneath your wrapped-up scarf and brush him off, but the part of you that has been nourished by getting to know Eddie over the last few weeks, the part that you thought had withered away beyond revival, feels so much stronger, braver, brighter.
You pull him closer so you can kiss his cheek, rest your head against his as you will the right words to come out of your mouth.
“You don’t have to say anything back,” he whispers. “Just needed you to know that’s how I think of you.”
Pulling back a little to look at you again, hoping you will not duck your head or dodge his eye, Eddie smiles softly. “I don’t have any expectations here. I like you, I think you like me. But I’m okay to take it at our own pace. Even if it’s kinda ass-backwards.”
The truth of it makes you laugh, how this all started with pure lust and how it has blossomed into something that could be beautiful.
“I do like you, Eddie. It scares me a little just how much I like you.”
You kiss him again, a sweet brush of lips that makes you both crave more.
“And I will like you even more once I’ve had a taco and a margarita.”
His laugh is loud, echoing into the dark evening and pulling attention from passers-by.
“Food motivated, I can work with that.”
Eddie cups your face with gentle hands and kisses you again until you’re smiling against each other's mouths, not caring that you’re in the middle of the street, blocking up the sidewalk.
The tacos are perfectly spiced and fresh with housemade tortillas and hot sauces, wedges of lime on the side, and the margarita you order has that perfect balance of sharp citrus and smokey tequila. The little table tucked away in the back has been the perfect spot to get to know each other more and more, picking back up the threads of conversations that were better explained in person rather than over the phone.
You both leave the bones of your past relationships mostly buried, a mutual unspoken agreement. It is enough, for now, to say that your relationship with Hazel’s Dad ended because he had found other things and other women he wanted to do instead of being a partner and a father. Eddie tells you that Fae’s Mom was his on-and-off girlfriend, that they were firmly off when he was told there was a baby on the way; he wanted to make something work and she didn’t want any part of it. There is so much more both of you can say, but tonight is not about the past.
Instead, you talk about books and films, Eddie tells you more about his love of music and how he got into D&D. You stash away the little tidbits of Eddie-lore for yourself. He asks about when you got into floristry, about the city you lived in before moving to Hawkins. Eddie isn’t shy about asking you things and you love that, love that he listens. He is a rare gem and you want to keep him all for yourself. It feels comfortable and easy, and you give as good as you get when he flirts with you and shares bites of creamy elote in exchange for a taste of your margarita.
He tells you about how he wants to see the ocean one day, take Fae to dip their toes in the briny tide. His Mom had promised him she would take him one day, but they never had the money or the chance, and then it was too late.
“Fae looks really like my Mom,” he says. “It spooks Wayne sometimes.”
The thought and the one that follows it make you smile, “So that means you must look like your Mom too.”
You see a flash of boyish pride as Eddie nods. He tempers his smile with a bite of salty tortilla chip smothered in guacamole. When he shows you the photo on his phone - a picture of a picture with a hit of his thumb in the corner - you see the resemblance to Fae in his mother’s carefree smile, the sparkle in her eyes caught by the camera as she holds her little boy.
“Beautiful,” you murmur, taking another moment to look at her before shifting focus to the four-year-old version of the man sitting in front of you. Rosy cheeks, smiling up at his Mama with his shiny milk teeth. He takes your breath away.
“Eddie, you little cherub!”
“Butter wouldn’t melt, huh?”
He smiles, pushing down that heart-aching feeling he still gets when he thinks of her. More than once since meeting you, Eddie had wished he could tell his Mom all about you, gush and let her tease him a little about having a crush. Wayne, as always, had picked up the slack.
By dessert, you have promised him some wildflower seeds for bee-obsessed Fae, and Eddie’s been holding your hand since you passed his phone back. Your face hurts from smiling as you share horchata crème brûlée and sugar-dusted churros with hot chocolate sauce, even though your stomach is full and your skirt feels tighter than it had earlier.
Eddie had switched to soda halfway through the meal so he could get you both back to Hawkins safely, but he feels more love-drunk than any buzz from beer could give him. His cheeks have that same rosy hue as the picture he showed you.
Your attention is pulled to the cinnamon sugar caught on his lower lip line. It has evaded the swipe of his tongue, chasing the taste of sweet and rich desserts.
“Do I have something on my face, sweetheart?” he asks, catching your gaze fall to his mouth for the fifth time.
“Yeah, you have a little…” Tapping your own lip, you watch a flicker of amusement cross his face. “C’mere, I’ll get it.”
Your hand cups his cheek across the small table, reaching and leaning toward each other to meet in the middle. Your thumb grazes his lower lip, brushing away the sparkling spiced sugar, but neither of you move away. A second more purposeful slow drag of your thumb along Eddie’s lower lip sparks like a match; the hot flame is reflected in his eyes and catches on the embers of want that have settled low in his gut all evening, all week, longer.
“Got it,” you whisper, feeling the same heat.
“Thanks.”
Eddie’s voice is smokey and low, just loud enough for you to hear. He leans into your palm, presses his lips to your thumb. His eyes never leave yours.
Taking your hand as it falls away from his jaw, Eddie places another kiss on your knuckles and you can feel your heart hammering hard behind your ribs, hear it race in your ears. You are so focused on him that you barely register when he signals for the bill. He cannot see how your thighs squeeze together (not for the first time that night) beneath the table.
“So, did the taco and marg help?” he asks, leaning forward a little more.
Puzzled, too mesmerised with want to get it, it takes another little prompt before you can answer.
“Out there, you said you’d like me even more after a taco and a margarita…” Eddie’s smile is teasing in a fun way, wolfish and cool.
“Mmhm, the tacos were great. Best margarita I’ve had in years.” You mirror him, leaning in closer to say, “The company was my favourite part.”
Eddie laughs low in his throat, just for you to hear. “I thought so too. You’re somethin’ else.”
He is enamoured, nay entranced, by you as you hold his gaze, letting the fire burn between you for a moment until the server comes with the bill and card machine, asking if the food was okay, if you have had a good night.
Eddie takes charge of the bill as you hype up the margs, promise you will come back again. You don’t see the tip he left, but the look on your server's face and her smiley ‘thank you so much’ tells you all you need to know.
“Ready to head out?” he asks, tucking his card away again.
As you stand to put your jackets back on (of course he holds your bomber for you to slip back into), you catch a table of younger women eyeing his broad shoulders and the shape of his arms, hear their whispers of ‘where do I find one like that’ and, ‘damn, he’s fine’.
He does not let on if he has heard but drops a kiss on your lips once you’re wrapped up for the cold weather again before getting into his own leather jacket. Once his curls are freed from his collar, he pats down the pockets for his keys, wallet and phone before reaching for your hand.
You nab two lollipops from the hostess station, one each (and you don’t have to share them with the girls or worry about hard candy and their teeth), and step back out into the cool night air.
“So we have a choice to make.”
When you look up at Eddie, he has a faux-serious look on his face, and you can see the vapour of his breath in the air.
“My place or yours?”
You catch him, not for the first time, off guard, and he cracks out a delighted little laugh.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to check out the arcade bar down the street or call it a night, but I do like how you think, sweetheart.”
Full. Body. Cringe.
“Oh…my god. Wait there for a sec, I’m going to walk in traffic.”
Eddie drags you back by your waist as you pretend to make for the quiet main road. “Nope, no way,” he laughs, winding his arms around you to lock you safely against his chest. Your arms wrap around his middle, locking him against you for warmth and just because you can.
You can still catch his aftershave beneath the lingering scent of warm spices as your cheek rests against his strong chest.
“I thought that’s what you were going to ask,” you murmur, peering up at him.
“I was; you just got there first.” Eddie smiles, feeling the gentle stroke of your fingertips on the small of his back. “Either way, mine or yours, now or later, if it’s what you want, baby, I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”
He kisses your forehead, soothing your racing mind.
“I do. I’ve been thinking about it,” you whisper. “You know I have, Ed.”
Some of your texts and late-night phone calls had toed that line, barely keeping a lid on your composure and need at the sound of his voice, but each time, you or Eddie had been interrupted by one of the girls about a bad dream or a glass of water.
“I know, baby. I know, me too.” His fingers drift beneath your chin, tilting your face up for a single searing kiss.
“S’still early. We have plenty of time, no rush,” he murmurs, still in kissing distance. “Will we check out the arcade for a little bit? See if you can beat me on Mortal Kombat?”
You pull back a little, raising your brows at him in a way that makes his jeans a little bit tighter, “Oh, I know I can beat you on Mortal Kombat.”
Eddie scoffs, smiles that wolfish way you like. “You have no idea who you’re talking to. Palace Arcade’s reigning Mortal Kombat II champ two years running. You’re going down”
“Only two?”
For all your fighting talk, your arms are still wound around each other’s bodies. Instead of marching each other right to the arcade, you savour the physical closeness you have both craved and smile against each other's lips as you trade kisses and sass-filled barbs back and forth.
A sharp breeze from the east is what separates and sends you toward the neon sign for Token across the quiet street, seeking warmth and a definitive answer to who is the supreme of vintage arcade games.
You pay for the first two drinks and your play cards - two palatable low-alcohol beers and plenty of game credit to thoroughly kick Munson’s ass at every game in the place, including Dance Dance Revolution. Eddie picks air hockey to warm you both up; despite your shared lack of athleticism, you both show off your parental reflexes honed over years of catching sippy cups before they fall and protecting little heads en route to something that will leave a bump or bruise. He beats you by two points, tries not to be too smug about it.
As you wait for Mortal Kombat to free up, you take turns on Pac-Man and savour the feeling of Eddie’s arm around your shoulders, murmuring directions and trying to steer you into the path of a bright blue ghost. His breath tickles your neck and the weight of his hand on your hip feels like it belongs there. You give as good as you get when it’s his turn, skimming your fingertips along the back waistband of his jeans before they tip-toe into his pocket. Eddie forgets about swallowing up the flashing yellow dots in favour of stealing a kiss that leaves you breathless, leaving Pac-Man himself to be swarmed by the colourful Ghost Gang.
When it’s your turn again, Eddie ups the ante on distracting you now that the dam has broken. Warm breath and spiced praise whispered against your neck, ‘That’s it, good girl’ drag your mind into the gutter and soaks the gusset of your date-appropriate panties. Pressed close behind you, one hand on your hip and the other on the machine, the solid weight of him is the only thing stopping you from melting into a puddle at his feet.
Your fairly public foreplay ebbs and flows as you move through the games, shelved in favour of playful trash-talk during two-player Mario Kart and Crazy Taxi, back on again when you find the Addams Family pinball machine, distracting whispers and wandering hands, lingering touches. Everyone else is too distracted by flashing lights and having their own competitive fun to notice or care.
It’s not all flirtation (but it mostly is); there are sweet moments too and this feels so much more than a first date. You agree on the fact that Gomez and Morticia are relationship goals, and when Eddie spots a Dungeons & Dragons: Tower of Doom game you are flooded with cuteness aggression at his excited little gasp and boyish smile.
“I’ve only seen one of these once before. I can’t believe they have it,” he says, his body fizzing with excitement.
“You wanna play it? They might be done soon..?”
Eddie eyes up the three players holding court at the machine, deep in gameplay. It makes him feel fond, reminds him to arrange something with the Hellfire guys sometime soon.
“They’re in it for the long haul, I think. Anyway, I’ll be here all night if I start,” he says, shrugging. “I didn’t know they had this. Fuckin’ cool.”
“Well, if they move off you can show me, yeah?” His smile widens and he is barely holding on to reality, utter disbelief that you’re real and you care about his interests.
Eddie lifts his phone out of his pocket and aims to snap a picture to send to the guys.
”Hey. Stand in,” you insist. “Show off with your bounty.”
He brushes aside the whisper of embarrassment and hands over his phone. You snap a few pictures of him, beer in one hand and the other firing the devil horns, he sticks his tongue out for one. You catch another of him smiling wide (more at you than posing for the picture).
“Much cuter than a guy holding a fish he just caught,” you tease.
“Me? Cute. Psh, get outta here.”
He thumbs through the photos, struck with some sort of nostalgia at how he can see more of his younger self after an evening with you than he has in a long time, despite the silver strands in his hair and his stubble and the lines around his eyes. He vows to send the pictures into the group chat tomorrow and tucks it away again so his attention is fully on you again.
Pulling you closer so he can kiss you, Eddie feels a little giddy about how easily these moments of affection have blossomed between you over the last few hours.
“Not as cute as you.” He does one more kiss on your nose.
“Hey. Let me compliment you, Eddie.”
He looks into your eyes, guided by your gentle fingers on his cheek.
“I mean it. I know it’s hard to, but I think you’re cute.” You can see him fighting a scoff, an eye roll, so you pinch his chin gently and wobble his head. “I can keep going. You’re fucking hot, and you’re funny and you’re so kind. I don’t know how you’re real.”
He cracks a smile, forces himself not to duck his head even though his shoes seem pretty interesting. He’s not used to this, having someone be sweet to him like you are, like you have been since you met.
“I’ll try to take the compliments, thank you,” he murmurs, melting a little when you smile, proud of him and a little proud of yourself too. “I promise I’m real.”
“Lucky me.”
You reward him, kissing him straight on the lips as positive reinforcement.
“Now I’m going to kick your cute ass at Mortal Kombat. It’s finally free.”
If you weren’t so down bad for him, Eddie’s delighted victory over you might be a turn-off.
Alas, you have a thing for nerds.
Back out on the street almost an hour later, he bounces on his feet and mimes poor imitations of the moves he had doled out as Raiden, beating you (as Kitana) fair and square.
Even when he’s playfully rubbing your face in it, promising he will go easier on you next time, you feel so far gone on him that it makes you ache. You have been carrying that pleasant tenderness in your chest and between your thighs all damn night.
Eddie’s glee is contagious, and you find yourself almost doubled over laughing at his antics as you head for the car. The cool air stings your too-warm cheeks as you walk hand-in-hand, your shared laughter ringing out and pulling attention from other pairs and groups bar-hopping and heading home for the night. The buzz from the cocktails has long passed, and yet you still feel a dizzying high from Eddie’s company.
Closer to the car, Eddie quietens down a little and squeezes your hand. “Tonight’s been great,” he says, smiling softly.
“I thought so too. You’re one hell of a date, Eddie. I’m glad we did this.”
Your meandering pace slows as you near the truck, coming to a stop around the passenger side.
“Me too, sweetheart.” Eddie ducks his gaze for a moment before looking back at you, you can feel his warmth and sincerity. “I meant what I said on New Year, when I called. I really want to keep seeing you this year. You… I really like you, and I don’t want to complicate what the girls have, but I want to try this with you. We can take it slow as you like.”
There is an edge of nervousness that you have not seen much of all night, glimpses here and there swiftly covered by a joke or flirtation. But under the silvery moon, Eddie’s showing you his heart.
Your own heart beats hard and fast in your chest, endeared and excited by him, by the future.
“I meant it too, Ed. I’d like that. I like you.”
His hands settle on your waist, and you instinctively drape your arms around his leather-clad shoulders.
“So I can take you out again sometime?”
“Mhm. You better.”
He smiles so widely that it’s almost impossible to kiss you like he wants to, messier and less coordinated but full of want and elation.
“M’a lucky guy,” he whispers.
The solid body of the truck is cool against your back, a stinging contrast to Eddie’s warm chest as you crowd up close to each other. His tongue swipes against the plush of your lower lip, asking for permission already granted. The quiet moan that sticks in his throat as your tongues brush together makes you throb with want. Between the truck and the breadth of his strong shoulders, you are a willing prisoner to lust and desire, wanting to touch and be touched.
Your brain feels scrambled, loose wires on the fritz, as you make out and touch each other like two teens on borrowed time. Adults on borrowed time, real life and its joys and mundanity looming again.
“Your place.”
Whispering breathlessly against his kiss-abused mouth, Eddie hums a quiet affirmative and can’t resist pulling your hips against his one more time before breaking the kiss.
“Fuck. Yeah, yeah. Anything you want.”
He fumbles for his keys as your fingers trail down his shoulders, over his chest and down down down to his belt.
“Anything?”
Eddie nods, eyes fluttering shut as you cup him through his jeans.
“Anything. Everything.”
He manages to unlock the car, a feat of determination and multitasking as you play with him.
“I knew you were trouble.”
Even as he playfully chastises you, his hips push forward in an involuntary roll seeking more more more of your warm, teasing touches.
You kiss his lower lip, trail your mouth down the dark grown-out stubble on his jaw. “You like it.”
You don’t see how his eyes almost cross when you kiss his neck, graze your teeth along the tendon and soothe the sting with your sweet tongue.
“Fuck, I do.”
It is only when you hear other voices drifting through the almost empty lot that you manage to tear yourself away from each other, your hands above the belt again. Eddie presses one last firm kiss to your mouth, like a promise; ‘this isn’t over and you’re so in for it’ without saying a word. He opens the car door, a little less gentlemanly about where he lets his hands wander as he helps you into the passenger seat this time.
You feel a little giddy as you catch him adjusting himself as he rounds the hood, catching your eye through the windshield.
“Minx,” he murmurs as he slips into the seat.
If you both did not have so much to lose, it would be a no-brainer to pull over to some shady lay-by and pick up where you had left off. But Eddie’s fresh bedsheets and the plum lace beneath your clothes deserve to be enjoyed.
At red lights, he leans over to steal a kiss, leaving you wanting more when it turns green. You try to get your own back, tracing the inner seam of his jeans with painted fingernails until he warns you to behave yourself. The denim feels too tight and tighter still when he catches the way you squeeze your thighs together at his firm words.
“Knew you were a real temptress beneath the flowers and sunshine.”
He had said that one night on the phone, and the memory of his velvety voice in your ear had been stashed away in your bedside drawer for lonely nights.
Now you had the real thing again, and you were going to savour it.
You had both checked your phones before leaving the arcade, making sure there were no calls or texts missed from Wayne or Claudia. No emergencies; you have until morning to enjoy each other.
It’s late, but not quite midnight, when he parks in his driveway on Birch Avenue. If any of his neighbours are up late enough to peer out of their curtains to see you hot-foot it hand in hand into the house, you don’t notice, nor do you care.
Eddie makes light work of the lock, clinging on to his composure until he can close and lock it behind you again, encasing you both in the bubble of his cosy home all over again. Something like relief floods your body as you take in the familiar sight of Eddie and Fae’s shoes by the door, the lived-in loveliness of their house.
And Eddie feels it too, he likes how you look in the low light of his front hallway - a little less put together than you had been when you left your house, perfectly unwound by the fun and flirtation of your evening together.
There is this pregnant pause, a bubble of easy silence as you both just take it all in. When you catch Eddie’s eye, catch him looking, you smile and pull him into you again as you rest back against the door.
Your lips meet in a slow kiss, much less frantic and boiling hot than before, and yet the press of Eddie’s leg between your thighs, bunching up your skirt, stokes the fire burning inside you. Like a slow match strike, you drag your hips and savour the pleasurable friction.
Eddie takes advantage of your slackened jaw and slides his tongue against yours, swallowing down the sweet noises you can’t keep a hold of as you pull him tighter against you.
His jacket is the first thing to go, pushed off his shoulders and down onto the floor. Your scarf follows, then your own jacket as you move blindly, as one, toward the stairs.
After almost falling on his ass at the first step, Eddie breaks the kiss to lead you up to his room. You could probably find your way, but keep holding his hand as he leads you into the lamp-lit haven of his bedroom.
His sheets are deep green this time; they look brand new and so soft. Before you can inspect them any further, Eddie’s hands are back on your hips.
“Y’okay?”
“Never better.”
Another smiling sweet kiss moves you closer to the bed. It yields beneath his weight and yours as you straddle his lap; all decorum about keeping your skirt unbunched and tidy has long gone. Wide ringed hands take advantage of the gathered-up fabric, encouraging the push-and-pull friction you both crave.
You feel him, solid and hot and straining against his denims. Since your hands wandered earlier in the night, you knew you wanted him in your mouth and nothing could change your mind.
Eddie chases your mouth when you pull back; his eyelids are heavy, lips wet and red. You watch his brows pinch as you get a hand on him again, see his jaw slacken and feel as his legs widen to give you all the space you need.
You find that spot on his neck again, the little nook that made him go almost crossed-eyed earlier, and soak in the breathy ‘fuck’ and the pulse and kick beneath your stroking fingers. Kissing lower, you pull gently at the neck of his fine knit charcoal sweater so you can nip Eddie’s collarbone, breathing in the musk of his cologne and the barely-there metallic tint of the chains around his neck.
There’s a gorgeous pink hue across his cheeks and nose when you look up at him again, a dopey smile that makes you feel fond and urges you to kiss him again. Just one and you move away, leaving him pouting, wanting more, feeling greedy. With his hand on himself, missing your touch, he can’t look away as you rid yourself of the skirt and top. The shape of you in your bra and tights and boots makes him feel crazy.
“Look at you. Pretty girl.”
He spies the shape and shadow of matching plum lace beneath your tights as the boots come off. You’re not even trying to be sexy, not trying to tease him as you remove each layer, but he feels wild with desire anyway.
Eddie is back on you once your tights have been dropped onto the pile of discarded clothes, his hands roaming over your hips and midriff, smearing wet kisses to your shoulders and chest. You feel his appreciation for the Third Love set (that had been long relegated to the back of your drawer) in the intensity of his gaze and the reverence of his touches.
If you’re brain could manage a coherent thought that’s not Eddie Eddie Eddie, you might realise that no one has ever desired you like this man. He’s not shy, nor is he coy or cocky about how he wants you; he just does.
There are more messy kisses as you work his belt and jeans open, broken only when Eddie whips his sweater off. You feel an almost Pavlovian throb between your thighs at the metallic clinks of buckle and button. In his black tank top and open jeans, low on his hips, with nothing to hide his straining briefs and bulked-up arms, your mouth waters.
You get stuck on his arms for a moment, the uncovered ink and firm muscles from his work hefting tyres and car parts all day. Giving in to impulse, you press wet kisses along the ‘one ring’ tattoo that wraps around his bicep and the cobweb that caps off his shoulder.
“You’re unreal,” he whispers, bringing your mouths together again and getting his itchy hands back on you, the squish of your hips and the butter-soft lace.
“Take your pants off.”
You smile against his mouth when he moans, swearing quietly that you’re definitely trying to kill him.
“No, I just want to get my mouth on you,” you promise, finger-tipping along the band of his underwear.
“Jesus, that mouth.”
His smile is sunshine, cheeks dimpled and rosy as he pinches your face so your lips pucker for his kisses.
You won’t complain; kissing him has quickly become a top-five favourite thing to do, and you want as many as possible before you must part ways and go back to real life again in the morning.
“Off. Please.”
Eddie decides he might, for the first time in his life, start doing as he’s told - well, as long as you’re the one telling him. You, with your kiss-swollen lips and siren-eyes. He would do whatever you asked, and not simply because your hand is holding his cock.
His jeans come off, caught briefly by his still-on boots - that made you both laugh until you knelt between his legs to help untie his boots and free his ankles of tangled denim.
He’s half expecting you to come back up to him, even though you look so pretty between his thighs. Like a flower or a jewel or something else poetically beautiful and precious in between his hairy thighs, doodled in dark ink. Less poetically, he thinks you’re hotter than any adult film or fantasy he could come up with, even on his loneliest nights.
“You don’t have to…”
He wants you to (of course he wants you to) but doesn’t want you to feel like you owe him anything because he ate you out last time. Twice.
“I know. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to, Ed. Been thinking about it.”
And you had been. More than you thought possible, more than you ever had with any other man you had been with before.
Your cheeks are warm at your own admission, and Eddie’s are pink to match. Inside his head, he is whooping and cheering himself on. Being wanted, craved like this, is alien to him and he almost does not know what to do with himself.
“Can you pinch me real quick? I think I’m in some sorta dream or something.”
A quick graze of teeth against his inner thigh confirms that he is, in fact, awake and alive, and you are real and past ready to get your mouth on him. He is almost embarrassed by the noise that escapes his mouth - part moan, part hiss, part giggle - but right now he is simply too turned on to give a shit about playing it cool.
Not trying to stall, just to be considerate, Eddie passes you one of the extra pillows on his bed for your knees and gives you one more kiss before letting you do, at last, what you want to him.
In your cosy space between his knees, you take a moment to marvel at the thick bulge trapped in black boxer briefs. You know it’s pretty, remember the way it felt splitting you open when he pushed slowly inside. Butterfly-gentle kisses weave your path up to the waistband and along the dark happy trail that guides you to your prize; the slight pudge to his belly makes your mouth water. You catch the hitch in Eddie’s breath when your nails bite briefly into the soft parts around his hips, dragging the briefs down out of sight and mind.
Just as nice as you remembered, the comedian in your brain wonders if there’s a lipstick to match the warm pink tip. If Eddie could muster the courage to look at you (he will, he just needs a sec), he might have caught the way you smiled at your own private joke. Instead, he feels your warm fingers and that smiling mouth against him before your tongue swirls just right.
He’s done for.
You can’t deny how that wrecked sound from him makes you throb between your legs. It only spurs you on though, taking him in your mouth. Hot and heavy and thick enough to make you slow down, not choke yourself too soon, you hold no regret for your fixated thoughts this week.
Eddie feels like a dumb seventeen-year-old again, not believing his luck that a pretty girl wants to do this with him and too horny-dumb to hold back his little noises or run his mouth.
“Oh fuck, yes.” His voice is wrecked-raspy; he grabs at the duvet, white-knuckled and trying his best to keep his hips still for you.
When he feels strong enough, brave enough, to look at you (fairly confident he won’t expire or embarrass himself), he is sure that you’re straight out of a fantasy or a dream. The slow and determined bob of your head and smudged mascara beneath your eyes, the stretch of him beneath your cheek, and your body wrapped in that maddeningly perfect plum lace.
When you look up at him, teetering on that line of too much, too deep, he’s already looking at you. Eddie looks utterly fucked; pink cheeks and flushed chest, wild hair and lips almost bruised from his own teeth.
You’re fairly sure that it is your own involuntary moan that makes him gasp ‘fuck!’ in that wrecked way. Eddie forgets about keeping his hips still, thrusting forward to chase pleasure, enough to make you choke a little bit.
His fucked-out brain is a beat behind as you cough, spluttering as you pull back to catch your breath.
“Shit, sorry. Sorry.”
Even when you promise him it’s fine, Eddie is reverent about how he wipes your tears.
You silence him with a quick kiss, covering his hands on your hot, damp cheeks as he holds you like a treasure.
“Ed, it’s fine.” You kiss him one more time, slower. “It’s fine.”
Before you can get back to it, Eddie grabs a kiss of his own, slow and long, and drops his head against yours.
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologising.”
Both smiling again, you are certain that a man has never been so deserving of having his soul sucked out through his dick.
You would be honoured to be the one to do it.
Eddie catches the way your hips drag slightly against the pillow and almost bites through his lip. A little pressure takes the edge off, just right but not enough all at the same time; waiting can make it more fun. Every moment is fun with Eddie.
Before taking him in your mouth again, you coax his fingers away from nearly ripping the duvet and bring your joined hands to rest on his thigh. He is almost distracted by the sweetness of it until he feels your mouth again, all thoughts overridden by the velvety warmth of your tongue.
His murmured praise for you, the breathy little noises he cannot keep behind his lips, only spurs you on more. They turn you on more too.
When you have found the rhythm again, using your tongue and that sweet suction to make his eyes roll back, you lift your joined hands and guide him to hold your head.
“Fuuuck,” he breathes, husky and low.
He’s not pushy about it, does not change up anything you’re doing, but you both lean into that extra layer of trust that has opened up between you. If anything, he is even more giving with his praise for you, how good you’re making him feel and how pretty you look for him.
Eddie loves how he can feel that fluttering feeling when he tips against your throat, the snug heat of it; he soaks up the wet wrecked sounds and the sparkling tears on your cheeks until he feels too close too quickly.
“C’mere. Come up here to me.” His voice is just short of pleading; he needs to get his hands back on you, wants to make you feel good too.
“Everything okay?” you ask, hands on his thighs. The rough edge to your voice makes him tingle.
“Fuckin’ peachy. S’just…been awhile. Didn’t want to come yet.”
Kitten licking the tip again, a wet kiss to his belly, you feel a little devious. “Oh, good.”
Perched back on the bed and back in his lap, you cannot get enough of each other. Eddie is just about careful enough not to rip your lace when he gets his mouth on your chest, wet kisses and nipping teeth. The sound of your voice bouncing on the bedroom walls when he pushes your panties to the side to touch you bursts with relief, with desire for more. You feel his hardness throb against you at the sound of his name on your lips.
As quick and careful as you can manage, Eddie lays you out on his deep green bedsheets. He takes a mental snapshot of you, bra askew and eyes heavy-lidded, before resuming his kissing and touching.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your breast, “So fucking pretty.”
“Me or my tits?” You stroke your fingers through Eddie’s hair, smiling dreamily when he looks up at you.
“Both.”
He very pointedly kisses each one before nuzzling the warm space between, feeling your heart thumping beneath his lips. His mouth leaves wet little smooch-marks behind as he makes his way up to your lips again, sharing a few more smiling kisses as he reaches around on his bedside table for something to keep his hair out of his face.
You are painfully endeared by the triumphant little noise he makes when he finds it, and kiss him a little more about it, distracting his Boy Brain from the task at hand. Even though you are soaked for him, even though he is borderline painfully hard for you, there is this moment of total fondness for each other. Curtained in by dark curls, you are besotted by his pink glow and dimples.
Eddie shifts to kneel between your legs, winking at you before he flips his head back to gather and tie his hair up in an annoyingly perfect topknot. You are mesmerised by the flex and stretch of his arms, the light and shadow of his body in the golden lamplight. You wonder about summer, whether Eddie might wear his work coveralls tied at the waist to beat the heat of the shop. You hope so, and you can’t wait to see it; it makes your tummy flutter in a whole new way.
The drag of thick thigh muscle against your core brings you back to the here and now with the man in your daydreams. You chase the feeling, jaw slackened by how badly you need him to touch you.
Eddie can see it, and he likes how it looks on you. He wants to give you whatever you desire, everything you deserve.
His hands are not baby-soft; they are work-worn and guitar-string-scarred, but they are so gentle when he rolls your underwear down. They land somewhere amongst the rest of his and her's discarded clothes. Your bra is next, the last to go, forgotten until morning.
He looks perfect, his head framed by your thighs, cheek resting against the soft fat and muscle. He looks at home there, watching transfixed at how you open up for those gentle hands, hearing the pretty sounds you make for him. His stubble is the right side of rough as he murmurs to you.
“All this for me?” Eddie asks, watching for your reaction as his thumb glides over your swollen clit.
Even when your hips buck toward his touch, when your legs tremble as he dips the tip of his finger into you. It is all just enough for you to forget how to speak, play with his food while he’s waiting for an answer.
Another featherlight swipe makes you gasp, wringing out a whine he wants to record and listen to on a loop.
“Answer me, baby, please. Is this all mine?” he whispers.
Your answering nod is a weak thrash of your head; you are pinned under his gaze like a specimen behind glass, trapped in syrupy amber.
“Yeah. Please, Eddie.”
His answer smile is proud and lazy and lovely, all for you.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Thank you.”
You feel fit to implode, so tightly wound with need, and Eddie is about to unravel you - the anticipation is nearly too much.
“Lucky me.”
And then he is almost silent, and any noises he does make are drowned out by you.
His hands might be gentle, but his tongue is silk-soft and sure as he ice-cream-licks his way into you. As much as you had been thinking about getting your mouth on Eddie, his mind had wandered back to that morning between your legs more times than he could count. Now he is back there, a heavenly place, he has no ambition to leave despite how his hips press against the bed to seek relief. Right now, the sweet taste and the sweet sounds you make are enough.
One leg over his shoulder, the other splayed out to the side like a ragdoll, Eddie has you just how he wants you: open and wantonly taking all of the pleasure and good things you deserve. He takes his time with you, watches what you like, what makes you throb and keen and gush. He takes his work seriously.
His mouth is firm, wet, determined, unravelling you from the very core. If your brain was not so blissed-out, you might realise that you have never been so at ease and your thoughts so syrupy-slow. There’s a fleeting idea that he might be some kind of sex magician - it makes you smile lazily at the ceiling - but you are pulled out of your head by the careful stretch and push of two fingers and his honeyed tongue.
Between your thighs with the weight of your hand on his head, his mouth on your cunt, Eddie is fairly certain he could die happy here. He likes his life, loves it, but should an asteroid hit, he would feel fairly content with his life if these were his final moments. The zing of pleasure down his spine when you tug his curls makes him moan against you, slackening his aching jaw.
He can tell by the slushy-wet sound, the heightened pitch of your voice, that you’re coming close to your high. With a slight bend and press, a wet suck around your clit, you feel tears spill over as your orgasm blooms, his name on your lips.
It feels like you are floating, flying in free-fall with your back bowed in a wild arch from the intensity of it all.
Eddie thinks he might come on his nice new sheets at the sight of you, utterly consumed by pleasure, thighs like a vice around his head. Instead, he slows it all down; stills his fingers, but keeps them inside, and rests his cheek against the dough of your thigh, sucking ceased in place of lazy kisses as he watches your comedown.
“You still with me, sweetheart?”
You nod, hum a weak ‘mmhmn’ as your legs and tummy twitch with involuntary aftershocks of such an intense orgasm.
“Think I died.”
Eddie’s laugh is low, a little dirty, and you can feel his hot breath against your hip.
“Sorry.”
He’s not sorry.
You manage a lazy laugh, slow-blinking your eyes open as you reach out to him.
“C’mere.”
The long, warm line of Eddie slots against you, moulding himself against your ragdoll body. He kisses your shoulder, your neck, lets you guide him in for a slow kiss that is little more than two lazy mouths smiling against each other.
He is haloed by lamplight, curls spilling from his topknot. Eddie is so pretty, it makes your heart thud in a funny way.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
His dry fingers are gentle as they swipe away your tears, smudging away the spilled mascara before drawing a line up your nose with his and back down again for one more kiss.
“You’re a sex wizard.”
The words have left your lips and Eddie’s shaking with giddy laughter before you realise you have said them, orgasm-drunk and loose-lipped.
“You think so?” he wonders aloud, while inside his head he is wondering if you might want a spring wedding.
Cupping his cheek, you thumb over his pretty dimple. “Yeah.”
His eyes are sparkling, boyish and bright. “Magic mouth,” you tease.
Because he’s a menace, Eddie nips at you playfully and brings that magic mouth against yours for a kiss.
“You sure that orgasm didn’t knock a screw loose, sweetheart?”
He laughs when you shake your head, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.
“Been called a lot of names, but Magic Mouth Munson sounds good to me.”
Eddie’s voice his muffled against your neck, playful as he seeks out the scent of you beyond your perfume and shampoo.
“Who’s calling you names? Lemme at ‘em.”
Your voice has a gorgeous, giggly timbre that he wants to hear every day; he has heard most evenings when you’re a few miles apart, decompressing and downloading about your days, but it’s better in person.
Before Eddie can come back with something playful, his thoughts are derailed when you wrap your fingers around the length of him again.
“You could do damage with this thing, could poke someone’s eye out.”
“Yeah? Wanna do something about that?”
He’s impressed at how quickly he could come back with something quippy, or anything coherent at all, what with how you are stroking him long and slow, thumb tracing that thick vein.
You can hear the slight shake in his playful patter when you drag your fingers lower around the base. Another pretty noise spills from his lips when you roll his balls in your hand, feeling a little bad for neglecting them when they are so full and heavy.
“I really do,” you murmur, turning your head. The closeness is enough to coax him away from your neck for a kiss.
You can taste how much he wants you on his tongue; clarity comes slowly as you come back around from coming so intensely.
The shiny foil packet winks at you from the bedside table, pulled to the front while Eddie was rooting for a scrunchie. When you reach for it, he his treated to a face full of boob, and considers his untimely death again.
The huffing breath of his laugh against your chest tickles as much as it warms your heart. This is all so easy, so fun. You wish you had known him when you were younger, wish you had known how fun sex could be instead of something daunting. But you have tonight, and tomorrow morning too. He has this beautiful, half-dazed smile that makes your tummy twist and your heart thud faster.
Eddie gazes up at you, a nude vision sitting mermaid style on his bed. The condom in your hand glints like a jewel. He nods, leaning up on his elbows and stifling his dad-grunt at the effort of hauling himself to sit up next to you.
He used to dig at Wayne for those old man noises, how he pays the price.
“Damn, you’re perfect.”
Kissing again, Eddie cups your face like you are a treasure. That’s how he sees you, a pretty bloom amongst the weeds. You can feel it in his touch, how he kisses you, covets you. It feels like your world is tilting, making you dizzy. You both said you could take this slow, but you feel addicted to him already.
“How’d’you wanna do this?” he whispers, dipping his fingers back into the well of your body, working you up again.
Your breath hitches, thighs twitch to open yourself for him. Brain still soft scrambled, you don’t know what you want more; to have him fuck you into the mattress, hard and dirty from behind, or soft and slow and deep. You want it all, and all you can think about his how good his fingers feel, how good and wanted you have felt all night with him. It’s almost too much; you want it all, and you have so little time and…
“Hey, pretty thing.”
Behind the tendrils of hair that have fallen around his face, you see the creased pull of his brows and the shade of concern in his eyes. When he says your name, it sounds reverent, like a prayer.
“Where’d you go?”
Eddie searches for some hint on how he fucked up, tilts your ducked head up so he can see you fully.
Your sad smile makes his heart hurt.
“Talk to me. We can stop. It’s okay.”
The shift to pained horror at the suggestion startles him, and he’s relieved and confused all at the same time.
“Don’t want to stop, I promise.” You take a shaky breath and lean into his hand. “Just… I want you so bad, and I know we only have a little time together…”
Eddie shifts closer, winds his arms around you and holds you. Just holds you, his lips pressed to your head in a fierce kiss.
He feels relieved and heart-sore all at the same time. The truth that you could not just drop your normal lives and responsibilities to see each other was like a shadowy figure that had loomed in the corner, so easily ignored when you were lost in each other’s eyes or flirting hard over pinball, but always there.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, smoothing one hand along your spine in soothing swathes of affection. “We still have time. And when we have to go back to real life, I wanna make time for you.”
You hug him tighter, eyes closed as you nod against his shoulder. “Want that too.”
Pulling back enough so you can look at him, reassure him with a kiss, you cover his hand on your cheek and let your foreheads rest together for a few moments.
A small voice in your head is screeching ‘too much, too fast’ but the all-over calm you feel with Eddie sweeps it away like a sure and steady tide.
“I get a little overwhelmed sometimes,” you whisper, saying what he already knows, what he has already seen.
“That’s okay,” he replies, simply getting it. You think this man has seen it all; he’s unfazed and capable, but you know by the way he squeezes you, a reassuring touch, that he gives a shit.
You kiss him again, the warm glow of want still burns, and even though his hardness has faltered out of worry, the feel of your body and the lick of your tongue against his slowly and surely makes the flames rise again.
It is a slow tumble back onto the sheets and pillows, hands gripping and groping with confidence and care, and the firm weight of his thigh between yours right where you like it. You feel his hardness, the leaking tip and hot throb, press against you and there is a blind and giggly reach-around for the lost condom.
Slow. Deep. You want to see him. There is time for it all, but right now you have your answer.
He looks up at you, in awe of you. Eddie feels like so much has grown between you over just a few hours - somehow still capable of coherent thought as he watches you rip the condom open and straddle his thighs.
The wait was worth it.
You take your time, slowly sinking yourself down and savouring the stretch of him inside you.
Eyes flutter, jaws slacken, brows pinch.
“Fuck.”
Said at the same time, breathy voices overlapping, he can feel a delicious pulse when you laugh.
“Jesus, fuck. Wait a sec before you move,” he begs, his hands resting heavy on your thighs as he gathers himself. He circles his thumbs along the silvery stretchmarks and whispers of cellulite, soothing himself and you.
It only makes you hotter for him, fonder too.
“You feel so fucking good, baby.”
“You feel really big. Almost forgot.”
Eddie swears at the ceiling, eyes scrunched shut as you cover his hands on your legs. He can’t look at that blissful smile too long, like looking at the sun.
“You’re a fuckin’ vixen.”
It’s fun to mess with him, bringing back the playfulness alongside that tender vulnerability; it distracts you both from how serious you both feel about each other, how scared you both are inside about fucking this up when you could have been fucking each other all night.
Slowly, you lift and roll your hips, taking a moment to find what feels right for you both. Eddie watches you move atop him, that sensuous raise and roll of your body, the way your chest bounces and the ripple in your thighs when he fucks his hips up into you.
“Gimme a kiss,” he begs, a vision atop the deep green sheets with his crown of curls.
When you pitch forward, arms resting either side of his head, Eddie bends his knees and keeps himself snug inside of you as you moan against his lips. Wide hands come to rest on your ass, squeezing and jiggling to be playful and teasing. The stretch of him inside you, the way he glances against that spot inside you that is a haresbreath away from perfect has you wound tight again. So close to just right, but not quite. Your burning thighs are grateful for a break.
“I can help, baby,” he murmurs against your chin before catching your mouth in another messy kiss. “Please? Let me make you feel good.”
You feel empty when he slips out, but Eddie soothes your pouting lips with more kisses as you take his place on the bed.
“That’s it, my princess. Huh? You like being my princess?” he asks, crowding between your thighs to line himself up to push in.
He teases you, wrapped tip kissing your swollen clit until you answer him, and then rewards you with a slow push to the hilt that makes you howl.
“Oh fuh-fuck,” a strangled moan breaks from your throat and bounces around the room.
Eddie’s eyes fall closed, rocking himself into you steadily with one hand behind your knee to keep you spread open for him. He sneaks a glance at where your joined, the stretch and suck of your body around him, pulling him in.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, bracing himself on the mattress so he can kiss you again. “That’s my girl.”
The stretch feels the right side of too much as he rocks forward, finding a steady pace to make you both moan. Eddie lifts up a little, pressing your thigh back closer to your chest to open you up a little more, so he can fuck a little deeper and make sure you keep making those pretty noises.
You can see a dewy sheen to his skin as he pounds into you; this position works for him as much as it does for you. It’s not simply from fucking you into the mattress, rendering you into little more than a puddle of pleasure, but he is working hard to not come early and disappoint you - no mean feat when you are the picture of fucked-out, back arched, tits bouncing steadily as you moan for him.
When he dips to kiss you, taste his name on your lips, you feel him dragging against that spot you couldn’t quite reach. Eddie feels the bite of your nails on his ass as you pull him into you, gasping at the pleasure-pain and the voractity of your ragged voice.
“Oh fuck - oh! More, Eddie. Fuck!” you wail, wild for him.
He kisses his name off of your lips, holding back some animalistic roar of his own as he pushes you over the edge and feels you gush and squeeze around him.
“Yes, baby,” he breathes, fucking you through it and kissing your flushed face as he teters on a knife edge of his own. “That’s my good girl.” The spill of tears on your cheeks makes his heart ache and his dick throb.
He slows to a stop, following your lead as you slowly float back to earth.
“There she is,” he whispers, smiling as he strokes the dampness away. “Hi, pretty. You alright?”
“Mm, just...” You close your eyes again, smiling dreamily about how good you feel, and give a lazy ‘okay’ sign with your fingers that makes him laugh. “Never better.”
Eddie is careful when he deposits your legs back on the bed, easing out just a little so he can sit back and gaze at you for a minute while you gather yourself.
“Stop staring,” you murmur, giggle-voiced and feeling shy.
“I like looking at you.” You hear his smile before you see it, peeking one eye open.
Eddie tilts his head like he is considering a work of art. “Gorgeous.”
“Yeah?” Your quiet voice is teasing, back to your minxy-self after your sojourn to the stars, courtesy of his Munson Magic.
“Yeah. Really gorgeous. Most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”
The warmth of his words and lazy drape of his body over yours, chest to chest so he can taste that lazy smile, is almost enough to overheat you.
“You okay to keep going?” he whispers, leaning his cheek against your hand.
“Yeah, m’good,” you promise, pressing a kiss to the dimple you are so enamored with.
He taps your thighs, strokes his fingers up and down and feels the goosebumps beneath them. “Like this, or do you wanna turn over?”
The overwhelm you felt earlier feels silly now, but you are too in the moment to let it take over again. He knows you like it from behind, remembers just how much you loved it the night you met.
“Mm, I’ll move. I feel like goo.”
“Sexy goo,” he purrs, swatting your hip playfully to make you giggle. “Very sexy goo.”
With his help, wide hands keeping you steady, you turn over and rest on your forearms, spreading your knees a little so he can admire the curve of your hips and the bow of your back.
“That okay?” you ask, sneaking a peek over your shoulder just as he rubs himself along your slit.
He can see your cheeky smile, barely concealed, but your eyes sparkle with mirth.
“Okay? Fuckin’ perfect.”
He bites his lip when you rock backward, seeking him out with a dreamy look in your eyes.
“Mm, put it i- ohh!”
Those dreamy eyes drift closed as he presses inside, fulfilling your wish and filling you up. There’s an extra little shove when he’s all the way in, making sure you know just how full you are before he finds his rhythm again, following the beat of slapped-together skin.
“Good? That feel better?”
He can feel you fluttering around him, he sees how you are gripping the pillow by your head and feels your hot slick drip down to his balls.
“So good,” you nod, rocking your hips in time with his. It is no put-on performance, he knows you are not simply inflating his ego with your praise. “Eddie, please. Harder.”
Heart aflutter, Eddie squeezes your waist and pulls you back onto him, harder and deeper like you wanted. “You got it, princess. I got ya.”
Head tipped back, jaw slack, Eddie almost misses when you snake a hand between your legs to touch yourself. The quick-circling tips of your fingers graze against him and he can hear your breathy little gasps against the sheets.
Your ass is sure to have the shape of his gripping fingers tomorrow, a visual reminder alongside that properly fucked feeling that will linger for a day or two. A babble-voiced chorus of ‘yes yes yes’ spills from your mouth as the knot of white-hot pleasure is pulled tighter and tighter with every stroke - your voice will be hoarse in the morning too, but you are too melted with pleasure to care.
All at once, you begin to fall apart and come hard as Eddie splits you open over and over and over. He watches you sob with pleasure into his pillow and feels his eyes roll back, his head following them as he swears up at the ceiling.
“Oh fuck, fuuuck,” he groans, barely clinging on to his composure as you fall apart for a third time. He keeps himself and check and slows enough to stay inside you as you slump further forward onto the sheets, bending forward to kiss along your shoulder and along your arm.
“Keep going,” you murmur, turning your head so he can press one of those wet kisses to your mouth. “Feel really good.”
You reach a hand out to the side, wrap your fingers around his wrists as he braces himself on top of you and starts thrusting again. Less coordinated now but it still feels amazing.
His breath huffs against your neck as you squeeze your walls around him, pulling more gorgeous groans and grunts from his mouth as he spills into you.
The weight of him along your back, both of you spent and sweaty and sated, feels perfect as you float on your shared high. Eddie gives himself a moment before kissing your shoulder again, easing himself up and out of you so he can deal with the condom.
You don’t see the proud little grin at his own reflection in the ensuite mirror, but you are wearing a dreamy smile when he comes back to lie with you and it makes his heart gallop.
Tangled together with your head on his chest, you listen to that thud thud thud that matches your own hammering heart.
“You okay?” he asks, nuzzling your head before crowning you with a kiss.
“Mmhm, more than okay. You okay?”
“Fuckin’ A, sweetheart.”
Your head tilts back and you pout for a kiss, which turns into slow, lazy kisses until the sweat on your skin makes you both shiver. Soon, you will move to the shower, sharing the hot water and kisses against the chilly tiles until your laughter rings against the walls and Eddie’s low dirty chuckle makes your tummy swoop. He will share his clothes with you, find something in his drawers for you to sleep in - a tshirt or a hoodie over the soft cotton undies rolled in your purse for tomorrow - and fetch two glasses of water before he holds you beneath the covers and you both fight to stay awake, keep talking.
Tomorrow will come too soon, but for now, you stay tangled together and savour every moment.
It is a little before eleven when you knock on Henderson’s front door and hear Claudia and Hazel’s voices coming down the hallway to let you in.
Hazel almost bowls you over with the force of her hug, squeezing her arms around you as tight as she can. You dot a halo of smooches along her forehead and tune into her excited chatter about her sleepover with Miss Claudia.
The older woman smiles at you both, you and your Mini Me, feeling fondness that makes her miss her son.
When the door is closed behind you to keep the cold out and the cats in, she makes some tea for you both as Hazel gives you the full rundown of how she showed Claudia Inside Out and that next time she sleeps over, they will watch the second one.
Around the cosy kitchen table, you sip your tea and ask Claudia about her springtime trip to Boston to see Dustin and watch how gentle Hazel is with the two ragdoll cats.
Claudia says your name gently, bringing you back from being so besotted with your little girl and wondering how Eddie’s morning with Fae is going.
“Sorry. What did you say, Claudia?” You shoot her an apologetic smile and sip your tea.
“I was just saying how amazing Hazel is. I say it every time, but she’s the sweetest girl.” She squeezes your arm gently. “And she’s really settled in. Told me all about her friends at school and her playdate last weekend. Fae Munson. Another sweetie pie.”
Your attempt to temper your expression leaves you with a tea-scaled tongue and warm cheeks.
“Yeah. Fae has made her feel so welcome. They’re in the same grade and dance class. I’m sure she told you all about it. Two peas in a pod.”
Claudia squeezes your arm again, smiles warmly. “I know her Grandpa Wayne a long time. And my Dusty is great friends with her Dad, Eddie. He’s a good kid.”
Caught off guard, you can only nod.
Two hours ago, you had been cosy in his bed, drinking coffee and sharing a plate of buttery toast with Eddie after he had made you come again. You knew just how good he was. Less than an hour ago, you had kissed him goodbye in his car and thanked him for a magical night. You miss him now, your chest aches with it, but you have your nightly phone call to look forward to, another date to plan.
The older woman fills the silence that falls over the breakfast nook.
“If you need a babysitter any time, I’ll be here. Or if you need someone to lean on. I won’t pry, and I don’t gossip about my friends,” she says.
There is a wave of relief that pours over you, slowing down your hammering heart and worried thoughts.
“You look happy. You’ve got this really lovely glow about you lately. I’m so glad you’re settling in, you and Hazel.”
“Thank you, Claudia.” There’s a thick feeling in your throat and you blink a few times to clear your cloudy eyes. “I feel happy. I’m starting to feel at home here.”
Hazel shuffles back over to the table, presenting her cheeks to you for two kisses before twirling over to Claudia. Your heart swells at her sweetness, her softness.
“Miss Claudia, can I give the kitties a treat?” she asks, as Catrick Swayze and Luke Skypawker bump against your ankles, seeking some affection.
Their furry heads feel like silk beneath your fingertips as Claudia and Hazel fetch treats for them and you snap a picture of them to send to Eddie. Swayze makes himself comfy on your lap, watching Hazel with his wide blue eyes, waiting for his treat.
There’s already a message from him waiting for you; a picture, great minds.
It’s Eddie, a few years older than the girls are now, standing by a lake, holding a fish he had just caught under Wayne’s patient tutelage. You can see the edge of his thumb holding the frame, and if you squint, you can see the reflection of Eddie and his phone in the glass. You pinch and zoom to look at his proud smile directed up at his Uncle rather than whoever took the photo, his pink-sunburned nose and his scrawny arms holding aloft the big fish for the camera, and the too-big Judas Priest t-shirt.
That cuteness aggression floods back and you want to kick your feet and squeal like a tweenager right here, right now in Claudia Henderson’s kitchen. She’s pretending not to see that big smile on your face, how you try to hide it by biting your lips, but she thinks this happiness suits you.
After poring over the picture, you read the accompanying texts.
Still think I’m cuter than him? 👀 Be honest… x
You flash back to the night before, when you took the pictures of him in front of the D&D game, his bounty.
Cute then, cute now. Period. X
Two blue ticks pop up right away; he was waiting for you.
Damn, you like me or smth? 😘
Heart hammering, your thumb flies across the keyboard as the cat purrs in your lap.
Mmmmmaybe Call me later? x
Eddie’s typing right away, just as Hazel comes over to pet Swayze and feed him his treats.
“Mom, he loves you! Look!” she beams.
Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sweetheart x
Thank you thank you thank you for reading - I really hope you enjoyed this. I don’t think I’m done with Eddie, Reader, Hazel and Fae yet. I can’t promise when, I but there will be something more to this. Thank you again. Your comments, reblogs and likes are treasured and adored!
-
braceyourselftisonlymyface liked this · 3 weeks ago -
10-04hani liked this · 3 weeks ago -
just-a-sister liked this · 3 weeks ago -
samfunko liked this · 3 weeks ago -
kelseyxyeslek-blog liked this · 4 weeks ago -
imtryingmyfuckingbest liked this · 4 weeks ago -
huhbsmsj liked this · 4 weeks ago -
darimana23-blog liked this · 4 weeks ago -
purelilbunny liked this · 4 weeks ago -
marvel-nerd616 liked this · 4 weeks ago -
mellowevolutiontarotbiscuit liked this · 4 weeks ago -
herejustforbuckybarnes liked this · 4 weeks ago -
inlandmpire liked this · 4 weeks ago -
martha-my-love liked this · 4 weeks ago -
essie-em liked this · 4 weeks ago -
coffelover13 liked this · 4 weeks ago -
buckysmetalgoddamnarm reblogged this · 4 weeks ago -
buckysmetalgoddamnarm liked this · 4 weeks ago
-
unicornwolf31 liked this · 4 weeks ago -
vickteel liked this · 4 weeks ago -
puppet24361 liked this · 4 weeks ago -
the-once-and-future-bitch liked this · 4 weeks ago -
pmaxseen liked this · 4 weeks ago -
liselottexx liked this · 4 weeks ago -
yeahright0h liked this · 1 month ago -
peachyhealer liked this · 1 month ago -
ponyosweets liked this · 1 month ago -
swinegar119 liked this · 1 month ago -
master-of-minutia liked this · 1 month ago -
llxand24 liked this · 1 month ago -
faerie-amby liked this · 1 month ago -
guerraandpaes liked this · 1 month ago -
joorhanna-blog liked this · 1 month ago -
iloveboba777 liked this · 1 month ago -
elsienox011 liked this · 1 month ago -
totallynotmethx reblogged this · 1 month ago -
x3zerochanx3 liked this · 1 month ago -
makehydrafictionagain liked this · 1 month ago -
chiunpy liked this · 1 month ago -
aliiias liked this · 1 month ago -
inapurplehaze liked this · 1 month ago -
07-ash liked this · 1 month ago
-
haleydanelle-blog liked this · 1 month ago -
starrvsn liked this · 1 month ago -
user22sthings liked this · 1 month ago -
aithemeisterr liked this · 1 month ago -
darkalternativeangel liked this · 1 month ago -
rosedog327 liked this · 1 month ago
r, 25, a collection of fics I enjoyed - 18+ I follow from @spookysaturn
207 posts