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astroboots · 9 months

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EYEM #12

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel has to face his worst nightmare, again and again.

Word count: 8,600

Content: body horror, violence, angst. please come in prepared.

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Everything is gone.

It's pitch black in here, and it's the only thing he can see in this cramped and confined darkness that's pressing in on him.

There's no air in this congested space. Everything tastes of sulfur and it burns in his lungs. His heart is pounding. Alarm gripping the base of his spine.

He's afraid, but he doesn't even know why. He shouldn't be.

Miguel hasn't been afraid of the dark for a very long time.

With his optical photo-sensitivity, he's more at home here in the twilight than he is in the light.

So why is every inch of him screaming out that something isn’t right?

He moves, trying to make his way forward, but all there is to navigate him is more seemingly infinite darkness.

The only sound in here is a loud beat of a drum that crowds his ears and he can't pinpoint its source. Everything is obscured and he is trapped in this endless eclipse.

There’s no noise that accompanies his footfall in this space. With each step his feet sink into the mire of unsteady ground. If he stops to rest, it would bring him under and swallow him whole. Even a second of delay here is going to cost him.

The thumping noise is still there... It comes harder and faster now, refusing to leave him.

Taking another step, there is something from the dark that tugs at him from behind. It feels like a grip. An unseen hand that he cannot make out in the thick inky shadows trying to grab onto his limbs.

Gritting his teeth, Miguel pushes back against the force holding him, but it’s not letting go. His claws extend, primed for a fight

The loud thrashing beats pulsing in his ears isn't stopping. He knows this panicked rhythm, will never forget it for as long as he lives. It's the sound of your heartbeat as you fell...

He turns in the darkness, and the sight that greets him makes him freeze.

It’s you.

His heart stops.

Your body is wrong, sprawled against the ground, mangled and broken as your arm reaches out trying to clutch at him.

"Don’t go,” you say.

His lungs drop to his stomach. He can’t breathe. Bile floods his throat. He doesn’t understand what is happening.

“Save me,” your voice calls out to him, this time coming somewhere from his left.

He turns towards the second voice to see another you. You are covered in blood. Dried and crusted on your bruised and ruptured skin.

All the fight bleeds out of him. His hands fall limply to his sides.

"Why didn’t you help me?" you repeat.

Your voice echoes in the blank empty space. It ricochets and bounces off the nothingness and returns back to him with a sharp strike to his ribs.

"You promised," you say and the accusation is repeated and threaded into the next, as he hears your voice again, this time from behind him.

"You let me die," a third of you says.

This you is missing an arm. The space where your right eye is supposed to be is hollowed out.

He falls to his knees, but he can’t feel the ground beneath. He doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to help or how to save you.

He can lift a 25,000 pound bus filled with school children barehanded. Can incapacitate a genetically mutated rhino-man in ten minutes flat. But he doesn’t know how to do this again. He’s already failed once and he is powerless in a way that a man gifted with superstrength shouldn’t be.

What are superpowers good for, if it doesn’t let him protect the one person he needs to.

Your voice is small and you sound terrified as you look up at him with those wide eyes of yours that will haunt him forever. "I don't want to die."

"It hurts," another you says. It's gargled and pained. Like there are bruises inside your throat.

"Please."

“Save me”

The voices come in a chorus. They swarm him in a cacophony of sobbing pleas and angry accusations. He squeezes his eyes tight, trying to hide from the black void but the only thing that greets him is more darkness. There is no escape from this.

A thick tar rises from the ground and covers him in it, sealing off his mouth and nose. It fills his lungs with a cold viscous liquid until he can no longer breathe.

This is going to drown him, collapse his lungs with the weight of it, and there’s a part of him, if he’s being honest to himself, that wants it to. At least that would make it stop.

This grief in his chest that refuses to leave him. The sound of your heartbeat that fills his every waking moment. It would all finally stop... right?

The darkness swallows him whole. But it doesn't end. It never does.

The weight eases from his chest. Instead of an end, he re-emerges through the heavy muck and grime and slimy darkness, and there is nothing.

Everything is white. A blank empty void of space where nothing else exists.

You’re gone. Every single one of you. And that is so much worse.

Panic rises in him and he calls your name. There is no response, only the echo of his own feeble voice.

He calls and he calls until his throat is sore and raw, but there’s nothing here. Slumping down, he shuts his eyes, trying to forget how he has somehow managed to fail you all over again.

Then he hears your voice calling him. Soft and singular from all the rest.

"Miggy."

He opens his eyes again, and all he sees are your familiar eyes. Warm and loving and the only comfort he’s ever known.

“Nena?” he whispers.

He reaches up until you’re within his safe reach. He holds you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you closely to every inch of him, trying to make sure you’re real.

You’re warm in his arms. Soft and precious. He presses his face into the soft crook of your neck, and you smell like the ridiculously expensive shampoo you get from that hipster store in Tribeca and it makes the homesickness he’s buried deep inside of him all this time crawl up through his chest to the surface.

He will always know you. This you. The you imprinted in his memory for the rest of time. The you that he wakes up every morning missing. The you he misses so much it hurts him to breathe when he thinks of you.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Nena, I’m so–”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, your arm curls around his neck as you pull him down closer to you. “Stay with me here.”

He nods into your neck where he’s buried. Because why would he ever want to be somewhere you’re not?

“I’m sorry. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to –”

You shush him before he can finish the rest of his sentence. “That doesn’t matter, you don’t have to do that anymore.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, and it tingles pleasantly as you press a soft kiss above his ear. “Just stay with me here. Forget about her.”

Forget?

He freezes in your arms, trying to process your words.

He can’t do that.

Miguel made a promise to you, the other you. The you that is fighting your hardest to survive and live back in New York. The absolutely mad and crazy you that jumped off the Chrysler building and fell from the sky just to lure him out. The you who makes weird sour faces while staring at excel spreadsheets all day long. The you that makes him feel something again. Who makes it feel like everything is going to be okay after all, every time you smile.

He can’t just abandon you.

“No, I can’t. I–I can’t stay here. I still need to protect her,” he murmurs into your skin.

“Stop, Miguel.” The arms around his neck squeezes down around him harder, and to his surprise he can’t get free.

This isn’t right. He tries to move away, gently prying himself off. He needs to save you. Has to help you. Needs to–

“Nena, please, I need to–”

One hard hand cups his jaw, tilting his head until he meets pitched dark eyes he doesn't recognize that are nothing like yours. “You can’t save me, Miggy. You never could. Don’t you understand? It’s your fault I keep dying.”

The voice is cold and unforgiving, and the grip tightens on him until it’s painful.

“You’re just gonna make it worse.”

Sharp nails digs into his forearm until it ruptures the skin. “How many more of me do you have to kill before you stop?”

“I didn’t, I–”

He didn't... right? Is it his fault? Is it–

"Miguel!"

He hears his name. It’s muffled and far away. Like someone is calling him from the outside.

Distracted, he looks up into the void, easing his grip. The warmth and weight pressed against him fades. He looks down to see the outline of a torso and arms crumbling in his arms. The features of your face fading before him into nothingness against the infinite blank white.

No, no. no. Tears and panic wells up in his throat and pushes against the corner of his eyes.

Why does this keep happening? He shouldn’t have let go. Shouldn’t have–

“Miguel, wake up.” It’s soft and familiar and he hears it again. There’s no anger in the voice this time. No pain.

The whiteness fades away back into darkness. It’s warm here, wherever it is.

Blinking slowly, he opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is your face. The warmth of your eyes, the soft curve of your lips.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare again," you say.

You are here right in front of him, real and solid and alive.

He shoots upright in bed, arms reaching out before he can stop himself from grabbing you as he drags you into his arms, clutching you hard to him.

"Miguel–" you yelp.

Too hard, and he knows it, he can hear the small squeak of surprise as your breath is squeezed right out of you.

He’s such an idiot.

He should let you go. At this rate he's going to crush you. He’s a big clumsy oaf that doesn’t know how to handle you carefully, but he can't make himself let go. Can't risk that you'll start to crumble into dust the moment he eases up, or that the universe won't find some way to rip you from him again.

“Are you okay?” you ask breathlessly.

Bile of anxiety pushes against the sides of his throat, but he swallows it down. Forces himself to relax his grip on you and let you out of his arms.

“Yeah,” he answers, but it doesn’t sound anything like his own voice. When has his voice ever sounded that weak? When has it ever trembled like this? Why are his hands shaking?

You observe him with worry, then you reach up, resting one hand on the crown of his head, patting gently. Warmth spreads down to his chest and lingers.

It feels good... nice.

All he wants is to lean in and linger in it.

Instead his mind refuses to let go. A thousands thoughts pushes its way to the front.

How did this happen? Did he fall asleep? He was supposed to watch over you while you slept. How did he end up being the one falling asleep?

"I won't let anything happen to you,” you say. Your hand slide down to cup his cheek, searching for his eyes.

“Anyone messes with you, you let me know. I'll beat them up for you.”

He blinks down at you dumbfounded. The absurd image of you, with balled up fist trying to fight a supervillain flashes before his eyes. Then he bursts into laughter. It's so sudden he surprises even himself and the tremor in his hand stops somehow.

You pull your lips into a soft and playful smile.

“What? You don’t think I can?” you lean in closer to his face, as you continue. “Yeah, maybe you’re right, but I know this spider-guy, he'll beat them up for you. He's really grouchy and mean and he bites.”

The smile on your face is so bright it’s radiant even in this dimly lit room. You’re beaming from it and his heart starts to swell, chest feeling full and warm at the sight of you.

He wishes he could hold onto this moment and make it last forever. You look like a polaroid picture the way you’re bent over in front of him, framed by the window behind you and the pink glow of light around you like a halo.

Pink sky.

His smile freezes. He turns his head to look back at the eerie sky behind you. The fractured cityscape of cracked purple and pink, with its warped gravity and jagged skyscrapers that signals the end of the world. The universe is calling time up and it’s going to try to take you with it.

It wasn’t just a dream.

Shit! He’s not gonna let this happen to you. He can’t lose this. He’s not going to fail you. Not again. Never again.

The smile on your face falters. “Where did you go?” you ask and your eyes track his, trying to re-establish contact. “Did I lose you again?”

He shakes his head, putting on a smile to reassure you.

“I’m fine. Just groggy. Slept too long.” His eyes flicker away from the window, and glances at the clock: 7 A.M. the two of you better get going.

There is no more time to lose. He was never supposed to fall asleep in the first place. He’d only wanted for you to get some sleep last night after the broken sky appeared to calm your nerves. The plan was for you to rest for an hour, max two, while he watched over you, before the two of you would check out of this hotel and be gone for good. He hadn’t counted on his streak of sleepless nights finally catching up to him.

“Go pack, Cielito. We better get going soon.”

You hop onto your feet, shoving the handful of your surviving clothes into your backpack in minutes.

His eyes roam over the hotel suite. As pompous and luxuriously decorated as it is, it’s altogether temporary. It’s just a showroom, nothing in here is lived in. It’s nothing like your tiny cramped little apartment in the Heights that is now just a pile of rubble.

He misses your apartment.

The place you call your home, and in another time and another place, it is near identical to the one he used to come home to every night.

The one with janky second hand furniture you picked up from Craigslist adverts. With a table that has uneven legs that you have to prop up with books so things don’t slide off its tilted surface. Or the surprisingly nice sofa you found on the side of the street one summer which led to the infamous bedbugs wars you so dramatically retell.

In front of him, he sees you stop and scan the room and Miguel knows damned well it’s because you’re considering pilfering any free stuff you can fit inside that tiny bag. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he sees you duck into the bathroom.

Then he can hear the clang and clutter of you shoveling everything that isn’t attached to the wall into the backpack.

Miguel doesn’t have anything to pack. There’s no point, he’s been doing this for years now by himself without hoarding belongings. If he needs clothes or personal hygiene products, Lyla always takes care of it for him. Easier than lugging things around with him from dimension to dimension.

The only thing he’s ever kept is his wedding ring that hangs around his neck.

He eyes the small crumpled up ball of paper, that is your poor attempt at practicing origami, perched on the bedside table.

God, the thing looks messed up and ugly.

Reaching out to pick it up in his palms, he stares at it for a long suspended moment, at its warped folded lines and squashed head. Doesn’t understand how you manage to still be so bad at this even with all the time you spend at it. Origami isn’t hard.

He smiles as he continues to stare at it, before pocketing the sad looking Frankenstein-frog.

It’ll be okay to keep one more thing won’t it? A piece of paper doesn’t weigh much.

From beyond the windows, the sky has cracked open, with a menacing glowing splinter positioned right above the hotel. It’s like a billboard sign, pointing right at your location. It feels purposeful.

“You ready?” you ask, as you pop out of the bathroom with an expectant look on your face. “We better hurry up. We don’t want to stick around when the Avengers come by.”

You say it lightheartedly as a joke, but he can see the unease in your smile, the way your eyes flicker towards the window with traces of fear.

His hands curl into fists at his side against the sheets, and whatever smile was on his face slips away at the sight of you like this.

His fangs itch. Screw the Avengers. They are not going to come close to you. He won’t let them.

"Cielo, it's okay. You have nothing to worry about. If they become a threat to you, I'll take care of them," Miguel says.

You scoff with a small laugh, as you try to zip up the overfull backpack, but the fancy complimentary soaps keep spilling from the top.

"What do you mean "take care" of them? What are you Michael Corleone, what're you going to–" You stop mid sentence.

The playful smile drops from your face. Your hands come to a halt above the flap of your bag, and Miguel watches the realization sink into your eyes.

“No. Don’t be silly,” you say empathetically, shaking your head. “You can’t fight the Avengers.”

“I’ll eliminate them if I have to.”

You drop your bag to the floor, where it lands with a thud and you stare at him in disbelief.

"No. No you're not. We're not killing any Avengers. Jesus! That’s some textbook supervillain shit, Miguel. They’re earth’s mightiest heroes!”

Your fingers wrap around your wrist, fiddling with the smooth surface of the device, as you turn back around and look out over the sky.

"I don’t understand. Why aren’t we just using the watch? You said you were done fixing it. Why do we need to be on the run? I thought that so long as I leave this dimension that will solve everything right?"

A flash of endless white invades his mind. The blank infinite void and your face crumbling underneath his fingers.

Fear grips his spine, and he feels sick at the thought. Has to grind down on his jaw to swallow the bile pressing up against his throat.

"No," he grits out.

"Miguel, what do you mean ‘no’?"

He shakes his head, and his lips itch with irritation, “We can’t use it, Not until we know it’s safe. It’s still untested.”

“Well, yeah? But the only way to test if it works, is to actually use it.”

“Not on you,” he grits out.

“Okay,” you sigh, clearly frustrated with him. “What do you suggest then?”

“We need to test it on someone.”

You tilt your head, brows drawn together in deep thought. “What, like… animal testing? Are we going to find a rabbit or something?”

“No, not a rabbit. Their physiological and genetic make-up is too different. Even if they make it through, it doesn’t give us an indication it’s safe for you. We’d need to test it on someone human.”

Your eyes widen at his answer, and he can see the moment it clicks for you. You take a step back away from him, seemingly without conscious thought, as if some remnant survival instinct is telling you to keep your distance.

“We can’t just grab an innocent person off the street.”

Miguel snaps, veins flashing with heat as his hands curl into fists at his sides, and a blinding white crowds his vision. “You wanna go back to the void!? Is that what you want?”

“No, but what if it doesn’t work? What if they get hurt? Or worse, what if they die and disappear?”

Something cold drips through his chest and he feels strangely numb and devoid of empathy for the thought of those other people.

“Better them than you,” he says.

Your mouth drops with an expression of disbelief as you run up to him.

“No, that’s not right, and you know it! Let’s just use the watch Miguel, we’re running out of time.”

There is a faint phantom sound of a beating pulse burrowed in his brain that won’t stop. He tries to bite down against his teeth to make it stop but it does nothing to mute it.

Fuck, fuck. His head hurts, streaks of white pain lashing against his temple. “We’re not taking any risks,” he grits out.

Something touches his cheek, and the suddenness of it makes him flinch until he realizes it’s you.

You and your soft hand splayed across his face as you tilt him down to meet your gaze.

“The world is literally ending outside because of me. People are going to die if I don’t do this. It’s not up for debate.”

He doesn’t understand.

Why don't you see that none of that is important. That's not where your focus should be. After everything that’s happened. After everything you’ve been through, you need to be prioritizing yourself. It’s the only way you’ll make it out of this alive. Why can’t you see that?

“People are always going to die,” he tells you. “I can’t save them all. But I can save you. You’re the only one I care about.”

Your hand slips from his face and he walks across the room, picking up your discarded backpack from the floor and stretches out his hand towards you.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he says.

You don’t take his hand. Your eyes are glued to the floor, and he can’t read your expression. The jarring beating noise in his head is getting louder now. It aches and threatens to split his skull apart with it.

“I’m not going to leave,” you say, without moving.

A bitter sound crawls out of his throat and it tastes like mud. “I thought you said you wanted to live. You asked me to protect you, remember?”

“I know, but not like this. Not at the expense of other people’s lives.”

God this is ridiculous.

“Let them die! This world would turn on you in a second!” he snaps.

It already did once, and he doesn’t know why you would care about the lives of people who never did the same for you.

You bite down on your lower lip as if gathering courage before you meet his eyes again.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me so far,” you say.

Miguel can feel his own brows draw tight in confusion. You sound so formal and unlike you, like he’s a stranger to you. You’ve never spoken to him like that, even back when he first met you and you didn’t even know him.

“What are you talking about?” he sneers. Some part of him doesn’t want to understand what he’s hearing even as you’re saying the words.

You smile, sad and disingenuous and it breaks his heart all over again, cause he’s seen this smile on you before and it nearly killed him.

“You only promised me three months until the universe collapsed. It’s happening now, so our time is up.”

His heart sinks at your words. So this is how it ends up again huh? You’re not going to let him save you.

He can’t even imagine it. Or rather, he can. Can imagine all too well the myriad of ways you could die. All the ways that he could fail to save you again. Knows he wouldn’t survive holding your broken body in his arms a second time.

“Cielito,” he says quietly, tipping your face up to his with his fingers on your jaw. “Please.”

The unease in your eyes is still there and he has to look away. Drop his own eyes, and just stand there feeling like his chest is caving in and taking the universe with it because…. because….

“I can’t… do this.” The words come out in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t lose you again”.

“Then let’s use the watch. Now. No test bunnies,” you try again, eyes sparking with something like a glimpse of hope.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, and he knows you’re doing your best to convince him. Because up until now, everytime you’ve asked him something he’s always said yes.

He's never known how to say no to you.

“You might die.”

You give him a strained smile, as you look up at him and his chest aches at the sight of how sad and scared this one is compared to every other one you’ve thrown his way up until now.

“That’s a risk we’ll just have to take,” you say.

Images of you flash before his eyes, crowding his vision. Of your body, broken and mangled and wrong. Your lip split open and blood trickling down your nose. Of your broken bones and missing eye.

No.

Not this time.

Sadness gives into anger. It burns and simmers in his veins until it roars with an unquenchable flame.

“I’m not gonna let that happen.”

He steps forward towards you and at his advance, you retreat, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. You jolt in surprise at the contact, too focused on him that you’re not paying attention to your surroundings.

You have no survival instincts. You wouldn’t survive two minutes out there alone without him.

“Wait! Wait. Miguel, what are you–”

Your arms raise in self defense to fend him off before he so much as touches you. But it’s no use. It doesn’t matter that you’re using everything in you to try to push him away. Doesn’t matter that you’re summoning every ounce of force against him. It doesn’t make any difference.

He barely exerts any effort, circling one hand around both your wrists, and locks them there against the wall to hold you in place.

If you refuse to let him protect you, he’ll have no other choice but to make you. He parts his mouth, holding you firm against him as he bares your throat to him.

One bite. That’s all it’d take. He could keep you safe while he does what’s necessary, you wouldn’t even know what happened by the time you fully wake. It’d be so simple.

Would be.

But there's a familiar sound that invades his ears. The rhythm of your heart pounding painfully hard and fast. The very same sound that haunts him when he's awake and into his sleep.

He looks down at you, your eyes are wide, brimming with tears. There’s fear there.

You’re scared... of him.

His stomach sinks. This wasn’t supposed to be the way it goes.

He just wanted you safe. Happy. Alive. Why won’t the universe let him keep you alive.

“Miguel, please.” Your voice is small, trembling on the words as you barely get them out. “Don’t do this.”

He stops.

Releasing his hold on you, he lets your hand slide back down against the wall.

Fuck, what was he thinking? What was he doing?

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I–”

He stands in front of you, unsure of what to do or what to say as he gazes down on your frightened expression.

There’s a tremor in your shoulder and the wet sheen of tears threatening to spill from your eyes. All he wants is to draw you into his arms, to hold and comfort you to make it better. But how can he do that when he’s the cause of it.

He keeps his distance, staring down at you. He doesn't know what to do.

"Miguel–" you start.

Before he hears the rest of your sentence, there’s a strange sound that Miguel picks up from a distance breaking his attention.

A low hum of an engine, that makes his entire back tense. It’s the sound of something flying through the air. Not large enough to be another helicopter. But whatever it is, it’s moving at the speed of a fighter jet and approaching your hotel.

Everything in him roars to attention as he tears his eyes towards the window.

There is a small silhouette that grows larger as it approaches in the distance against the broken skyline.

Then it's here.

A plated armor of shiny gold and metallic red that hovers in the middle of the sky against your city view of 62 floors up.

A man covered in alloyed iron from head to toe.

Guess that’s why he calls himself Iron Man. Not very imaginative is he.

Miguel can feel you tense up next to him. Before you have a chance to get any funny ideas (like give yourself up) he puts a hand on your shoulder, cautiously nudging you back to stand behind him. He steps forward until his body blocks you entirely from view.

In front of him, Stark enters through the open balcony door moving forward until he’s standing some 10 feet away from you. It is entirely too close for Miguel’s liking.

There’s a crackle in the air as a distorted voice sounds through the speakers of the armor. “Step away from the lady, Big Blue,” the quippy voice that is unmistakably Stark’s says.

Miguel throws a glance at the Iron Man, the way he’s tracking dirt and scraping his clanky metal feet across your hotel room floors.

“I’ve been told by an old friend that these strange occurrences and the looming end of the world are related to our lovely Disney princess over here. So we’re gonna have to take her in.”

“Miguel,” you start from behind him, nudging at his wrist. “It’s okay, I should–”

He cuts you off. “And what are you planning on doing to her if I did?”

Even behind an expressionless steel mask, Stark averts his gaze. A reflexive gesture of guilt.

Yeah, that’s what Miguel thought.

At least the man has the decency to feel ashamed.

Adrenaline buzzes through Miguel’s veins, and he feels the heady rush of it as he unsheaths his claws, primed for a fight. “You’re not laying a fucking finger on her.”

“Wait,” you shout trying to push your way past him, but Miguel blocks and drags you back behind him.

“Don’t hurt him,” you shout above his shoulder.

Christ!Miguel can’t believe you’re still trying to argue Stark’s case when the man admitted he's planning on executing you.

“We’ve built a device that lets us leave this dimension. Things will go back to normal when I’m gone,” you continue trying desperately to negotiate with the bastard.

Stark shakes his head. He takes another step closer, and Miguel feels fire and brimstone crackle in his chest.

“I’m afraid we’re out of time” Stark says, taking yet another step. “We can’t take the risk. We have no reassurance the universe will just reset when you leave.”

You finally stop struggling against Miguel at those words.

“Sorry, Sparkles. No hard feelings. But it’s you versus the fate of the entire universe. I hope you understand.”

Miguel wants to laugh. He's heard that sentiment before.

There is a hellish whirring sound of an engine gearing up in warning, Stark raises his hand as the reactor in the metal armor goes glaringly bright. Aimed in your direction.

Miguel leaps, grabbing you by the waist with one arm and curling his other behind your head for protection. The first blast hits the wall not two inches from where your face would have been.

He pivots midair, crashing into the nearest wall of glass, making sure his shoulder connects with the window for impact to make your escape. Glass shatters around you both as he leaps from the 62nd floor.

The cold evening air lashes punishingly against his face at the descent. Your arms tighten around his neck, and the two of you fall through the sky, in the way you two have twice before.

Miguel cuts through air and gravity, soaring downwards.

He has to get you out of here. Has to throw them off and lose them.

Something sharp whizzes through his side, with a whiny little noise.

Arrows, he realizes. His fangs practically itch with annoyance.

What kind of idiot brings arrows to a superhero fight?

He tears through the air, intending to dodge them, but an invisible force wraps around his limbs with a punishing force.

The only thing he can see is a thin red fog infiltrating the nearby air surrounding him. Some kind of weird, dark magic. Miguel doesn’t linger on the thought for long.

There’s more of them, the stupid arrows. One after another, all aimed with uncanny precision despite the increasing velocity the two of you are falling with.

Miguel should be able to easily dodge them, but with his restrained mobility he can’t guarantee it wouldn’t leave you exposed. At this angle and trajectory, they’d pierce right through your femur.

Shit! He can't risk it.

Twisting in the air, it’s all Miguel can do to press you closer and cover every exposed inch of you that he can. One arrow pierces right through his ankle, another his side between his sixth and seventh ribs.

Fuck!

Kicking out his feet, against the cladding of the building, he tries to break his fall as best as he can as he sinks his claws into the concrete for leverage to climb upwards.

But he misjudges the angle. Miscalculates the weight. Gets everything wrong.

Sharp pain streaks through his leg as he tries to gain traction one last time, gripping with the claws of his feet. It doesn’t work. He falls.

All he can do is brace your fall with his body so you don’t get hurt.

He lands with a nauseating thud against the hard roof below. Back first, absorbing all the impact, and the white blinding pain spears through the length of his entire spine.

Fuck, everything hurts.

He tries to get up, but his shoulder is fucked. The muscles burn, and he can’t seem to move properly, must’ve dislocated it on his way down.

“Miguel, are you–”

“I'm fine,” he interrupts, biting down hard to stem the agonized groan that wants to erupt. “It's fine. We’re okay.”

He takes hold of the sloping roof tiles beneath his claws, the building seems tilted at an impossible angle. It must be the after effects of this dimension warping.

Gripping tight, he uses it to leverage himself upright, ignoring the painful sensation shooting through the nerves of his back.

He hooks his claws into the crevice of the cement and begins to climb. It's excruciating, but he manages it, laboriously dragging the both of you up the short length of wall to settle you on a ledge, where you at least have the questionable safety of steady ground beneath your feet.

Fuck, you’re shaking, obviously terrified. He pulls you to him until he can cradle you in his arms and between his legs, and wrap himself around you, hoping to comfort you.

This is so stupid. He should’ve just listened to you from the start. Should have had Lyla transport you out of here.

Shouldn’t have let it go this far. He just couldn’t do it. Wasn’t willing to take the risk. Couldn’t live with himself if his miscalculation would be what took your life.

He didn’t want to risk it.

But he’s running out of options.

Because he needs you to live. This version of you. This you who drives him mad and makes him smile and makes him want to live again. Singular and unique, and he’s going to love you until his dying breath. Just as surely as he loves the other you.

“Lyla,” he calls out and from your wrist, the familiar amber glow springs up and Lyla appears. “Calculate the location for a dimension jump.”

“What destination?” she asks, simple and straight to the point. For once there’s no sass. Even Lyla must understand the severity of their situation. That more than everything else that preceded this moment makes Miguel worry about just how fucked the two of you are.

He takes a second to think about it. Where could he safely bring you? Somewhere you could be safe without a doubt. A dimension without Avengers or interlopers or mad crazy shit like this that would put you at risk. A place that he knows like the back of his hand.

“Earth 928-C,” Miguel orders.

He watches you, tucked to his side, eyes wide and afraid and guilt grips at his lungs. How has he managed to fuck it up this badly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gripping firmer around your shoulders. “You were right. I’m sorry. We should’ve just done it your way from the start.”

“Mig.” Your eyes soften, the worry and alarm melting from your eyes.

It doesn’t last for very long. The scent of sulfur singes the evening air. Then there's a bright flash of red lightning against the sky.

Miguel only gets a split second to catch it in the corner of his eyes, then it’s already flying towards you.

He leaps in front of you, pushing you back and out of the way.

Whatever it is, hits him with the force of a tank, catapulting him into the air. He doesn’t have time to react but his latent survival instinct reacts for him, webbing shoots out of his wrist by reflex, sticking to a nearby wall. It’s the only thing that holds him suspended in the air so he doesn’t drop some several hundred feet below.

There’s a high pitched whistle echoing between his ear drums. He feels discombobulated. Like he doesn’t know left from right and when Miguel pulls himself upright, everything spins. He is sure that he is going to be sick and vomit.

Reaching down to his stomach, it’s strangely wet. Must be the fucking rain, which is… odd, because the material of the suit is supposed to be hydrophobic.

He brings up his fingers into view, and instead of the shin gray of water, his hand is soaked in red.

Well fuck.

There’s gashes in his suit. Deep cuts that’s broken through the skin. He’s bleeding. Heavily.

Shit, he doesn’t have time for this.

Where are you?

He grits his teeth, ignoring the sharp and searing pain as he grabs hold of the cold metal of a nearby banister and pulls himself back up to the rooftop. A groan escapes him before he can swallow it back down.

It’s fine. It hurts. But it’ll heal.

It doesn’t matter. He scans his surroundings, searching for you. What matters is you.

On the far side of the next building, he spots your colorful bright shirt. You’re sitting upright, which means you’re still conscious.

Still alive. Thank god.

Relief floods him until he spots the looming shape of shiny metal above you. Stark.

Your mouth is moving as you look up at the man and even with his super hearing Miguel can barely make out the words you’re saying above the chaotic noises surrounding him.

“Promise me you won’t hurt him, please.”

A cold sliver runs up his spine when he hears you. The realization lances through him painfully. You weren’t arguing for Stark’s case before.

Why is he always such an idiot?

Stark extends one hand towards you, raising the repulsor gauntlet. The blazing reactor in his palm blinds Miguel’s retinas with a sharp pain.

“I won’t,” Stark promises.

No. nononono.

Miguel leaps before he can think. There is no thought or tactics. His brain is wiped blank, driven by pure impulse and instincts: to protect you. Keep you safe. Keep you alive.

He tears through the air, feet stomping down on the hard iron torso and Miguel grabs the hard metallic throat under his hand, putting his entire body-weight into it as he slams down until there’s a satisfying crunch beneath. Can feel the hard alloy skull hit the concrete with a heavy and unforgiving thud.

A blast goes off, and there’s sharp and bright searing pain that burns along his entire side, but he ignores it.

He slams down again, blindly and without aim. Until the force pushing back against him from underneath stops and goes slack.

The light on the eye sockets flicker. Then the robot suit slumps and powers down in his grip. Miguel lets go, letting the heavy suit fall to the ground, before pulling away.

His feet wobble on the ground beneath as he takes a step back. His line of vision askew and tilted. He can feel his consciousness slipping, and he has to shake his head hard, to snap himself out of it.

He needs to find you and get you out of here.

Everything spins. The skyline seems to swim in swirly lines, and he can’t tell if it’s his consciousness failing him or the reality around him is warping.

From a distance he sees your small silhouette, running up towards him, and all he feels is relief spreading through his chest.

“Miguel,” You reach for him, pulling off your cardigan and shoving the fabric of it onto him, pressing it up against his stomach to slow down the bleeding.

“It’s fine. Leave it.”

“No, it’s not fine! Nothing is fine! You’re hurt, bleeding and–” your voice is trembling, and he can hear the tears pushing up against the surface as your shaking hands fumble in your attempt to try to keep the pressure on him to stem the bleeding.

You’re in tears over worry for him.

You care too much. Always did, and he doesn’t deserve it.

To his left the arc reactor engine whirrs as it reboots and starts back up.

Stark is conscious again.

From a distance, Miguel can hear the faint sound of more jet engines whizzing through the air.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see the silhouette of a woman rising in the sky, bathed in a menacing crimson halo of an aura.

Bastard is calling for backup. The two of you have only a handful of seconds left at best.

You're surrounded.

There isn’t enough time. Lyla is probably not even done with the calculations. There may still be errors. God knows where the two of you will end up this time.

But it’s now or never.

“Cielito.”

At the nickname your eyes dart up to his. The fear in your eyes calms when you hear his voice, and he can’t help the faint smile tugging on his lips despite the situation the two of you are in.

Even though he hasn’t earned it after everything he’s put you through tonight, there’s still trust left in there for him. It is more than he would have dared to wish for.

Miguel cups your cheeks, cradling it in his hands. They're damp, stained with tears that he wipes away with his thumb.

He wished he had some perfect words that could make them stop. Wished he could have done something that prevented them from happening in the first place.

"I'm not going to let you die." He leans down until his forehead rests on yours.

"I love you," he says, and he just wished he'd said it to you sooner. Wished he'd gotten to say it more than once.

There's a lot that Miguel wishes he could have done differently.

“Lyla.” His hand finds your wrist and the familiar cool metal of the device. Then he presses the button and all he can do is hope for the best.

“Get us out,” he commands.

A burst of light erupts all around him. Bright and blinding.

Please let it work this time.

You wake to darkness. Everything is washed in a hue of moody blue.

There’s no one here besides you. Miguel isn’t here.

Your gaze darts to your left and to your right, but you can’t make out anything.

You can’t find him anywhere. Didn’t you two go through the portal together? Why isn’t he here?

Panic climbs up your chest and claws into your lungs, you feel like your chest is collapsing in on itself and you can’t breathe. Did something happen to Miguel?

Miguel was hurt. He was bleeding a lot. It comes to you in scattered fragments. The sharp smell of iron filling your nostrils. Slick viscous liquid, sticky on your fingers. The sound of his choked and bitten off pain as he tried to protect you.

You can’t do this. Can’t sit here and wallow in your fear when there is so little time. You bite down on your tongue, stifling the pathetic sob that wants to climb out of your throat. You make yourself swallow it back down as you force yourself to stand up on wobbly legs, and observe your surroundings.

There’s nothing here. Just this dim muted darkness. Just more empty space. There’s no wind here. You’re not exposed to the environment, which means you’re definitely inside a building somewhere. Craning your head upwards, the ceiling stretches high over 20 feet at least and you can barely see where the walls begin or end.

Where the hell are you?

Bringing your wrist up, you press the power button of the watch. “Lyla?”

Nothing.

Oh fuck, you’re all by yourself.

You mash the button with your thumb, pressing a little bit too hard, as you call for her again.

There’s a pinging sound, as the holographic image floats above your wrist.

“Sorry, sorry! That was a rough ride,” she says as she straightens her heart shaped glasses that are crooked on her nose.

Immediate relief fills you at her familiar face. “Lyla, where are we?”

She makes a face. “I’m not entirely sure. I didn’t have time to finish my calculations before Miggy had me pull you through.”

“Where’s Miguel,” you ask, and your voice is sharp and shrill even to your own ears.

Lyla peers up at you, eyes filled with something that looks like concern. “Your heart rate is very elevated. You might be in shock. Do you want me to show you edited photos of Miguel in a bunny suit to make you feel better?”

From a distance you can see a door left slanted. There’s a flicker of blue and amber light from beyond it, and you start to walk towards it.

“Is that a door?”

“Uhm, boss-girl I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t know where we are.”

Despite Lyla’s warnings, you keep going, because whatever danger waits behind that door, it’s still better than the alternative of sitting like a lame duck, wasting precious time when Miguel is hurt and in need of help.

You reach the door and peer into the next room. There are holographic screens in the middle of the space raised on a podium.

In the center of it you see him. His familiar broad back hunched over the screens. Dark-blue fabric that stretches wide over his shoulders. You’d recognize him anywhere.

Miguel.

He’s here. He’s okay.

You run up towards him, nearly skidding on your unsteady feet as you begin to full on sprint. “Miguel!”

At your voice, the whole of his back stiffens and straightens up until he slowly turns towards you.

You run up the podium and you feel like you can finally breathe again as you reach him, flinging your arms around his neck as soon as he is within reach. You want to cry with the overwhelming relief that fills up the whole of your chest as his arms come up and wrap around you like a protective cocoon.

“I woke up and you weren’t here, and I thought, I thought…” you’re rambling, words clogged up with the tears you had held back before. Now though, in his arms, the floodgates have opened and there's no stopping them.

“I’m here,” he says.

One hand soothingly strokes the small of your back while his other gently stroke your face, fingers sliding down your throat and shoulder, assessing you.

“You’re bleeding,” he says.

His voice turns cold, gritted out with anger between his teeth that makes your spine breaks out in shivers. “Who did this to you?”

You raise your head from his embrace, looking up at him in confusion.

No, you’re not the one bleeding, the blood is his. What does he mean who did this to you?

“What do you mean?” you sniffle. “I’m not– The Avengers they– It’s your bloo–” your words come out stuttering and scrambled. You can barely think. Your heart is beating so hard you think it’s going to burst out of your chest.

Lyla said this didn’t she? You’re in shock.

His eyes soften at your distress, and he gently shushes you as he strokes your cheeks, guiding you back to his chest. His hand rests on the top of your head as he keeps you there pressed up against him, locked in the protective space of his embrace.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says quietly into your ear. His voice is so soft and gentle, in complete contrast to the iron grip of his arms locked around your chest and back.

It feels different.

You stiffen in his arms, and his hold on you tightens. Your blood freezes in your veins. Something is wrong.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna let anything hurt you, Nena.”

Huh?

No, you’re not–

Miguel doesn’t call you that.

He buries his face into your collarbone, mouth pressing to your skin.

You try to resist, try to anchor your hand that’s trapped between your bodies to wedge and push him away, but he only holds you to him firmer.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs into your neck, and you can feel his warm breath gust over the goosebumped skin. The hint of his sharp fangs scraping across your flesh.

Wait, wait–

“You’re not Mig–”

The rest of it is lost in a pained gasp. His teeth sink into your neck. Bright sharp whiteness blinds your vision and excruciating pain sears through your nervous system. Every ounce of strength in you goes with it, your muscles turn slack as you lose control over your own body.

Everything goes dark again.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my most beloved and bestest of clown @thirstworldproblemss. I love you dearly and I am running out of ways to tell you just how much. You're so special to me and I'm so grateful to have you as a friend and collaborator and muse and everything in between.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse #marvel mcu #marvel #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #spiderverse fanfiction

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violettaskies · 5 months

Text

Maybe, Just Maybe

prompt: exhibitionism

pairing: neighbour!steve x f!reader x neighour!eddie munson

genre: romance, smut, autumn vibes

notes: wc 12k // this is literally a halloween story oops // lets pretend that i posted this when it was NOT November lmao // steddie smut lol // eddie and steve are roommates // reader is their new neighbour

warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY, NSFW // exhibitionism, balcony sex, eating out, blow jobs, doggy style, sex, cozy sex lol, vaginal fingering // threesome // mfm // smut // please let me know if there are any more that need to be added!

ao3 // kinktober masterlist // full masterlist // lazy ghoul’s kinktober prompts

-:-:-:-:-

Maybe moving into a new apartment during the month of October seems like a good idea to a normal person. It’s right after the busy summer months that are filled with vacations and plans with friends. But, also just before the holiday season with back-to-back family parties that can become borderline awkward.

Well, looking at it now, maybe it wasn’t the best idea.

Maybe you shouldn’t have put the idea in your head that you wanted to update your decorations every season. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent three paychecks on cute pumpkins and fake cauldrons. Maybe you should have asked your parents to leave the ladder they brought when they helped you move in. Maybe you should have just grinned and bared it when you weren’t able to reach the ceiling of your balcony, and you couldn’t hang up the cute lights you bought.

In a world full of maybes, full of possibilities that were drowning in regret towards what could have been; you didn’t regret a thing once you looked upwards to see your extremely handsome neighbour helping you hang up the lights. He saw you about an hour earlier, standing on a chair and some books attempting to install a bunch of string lights that looked like candles. But with one moment of imbalance, causing you to drop the broom which was supposed to help you push the tape onto the ceiling — your neighbour ran out of his own apartment to see what all the noise was about. Especially since he heard a high-pitched scream coming from your lips.

“What’s going on—” he ran out to his own balcony to see you in a state of shock, looking down at the ground below.

“Sorry, I overreacted. My broomstick fell,” you said sweetly with a pout. Truthfully, you could already hear your parents’ scolding as you imagined the moment you would attempt to tell this moment as a funny story during Thanksgiving dinner in a few weeks.

“Were you practicing your flying before Halloween?” he smiled as he saw the definite shape of a purple broom on top of a bush.

“No, Steve, I was just trying to put up my decor,” you tried to hide your embarrassment with a bit of giggling. “Maybe I should’ve asked my parents to leave their ladder the other week.”

The man looked over at the red curtains, fake spider webs on the window, and gigantic box of fake candles — he smiled at the way you seemed so excited to decorate for the upcoming holiday. Steve didn’t know you, his new neighbour, well. However, your kindness was something he adored to see every time he did get the opportunity to speak to you. Noticing the softness in your eyes every time he offered to help you with your grocery bags, or when he offered you a ride to the bus station, Steve promised himself that he would find a way to see that sparkle as much as possible.

“You’re really going all out, aren’t you?” he said in a teasing tone.

“Oh, of course. Halloween is always so fun. But, you should see what I have ready for Christmas,” decorating just always seemed so exciting to you. Yes, maybe you should be saving your money to buy regular things you can use on a daily basis. But, this was way more thrilling.

“Can’t wait, doll,” the nickname made you feel so warm amidst the cool autumn air. “If you’d like, I can hop on over there and help you.”

Steve looked like he was about to lunge himself to jump the metal gate that separated your balconies, but you stopped him before he could. “There’s a front door for a reason, please don’t join my broomstick down there. What if there’s a huge gust of wind or something?”

“Fine, fine, I won’t. But that’s mainly because my ladder will be too hard to jump with.” Steve winked.

“You have one?” you gasped and tightened your grip around the railing in excitement.

“My roommate and I used to do some construction jobs,” Steve shrugged nonchalantly.

Right, the roommate.

In truth, that man was the first person you met in the entire building. You had just gotten your keys and were bringing up two suitcases full of your everyday clothing. Right then, a man with crazy hair and even crazier tattoos, that could be seen with his low-cut top, took the elevator with you to the sixth floor. He was about your age, and no matter how much you wanted to say hello to the handsome man, he couldn’t stop staring at you.

But, not in a menacing, extremely creepy, kind of way — instead, Steve’s roommate looked at you in a sort of shock. It made you believe that he was just an extremely shy guy. You try not to think about the times he and Steve would have friends over and you could hear his deep voice talking about books and mythical creatures, all things that you wished to talk about with someone too. It was not difficult to admit just how badly you craved to have a moment to talk to him.

“Eddie?” you nearly felt your cheeks explode with heat.

“Yup, that’s him. You seem to be getting the hang of everyone’s names here, smart girl,” Steve chuckled as he saw the way your eyes darted around from his own eyes then to the floor.

“Well, he is the only person I haven’t been able to speak to yet.”

“One day, I promise I’ll get that guy to talk to you.” Honestly, Steve wished that Eddie would stop being so annoying about his bad habit of never talking to you, but always talking about you when you weren’t around. “Now give me a minute and I’ll knock.”

-:-:-:-:-

And so, after about five minutes of waiting — and you pushing boxes out of the way of the front door so that no one was about to trip whilst finishing up the decorating — Steve appeared with a small ladder that would be the perfect size to hang up all the lights you wanted. The man looked around the interior of your apartment first. It was the same as his, only a lot cleaner, with less pictures of dragons and movie posters on the walls. The young Harrington noticed that you represented just about every haunted creature in your tiny apartment. Even going as far as having all of your horror genre books laid out on the coffee table for guests to read when they desired.

Although you had only been here for a few weeks, this was already becoming home to you. “Looks like you made this your own little haunted mansion,” Steve teased as he set up the ladder outside.

“It’s not much, just things to get into the spirit,” you smiled up at him.

“Now I really gotta put your lights up. It’ll be boring if people are looking into your balcony and there are no decorations,” he chuckled as he looked to the balcony ceiling to see only one candle light successfully hung.

“Thank you, Steve,” you bit your lip as you remembered all of the hostess manners that your mother engraved into your brain. “Let me at least offer you some coffee, beer — oh, I think I have some cake in the fridge.”

“No, it’s fine. Just keep me company and that’s all I need. Some eye candy is sweeter than the real thing sometimes.” The man in front of you finished setting up his ladder as he finished speaking those words and winked at you. In truth, you weren’t so sure if the shaking of your legs was due to the cold breeze passing through and under your skirt, or if it was because the wink sent a thousand warm vibrations through your body. Regardless, you didn’t notice the way you squeezed your legs together as you went to the other side of the balcony to finish decorating — and trying to hide your slightly embarrassed face away from the man.

But, Steve noticed. He noticed it right away, and it only made him wonder just how many times you try smiling to yourself every time your cheeks would feel warm.

Over the next hour as the sun set, Steve hung up your lights one by one in a cute pattern. He talked about how often his own mother would make him do similar work during Christmas time because he was always home, as opposed to his father. You listened intently as you learned more about your neighbour, all while fixing a few plants and the pillow covers on the small seat on the balcony. Once the sun set a part of you got a little sad because that would mean the work was almost done and Steve would have to head back to his apartment. It was nice to finally get to talk to someone for the first time in weeks. The busy time of unpacking, on-boarding at a new job, and getting used to the new time zone, was over. Now you actually are able to start your life.

What also made you a little sad was that you would soon need to say goodbye to your neighbour for the night, and try your best to forget about the way the muscles on his arms would flex whenever he would focus on sticking a light to the ceiling. Even making you gasp when his shirt would ride up slightly and the little sliver of his chiseled stomach would tease you. And every time, you would look away immediately, only to cause a hitch in your breathing.

It would be a lie to say that Steve wasn’t intentionally on a lower step of the ladder because it would force him to flex his muscles a little bit harder in front of you. It would also be a lie to say that Steve wasn’t doing his own little form of spying. He would always glance down to see what you were up to; his favourite moment would be when you would go to sit down and your thighs would be squeezed a bit under your skirt.

Steve wondered what it would be like to be between them and eat you ou—

“Would you like a bite?” you whispered, bringing him out of a haze.

“W-what?” he genuinely thought he was caught in his escapades.

“Maybe we could order some take out. If you weren’t busy tonight, of course.” The shyness in your eyes and tone made Steve’s heart melt.

“So pizza, Chinese, or maybe something new in town that you haven’t tried before? Take your pick, sweetheart.” Steve winked as he sat on the little rattan couch you just put pumpkin-themed pillows on.

The sweet pet names he had been calling you this evening have been making you giggle every time out of pure giddiness. Even as the name slipped from his lips, and his figure sat in front of you with arms spread wide, waiting for you to join him; you prayed that he wouldn’t notice the way you sat to his left with slightly shaky legs in excitement. Truthfully, it wasn’t helping that he put his arm respectfully behind your back and would fix your hair whenever it fell close to your face throughout your next conversations. You felt like you were experiencing your first crush ever, that’s how excited you were. Adding your little delusions of grandeur to the mix, and you were equally as hypnotized with Steve as he secretly was with you.

It had been so long since someone had taken the time out of their day to slyly flirt with you. Adding the fact that there was a sunset happening from the corner of your eyes, with the lit up candles and slowly appearing stars becoming witnesses to your sweet autumn evening with Steve; it was all aspects to becoming one of your favourite nights to happen since moving in.

-:-:-:-:-

Once the white cartons full of noodles, fried rice, chicken balls, and steamed vegetables arrived, you and Steve stayed on the balcony to bask in the cool autumn evening. Luckily, you kept blankets nearby for moments like these. So the two of you continued to talk under the coziness of the fluffy fabric and dim lighting of the fake candles.

Just as Steve finished up his large portion of noodles, he leaned back to stare at the ceiling. “These are really nice. You could be a professional decorator one day,” he teased you. His actions made you mirror his neck movement.

“As long as I can borrow your ladder then I’ll be set,” you giggled.

“Or I can always help you out too,” he looked to his left to see the silhouette of your face. The glow from the lights made you look like a beautiful doll.

“I’ll pay you in Chinese takeout,” a small dimple on your cheek showed your giddiness.

“Deal,” Steve sat up slightly and turned his body towards you. “Another option would be for you to come to my party next weekend. All my friends will be there and everyone goes all out with their costumes.”

Just as the words were said, you looked up at him, then to the metal railing behind the rattan couch. It had been placed at the separator between your two balconies. Knowing that you actually made a friend who lived so close to you, caused a warm feeling through your body — one that made you cuddle in deeper with your blanket. “Really? You’d like me there?”

“Of course. Someone who doesn’t invite their pretty neighbour to a party they’re hosting needs to be out of their mind,” considering that Steve’s roommate has never spoken to you, it could be seen as a miracle to be invited over.

“Well then it looks like I gotta go through my closet to find a costume,” you smiled.

The sparkle in your eyes, reflecting the light shimmer of the lights above, hypnotized Steve. “Why do I feel like you already have at least five options in mind?”

“Only three.”

“Would you tell me?” Steve chuckled at the way you took a bite of egg roll in order to hide your excitement.

“No, it’s a surprise,” you looked away from your neighbour’s gaze.

In truth, you had about thirty ideas in mind, but there was no need for your new friend to find out that you had a collection of clothes you bought from the thrift shop — with its only purpose being for last-minute costume parties. Everything from a vampire to a zombie, there were at least enough costumes for everyone in the party in the first place. Admittedly, a part of you wondered what Steve was going to wear. Throughout this evening, you saw the way his muscles were so defined. Even now, as he put an arm on the couch, above your shoulders but not touching them, you wished so badly that he would dress in anything that would show them off.

God, you really did sound so boy-crazy for your neighbour of all people.

It really wasn’t helping that Steve brought his arm down slightly to pull you in closer, mentally giving himself the excuse that he wanted to keep you warm. “Then, would you help me decorate?”

“I knew there was a catch,” you giggled before slapping him lightly on the chest. “But, yes I will. I still have so much decor left in the storage locker from back home.”

“Just not these lights though. I swear my arms are about to fall off,” the man tensed his shoulders dramatically.

“Fine, there are probably some sort of easy string lights we could use though. The ones with the little pumpkins are too cute, and maybe —”

“Our friends are gonna love you.” Steve accidentally cut you off by letting his thoughts be heard aloud.

Anyone from a mile away could see the way the man’s demeanour softened as you spoke. Even his own voice was so soft, yet deep. The sound resonated through your body — causing a few shivers to roll up your spine. The moment anyone hears the way he speaks with you, they’re all going to berate him about it forever. Yet, Steve could already tell that Robin was going to love your excitement about life, or the way Dustin would adore how you listened so intently in any given situation. Well, mostly everyone he knew was talkative anyways, so a good listener was something they all craved.

“Our?” you asked, tilting your head to the side in slight confusion.

“Yeah, they’re friends with Eddie too. A bunch of them are driving up from our hometown,” Steve noticed the way you backed away from his body a little, leaning closer to the left corner of the couch.

“Right, right.”

“Are you scared of him?” he asked concernedly. “You always seem so shy when he comes up.”

The way Steve placed a caring hand on your thigh, above the blanket, made your heart flutter. But, you wanted to subdue any thoughts he had towards you disliking his roommate. “W-well, no, not at all. It’s just—”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Well, it’s now or never. Millions of scenarios went through your head — both reality-filled moments, and imaginative possibilities of what you believed Eddie’s ill-fitting thoughts were in that situation. But, would it be polite to even mention your concerned thoughts? What if Eddie found out that you were gossiping to his roommate? That could make the situation worse, making him believe that you enjoyed talking about people behind their backs.

Alas, you decided to keep it vague.

“No, uhm, I just don’t think Eddie likes me so much,” you shrugged before smiling at Steve.

“That’s not true,” he would know. Now would probably be a horrible time to mention the amount of girls Eddie invites over who had similar hairstyles to you; or there was even one time you were wearing a new sweater, and Eddie was able to find someone wearing the exact same one then proceeded to take them out that night.

The lengths his stubborn roommate would go through astounded Steve. The little gossip fiend within him desperately wished to know your perspective of the curly-haired man.

“He looks at me all funny when we take the elevator together, or whenever we are in the hallway at the same time,” you pouted.

“How so?” Steve asked, his arm reaching around you now a little tighter. You savoured the warmth immensely, causing you to lean your head on his shoulder comfortably.

“There was this one time this girl was in the elevator with me and so I started talking to her since I really loved the purse she had, plus she seemed super nice,” you paused for a moment as you looked up to Steve, almost placing your chin on his side. “She was, by the way.”

The puzzle pieces were connecting in his head. “Was she the one with the blue streaks in her hair? Kinda tall?”

A light gasp fell from your lips as you moved away from Steve to have better eye contact. It almost felt like second nature to put your hands on his left thigh as you became more immersed in the storytelling. In truth, the man next to you was about to lose his mind. Just as you found your balance, your right hand was a bit too close to his member. The young Harrington prayed that you didn’t move much more, as your arms squeezing together made your cleavage become more visible as you continued to speak.

“And then when we got to our floor,” you said after nodding. “She was walking with me and said she was heading in the same direction. So after a few minutes, Eddie opened the door to see what the chatter was all about. H-he looked so mad.”

“You probably woke him up from his nap,” Steve chuckled at the way your voice became quiet with the last few words.

“I suppose so. Then I said goodbye to the girl and she went into your apartment with Eddie. The door wasn’t even closed by the time they started — you know — making out.”

There it was: the confirmation that you and him were definitely thinking about the same girl. But, what intrigued Steve more, was the way a hint of awkwardness and jealousy flashed before your eyes. Then, as you bit your lip, Steve wished so badly to kiss them until they were more plump.

He really needed to stop himself.

“Munson must’ve been real stressed that day then. He only calls her up when he is,” Steve leaned his forehead closer to yours.

“Why would he call up his girlfriend only when he’s in a bad mood?” you couldn’t help but lean closer as you asked the question, completely oblivious to Eddie’s situation.

“Oh, sweet girl. That is definitely not his girlfriend,” the man chuckled politely as he leaned close to your face.

“But they were —”

You barely got the words out before Steve’s lips bypassed yours. The deep amber notes of his cologne filled the air as his breath tickled your ear sweetly. Just this small movement made you gasp in surprise before smiling to yourself. A pleasurable chill went up your spine as he whispered deeply into your ear.

“Do you know what friends with benefits are?” He asked, his right hand placed softly on the side of your face. “They just fuck whenever they feel like it. They’re not actually together though.”

As secretly as you could, you squeezed your thighs together as the words were felt between your legs. Steve’s small touches, his low voice, his soft brown eyes — it all made you want to kiss him so sweetly. There was a part of your brain that craved it, the same part that was imagining what it would be like if he were to lean a little closer and place kisses down your neck.

And oh, Steve was wondering the same things as you. The way your body was reacting was making him notice how your breathing hitched. His eyes even saw the way your thighs squeezed together. The man wasn’t sure if it was the blanket or both of your beating hearts that made everything feel so warm.

“Oh, this is my first time hearing about this,” you finally breathed out.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so vulgar,” he smiled as he touched your chin to look at him.

“No, you weren’t,” you giggled. “I’m still a little confused though. Does Eddie like having sex when he’s in a bad mood?”

“Don’t you? It brings out the passion in him, I think. Hate sex and all that,” Steve rambled casually.

You move away slightly to laugh to yourself before looking up at Steve again. “So maybe he doesn’t hate me that much since he doesn’t want to have sex with me.”

If that’s what you want to believe.

“Well, I can tell you that he definitely doesn’t hate you in a bad way.”

“You’re so sweet to me, Steve.” He weirdly knew just how to comfort you, even after only knowing you for a short while.

“What type of neighbour would I be if I didn’t help you with your worries?” He leaned back slightly and twirled his fingers in the air, symbolizing for you to turn around. So you did, slightly tilting your body and following Steve’s lead to have you lean a bit on his front as he started massaging your shoulders.

You were so beautiful like this, to the point where the man couldn’t help but be entranced by your delicate skin and soft whimpers of relief as each moment passed.

Just as much as Steve could tell that his roommate had a schoolboy crush on you, he desperately felt the same way too. The young Harrington was used to girls throwing themselves at him. Especially working the odd job here and there to make ends meet — there was no shortage of new women in his life. Just some flirting with someone at the bar and he could let out all of his pent up energy with someone. In the same way that Eddie had a tendency to go out with people after his shows, the apartment almost always had a guest of some sort. No one could count just how many times a sock on the door was used on a random day of the week, and not a Saturday night like a normal person. However, that all seemed to stop when you moved in. The day you came into town to look at the apartment for the first time, Eddie and Steve were hanging out on their own balcony and heard a soft voice from the slightly open window next door.

There you were with a sweet smile and soft voice, it seemed to hypnotize both men instantly. After some prying, they found out through the landlord that you were one of ten people who had interest in renting the place next to them. Needless to say, the two men did everything in their power to seem like annoying, loud and obnoxious neighbours — thank God that Eddie’s band was up for the game too and decided to have rehearsal in the apartment for a few days. Slowly but surely, you were the last interested party; the goal that Steve and Eddie were aiming for. When you officially moved in, the playboy days were dwindling down for the roommates. Of course, there was maybe the bi-weekly partner whenever things became really stressful. However, sometimes a right hand and imagination go a long way. At the very least, Steve had more ammo than Eddie, since he actually spoke to you. Eddie just kept to himself about the crush and tried to do everything to forget about you.

Such a stubborn man , Steve constantly thought.

In truth, the men were not strangers when it came to sharing a partner or five. They were like a fantasy come to life when some women walked through the apartment doors. Imagine going home with a hot guitarist, only to head to his place and find a muscular pretty boy lounging on the couch in a tight white shirt. Anyone with a sound mind would feel their legs go numb at the thought of taking both men at once.

Alas, Steve and Eddie were of sound mind as well. They knew that sharing was caring, and if all parties were up for it, then it was bound to be a long and pleasurable night for everyone.

Currently, it was all up for the younger Harrington to see if you were even slightly interested. And by the way you bit your lip every time Eddie’s name was mentioned, or how your eyes would glaze over every time Steve would unintentionally flex his muscles; he hoped that maybe he would get the chance to place a soft kiss on your lips. Especially since his roommate would not be able to get rid of his stubbornness and make the first move on you.

“Feels nice,” your voice brought him out of his thoughts. Slowly, your shoulders began to relax beneath his fingertips. “Sorry I kept asking about your roommate’s sex life.” In truth, you felt shy with the fact that you spoke so heavily on such a private matter with someone you barely knew.

“It’s not a problem at all. You get so cute when an embarrassing topic comes up,” Steve whispered as he got close to your ear whilst massaging you.

“Honestly, I’ve never really talked about this stuff with other people. Even my ex-boyfriend rarely spoke about it with me,” you said honestly as you closed your eyes.

“Curious?”

Softly, Steve placed a kiss on the back of your neck. The small action made you whimper accidentally. It shocked you in the nicest way possible, so much so, that you didn’t think before speaking. “I-I suppose. There are just a lot of things I want to experience but no one to do it with.”

“You don’t need to do it with anyone. You can always have some fun on your own,” Steve teased as his hands went further down your spine to massage you.

“Oh, I can?”

With soft eyes, you looked at him over your shoulder. You saw the way there was an intense look behind his gaze — full of fire and lust; it made you bite your lip out of excitement and desperation. Steve’s hands were barely massaging your back now, they were caressing your sides up and down. Every few movements he would brush against the bottom of your clothed-breasts before going back down again. It was causing tingles to vibrate throughout your body. In an instant, Steve kissed your shoulder before looking at you intensely.

“These walls are thin, baby. I haven’t heard you bring anyone over. A pretty girl in a new city deserves to be taken out on dates. But, most importantly, I haven’t heard you touch yourself since you moved in either,” he teased, his face getting closer and closer to your face with each word. At this point, your lips were barely a centimetre apart.

“How did you — there’s no time for me to try,” you said honestly with a pout.

“Aweh, pretty girl is stressed out with everything going on, huh?” he whispered, his breath tickling your nose.

“Yes, but this makes me feel so good,” you moaned as Steve’s fingers moved down to massage the sides of your thighs. “Do you talk like this to all your neighbours?”

Steve chuckled as he stopped his movements to look at you with a grin. “Only the most beautiful ones. Especially the ones who want to help with my horrid interior design.”

“So there really is a catch,” you giggled, hoping that Steve didn’t feel your cheeks warm up as he held your face in his hand.

This was it, the smile you showed him, the lust in your eyes that increased as time went on, and the way you kept squeezing your thighs together — Steve was about to lose it. In so many ways, everything felt so easy-going with you. He could barely remember a time where he actually enjoyed having a conversation so mundane with anyone.

“I wanna kiss you so bad,” he thought aloud.

“Please do.”

With that, both of you leaned forwards to feel the softness of each other’s lips. It was a kiss that was so unchaste that you prayed no one would even attempt to look into the balcony. Goodness knows that there actually is a very religious old lady who lives above you. So a near impossibility floated through your head, wondering if she had the flexibility to use the fire escape. But, that thought easily left your head as you felt Steve’s tongue tease your lips. That, along with his hands roaming your entire body made you moan just enough for him to tease his tongue with yours.

In truth, you couldn’t handle the angle of twisting your body around, so you moved the blanket slightly before moving your back a little straighter. Steve got the message and moved forwards too, to allow you to be more comfortable as the kiss progressed. After a few moments, he had you lay down on the arm of the couch, secretly placing a pillow above your head in the process.

You looked so angelic like this. With the light from the fake candles above making you glow from your hair to your eyes to your smile, Steve wished so badly that he was able to capture this moment forever. Even as you slowed down the kiss to catch your breath, the small noises you were making only solidified the fact that he adored this night. Slowly, Steve kissed down your neck, noting the way you whimpered louder when he hit your pulsepoint. When you arched your back, it coincided with the moment the man placed a hand right above your breast. The cold autumn air made your nipples a bit hard, even through the dress you were wearing. As if by instinct, Steve pushed the neckline of the fabric down so that he was able to bare more of your soft skin to the evening stars.

“Such pretty tits,” he whispered as he exposed your nipples to the cool air. Steve’s mouth began to drool at the thought of putting his mouth on them. “It’s a shame it’s almost winter time and they’re gonna be covered up.”

“Well, you don’t know my costume yet,” you giggled sweetly as you unknowingly lifted your body up, bringing your breasts closer to his mouth.

So, the man kissed down your skin, ensuring to linger on his lips in his path. “What’re you gonna be? A bunny? Little puppy?” he teased, placing a chaste kiss onto both of your hardened buds with the final two questions.

“I was thinking of a pirate. Could be really nice with a little dress and a corset—oh,” you moaned as Steve sucked and bit your nipple.

“You’ll be the death of me that night,” he whispered onto your chest as one hand moved the blanket to the side and began massaging your bare thighs.

“Not if you get to me first,” you giggled. The man’s hands were moving further and further up your thighs before it reached a sliver of lace. Desperately, you moved your hips forwards and squeezed your thighs together to give yourself some level of relief. No one has ever dreamed more for someone’s hands to move faster. “What if people see?”

The question filled your mind as the cool air seemed to touch more of your skin. A mixture of hot and cold overwhelmed you now, alongside conflicted feelings about whether or not to ask Steve to bring the activities inside.

However, if the throbbing between your legs was telling you one thing, it was to please find the climax of your pleasure as soon as possible.

“We’re on one of the top floors, plus everyone is inside already,” Steve comforted you, moving his body upwards to kiss you sweetly.

“How about Eddie?” you asked in a whisper.

“Not home for another hour, I think,” he mirrored the volume of your voice as he continued to kiss your cheek and neck.

“Oh, alright, keep going,” you smiled whilst helping the man out by lifting the skirt of your dress higher in order to expose more of your thighs to the cool-air.

Steve nearly came in his pants as he looked down to see the glowing skin. “Yeah?” he teased, biting your ear in the process.

With one last kiss down your neck, the man next to you looked down to see the way your arousal was seeping through your black lace panties. Even in the darkness of the evening, your thighs were glistening with the wetness that has grown throughout the night. Steve took a moment to capture the image of you squeezing your thighs and rocking them slightly to satiate your desperation, before slowly taking his hand and removing the drenched fabric from you. Once it was off, your pussy began to throb in anticipation as to what was going to happen next.

You both looked down to see how Steve’s hand slowly made its way between your thighs. He was so easily able to make you bite your lip and look back and forth between his focused face and his large hand.

“Please, touch me,” you begged sweetly, moving your hips upwards to get his fingers to meet your needy clit.

“Like this?” the words barely left his lips before he finally touched the wetness between your thighs. He began to massage the little nub in circular movements, then from side to side. Any small touch was enough to make you mewl and lean your head on his shoulder as you moaned in pure ecstasy. “So sensitive, doll.”

“Feels so nice, Steve. I need more.” Moans and whimpers were releasing from your throat like a song.

Steve decided on a fast pattern that made you breathe heavily next to him. You were so beautiful like this, so needy and throbbing beneath the evening skies. The cool air made your nipples hard, silently begging Steve's lips to go upon them again. However, he wanted to kiss you first, savouring the way he was drinking up every moan and whimper you were emitting, whilst his other hand went to massage and squeeze your breasts softly.

It was when the man next to you slowly inserted one finger into your wet hole, that you moaned louder than you have tonight. “I-I-Steve, I really like that,” you whimpered incoherently between kisses.

“Can I add another one?” he asked with a smile against your lips, but you barely needed to nod before your hips were thrusting themselves upwards in excitement, urging another finger inside of you to stretch you out.

“More,” you whispered as you arched your back. Steve continued to thrust his fingers deep inside you, his thumb massaging your clit every few movements. He wanted to continue this moment of ecstasy by kissing down your neck and then going to suck on your hardened nipples.

“You’re so beautiful like this. So wet for me. Look how well you’re taking me.”

“Your fingers are so much thicker than mine,” you giggled through bitten lips.

“When was the last time you’ve been fucked, doll?” Steve asked as he looked up at you as he sucked on your left nipple, the most sensitive of the two.

The question was a simple one, one that embarrassed you quite a bit. But, remembering what it was like to be stretched out, made you throb upon Steve’s thick fingers. Your mind couldn’t stop itself from wondering one thing: what would it be like if the man before you was going to be the one stretching you out.

Judging by the hardness that he has been sporting for the past little while, you had a pretty good idea.

“It’s been too long. Months, Steve,” you admitted. “C-can you, please help me?”

You wished so badly to be more vulgar with your words; however, your brain was so focused on the climax of your pleasure, and the fact that Steve’s fingers were thrusting in and out of you at a faster pace.

“Not even a toy? Hairbrush? How about using a cute pillow as something to rub your pretty pussy on?” Steve’s perverted mind kept urging him to ask the questions. He noted the way your heat clenched with each word.

“No, I have no time,” you moaned loudly. This time, Steve kneeled in front of you now, leaving your breasts feeling colder as the wind hit the trail of saliva he left.

“You poor thing. Well, looks like we gotta find a way to let out all your pent up stress,” he kissed your clit sweetly with the last word.

The words failed to leave your throat. Instead, a breathy moan escaped instead. Steve began to kiss and lick your sensitive clit as his thick fingers were making their way inside of you. This felt like such a dream. There have been countless nights where you have awoken from a rather active imagination — wondering what it would feel like if your neighbour were to help you release your sexual energy. The dating game has not been extremely friendly to you, and the only person who has come up in your mind as someone who made your legs involuntarily squeeze together, was your neighbour.

But which neighbour exactly?

It would be a lie to say that only Steve has been the main focus. Sometimes you have dreamed that it was Eddie thrusting his silver ring-clad fingers inside of you. Maybe it was both of them at the same time. But, good god, Steve was so good that you nearly forgot everything in your brain. His soft lips began to suck on your clit, circling it with his tongue slowly. He noticed how you would clench on his fingers and gush a little more if he sucked hard and moved his fingers upwards. And so, he did it over and over until you were moaning so loud that he could even hear it when your thighs squeezed around his head.

“You’re so good at this, Stevie. My pussy feels nicer than it ever has,” you thought aloud.

“And here I thought you were too embarrassed to do it outside,” he winked up at you before going down to kiss your swollen clit.

“Maybe I’ll use a blanket to cover you up a bit, just in case,” you smiled before putting the warm fabric upon his shoulders.

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispered onto your clit, with two meanings behind the words.

Remembering how nice it felt when Steve’s lips and fingers were squeezing your nipples, you mirrored his previous actions with your hands. Thankfully, it added a little bit of warmth to your skin.

“I-I’m so close, Steve.”

“Gonna get louder for me, doll? Your noises are so fucking nice.” He started to thrust his thick fingers inside of you faster. He was able to hit a sweet spot that made you cry out in ecstasy.

“Someone might hear, Steve,” you whimpered as you grasped onto his hair with one hand.

The man looked up at you and winked whilst sucking on your clit. You couldn’t stop staring at the hazel eyes, focusing on them and the pleasure he was able to give you. However, it was when his eyes broke eye contact with you, that your heart dropped to your stomach.

“It’s a bit too late for that.”

Fuck.

The voice was familiar, clouded by a raspiness that made your body shiver. Then, there was the smell of cigarettes lingering in the air that felt comforting to your senses in the cold weather. No matter how much you knew you should turn around and confirm who was behind you, your instincts knew exactly who it was. So you didn’t take your gaze away from Steve, who gave your clit one last kiss before straightening his back — his fingers were still knuckle-deep inside of you.

“When did you get back?” Steve asked with a tilt to his head.

“Like five minutes ago. I stopped by the grocery to get eggs and some sliced cheese because we ran out yesterdat,” Eddie said calmly.

How dare they act so nonchalant as you lay here, extremely exposed to the elements?

“Thanks, man,” Steve nodded as he took his roommate’s cigarette for a slight puff. His movements made his fingers inside of you twitch slightly

This made you turn around to see the curly-haired man leaning on the railing that separated your two balconies. He probably hates you so much right now. Every time you two have interacted, it has been moments of silence and awkward stares. This was surely the most awkward situation of them all. Thus, you got some of the blanket to cover yourself up, covering your chest and the top of your thighs.

For some reason though, everything seemed to excite you. Steve noticed it too, how you were getting wetter and wetter by the second. It made him smirk when he looked down to see your thighs squeezing together slightly.

“Did you invite more people to the party this weekend?” Steve continued.

“Nah, I think our guest list is finalized,” Eddie shrugged without breaking eye contact with you. It was you who looked away first.

“Add in our neighbour here, she said she’ll help us with decorating too,” he added, about to give you the cigarette before you shook your head.

“Steve,” you whispered annoyedly, your eyes looking between his own and the hand between your legs.

He got a hint, not the right one, but a hint nonetheless. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Steve simultaneously gave Eddie the cigarette back whilst thrusting his fingers in and out of your throbbing centre.

It felt so nice that you tilted your head back without realizing you did so. With bitten lips and a slightly frustrated whimper, you were about to respond. Instead, it was Eddie who spoke up first, looking at the both of you.

“Cool, it won’t be too crowded anyways. Maybe I’ll head out and find a costume,” Eddie said. It would be a lie to say he didn’t glance over to see the glistening arousal on Steve’s fingers.

“If you see a punch bowl then buy it, I think the one we have broke,” Steve said nonchalantly as he easily brought his other hand to your core and started to circle your clit.

The pleasure was becoming too much. The sound of both their voices was doing things to your body which were inexplicable. Adding the warmth of the blanket around you, you began to sweat with pure eroticism running through your veins. But, you weren’t about to orgasm in such an embarrassing situation, with a neighbour who always seemed to be on his last nerve around you.

“I can't do this,” you whispered. Steve stopped his movements and placed his hands on your thighs instead, looking at you with concern. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Eddie and I have walked in on each other dozens of times, it’s fine, doll.”

“It’s true,” the dealer admitted. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“N-no,” you exclaimed. Closing your legs and turning your body towards Eddie’s.

Unsure of what came over your body, you bit your lip, looking between the two men. Your entire sex life has been filled with mediocre relations — men who just enjoyed the missionary position more than anything else. Even if you asked for a little bit of a change, the guys would pretend to be up for it. But, in the final minute, claim that the previous actions have worked before, so there was no need to try something new. But right now, your body is on fire in the best way possible. This was a situation that only your imagination could think of. But this wasn’t a fantasy, this was the realest your life has been thus far since moving into this apartment. The throbbing between your legs only solidified your feelings. However, you did want to get something out of the way first.

“Do you hate me more now?” You whispered to the curly-haired man before you.

“Why do you say that?” Eddie asked in return, leaning over the railing and placing a hand on your cheek.

“This is the most you’ve ever spoken around me, a-and it’s such a lewd act I’m in.” The words fell from your lips, tears welling up in your eyes slightly.

Steve noticed the nervousness exuding from your body, so he slowly drew soft circles on your thighs to comfort you. He knew that Eddie probably had a million thoughts in his head, but he wanted to hear it be said from the man himself.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t hate you,” Eddie wiped a tear from your cheek. “I-I—”

“Say it, Munson. Admit it already,” Steve teased. Eddie looked at him in a slight annoyance before looking at you again.

“What does he mean?” You asked sweetly.

“I-I want you. Fuck , I’ve always wanted you from the start. But you seemed so angelic, so untouchable. It pissed me off that you were so close yet I didn’t have the guts to talk to you.”

His words shocked you, so much so that you gasped and looked away from him. Your head turned towards Steve who gave you a sweet smile. The men before you seemed to read each other’s minds as they looked at you with a warmth that filled your body. For a moment, you pulled yourself away from Steve’s touch on your legs, and Eddie’s hand on your cheek and sat close to the corner of the couch. In that second of contemplation, you tried to listen to the millions of thoughts running through your brain.

However, it was Steve whose voice comforted you amongst your thoughts. “Are you alright, doll?”

All you could do was nod as a response.

“I’ll be going —” Eddie said as he finished his cigarette and put it out on the ground.

“N-no, stay here. Please, Eddie.” It came out as a desperate plea.

“You mean that, sweetheart?” The man asked you.

With a look in your eyes that told the world that you were so unsure of where the situation would go next, you looked towards Steve, who was kneeling next to you. He smiled at you so sweetly that you brought your face close to his and kissed him chastely. A moment later, you brought your body upwards, blanket still covering you, and sat up near Eddie’s figure.

“I mean it. I need you, the both of you,” the words were so filled with lust that it shocked the roommates.

Steve went to stand behind you, a hand grasping your hip and pushing you forwards slightly. With a soft whisper in your ear, he said, “you know exactly what you want to do next, don’t you, doll?” The man winked at his roommate before moving your hair to the side to kiss the back of your neck, his eyes still looking at you and Eddie.

And so, with a deep breath and a hand on the guitarist's cheek, you leaned forward by merely an inch. There was barely a need to move far as Eddie was meeting your halfway. The smell of tobacco filled your senses for a moment. But then, whether it was a gust of wind, Steve’s kiss upon your neck making you tingle, or you and Eddie’s bodies moving simultaneously — you kissed him. You kissed him so deeply that you moaned into the kiss as if it was something you have been longing for.

You have.

So has he.

So has Steve, but he was going to keep his perverted thoughts to himself for the next little while as he saw the way you were finding pleasure just through kisses. Also, if the way Eddie’s cheeks were blushing with each movement and touch your fingers laid upon his collarbone, he definitely was enjoying this just as equally.

“Look at you, doll, you look so pretty when you get what you want,” Steve teasingly whispered in your ear. “Needy girl.”

“Am not,” you pouted as you separated your lips from Eddie’s to look at the man behind you. “I just know what I like,” you giggled.

Steve chuckled with you as he took his turn to kiss you now. Eddie took the opportunity to jump the railing and find his way to the couch seat next to you. The man pushed the blanket down to expose your breasts to the cool-air again, taking a moment to admire the way they bounced every time you moved your head slightly to deepen the kiss you were sharing with his roommate.

“Fuck, they’re so perfect,” Eddie whispered loudly to himself.

“They’re so sore,” you teased, bringing a hand up to squeeze your right nipple. The pleasure from the pinch, as well as Steve’s lips leaving little love bites on the left side of your neck made you moan.

“Oh, I can definitely help you with that, sweet girl.” After the words left his mouth, Eddie brought himself closer to you. After going to kiss you once and winking at Steve in the process, he dove down to suck on your tits in a motion that caused you to lean forward to feel more of the pleasure.

You didn’t notice, however, the way your hips were grinding on the squished pillow that found its way beneath your thighs. Steve saw how you were riding your waves of ecstasy with all of the sensations you were feeling. He swears his cock couldn’t handle it now. So much so, that he leaned back from you to stroke his hardness through the fabric of his pants. Even the little bit of pressure made him moan alongside you now.

The noise made you turn around to see the way Steve’s cheeks reddened as he stared at you and Eddie like his own personal porno. “Having a hard time, Stevie?” Eddie teased between licks to your breasts.

“Fuck off, man. My doll looks so beautiful like this. I’ve been hard for hours.”

“Would you want some help with that?” you giggled as you pushed Eddie further onto the couch, nearly laying on top of him. All in order to bend over in front of Steve.

“Still so wet,” he said deeply, admiring the glistening arousal between your legs and the roundness of your bottom.

“Please, Steve. Your fingers felt so nice, but I want to be stretched out by something more,” you nearly whined.

Eddie was kissing your neck now, loving the way your voice sounded when you begged. “Come on, big boy. Looks like our girl can take it.”

“I’ll take you real nice,” Steve said as he stroked his fingers from your clit to your sopping hole. “Will you tell me if it becomes too much?”

In truth, this was the most exhilarating your have ever felt during a moment of sexual relations with another man, let alone two. Everything before this was so vanilla, that anything besides the usual seemed scary. However, this didn't. This made you want to experience pleasure whilst giving it simultaneously. Adding the fact that someone may see at any moment was causing waves of thrill and excitement to flow through your being. Steve must have seen the plethora of emotions in your eyes, as he was so hypnotized by them.

“I promise. Now, please,” you moaned while bringing your butt back to grind on Steve’s clothed-hardness. Even through the layers you could feel the heat emitting from it.

“Your wish is my command.” With that, he pushed his pants and started to tease your entrance with his tip.

Although you couldn’t see it as you looked back from your left shoulder, you could tell it was thick. So thick in fact, that even him spreading your folds was enough to make you whimper and giggle.

“He’s never had a complaint thus far,” Eddie whispered in your ear before kissing you again.

“Maybe I’ll give a review—oh,” you moaned into Eddie’s lips as Steve slowly entered your throbbing pussy.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he said, thrusting into you at a slow but pleasurable pattern. Inch by inch, he swears that heaven was before his eyes. Seeing the way you held onto Eddie’s shoulders with a tighter grip made Steve smile with the amount of ecstasy you were feeling.

“F-faster, please, Steve. I h-haven’t felt this good in so long,” you nearly began to move your hips to meet with his thrusts. Desperately, achingly, you adored the way his cock felt inside you. Each throb was met with a new inch for you to get used to, and it was the easiest thing to fall in love with.

Before you could even take a breath after saying a sentence, Steve grabbed your hips tightly and began to rock into you faster and faster. Eddie looked at his roommate with pride, noting how entranced Steve looked as he fucked you deeper and deeper. Then, when the dealer looked at you, and the way you bit your lip and placed your head on his shoulder because of all the ecstasy you were experiencing — Eddie had never thanked the gods of fate more than he was right now. For some reason, he was feeling utterly horny beyond belief throughout the day and promised himself when he got home he would smoke a bit and indulge in some X-rated films and a squishy plastic toy. The fact that he got every green light on the way home, and his parking spot wasn’t taken by the annoying downstairs neighbour; it was like the universe wanted him to be home right on time to get a live show of you and Steve on the verge of fucking.

Now, as your body squished against Eddie’s, your thighs brushing against his hardness, he swears he could get off on only this.

“Can I suck you off, Eddie?” The words brought him out of his thoughts.

They were the best words to do so, too.

“Oh, my darling. You seem to be enjoying Stevie over here,” he kissed you as you moaned loudly, wanting to drink up your sounds.

“But, I need you too. My mouth feels s-so lonely.” You pouted as you brought your left hand down to place a trail of light touches from Eddie’s neck to his stomach then to his bulge beneath his jeans.

“He’s big, doll. Are you sure you can take our two cocks?” Steve leaned down to whisper in your ear as he continued to thrust into you.

“Yes, I can. I promise it’ll be alright,” you whimpered as you felt Steve throbbing within you, before turning your face to pout and say: “he’s so hard too.”

With a grip to Eddie’s hardness below, you stroked it through the denim to emphasize your point. When you finally got a moment to breathe, you looked down to see just how thick — and maybe even longer — Eddie was in comparison to his roommate. Just like Steve was doing before, you slightly drooled and looked at the rockstar’s member with hypnotized eyes.

“It’s a dream come true. Isn’t that right, Munson?” Steve teased as he went to straighten his back and continue thrusting into you.

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently. In truth, the possibility of Eddie dreaming about this moment made you clench slightly; the younger Harrington definitely felt it.

“I mean — fuck — he’s been waiting for you, doll.”

“Harrington, I swear to god,” the other man said through clenched teeth, due to both the pleasure of your hands and his roommate’s annoying mouth.

“Have you dreamed about me, Eddie?” You looked at the man in question now whilst biting your lip. “Pictured me just like this: fucked out in front of you?”

This was a look that neither man has seen in your eyes before: one that was filled with lust and teasing. Every time before this, you had such a serene and sweet look behind your eyes, with the remnants of a smile always lingering on your face. But this, this was as if you were a succubus on earth for the two roommates before you. The drool dripping from your lips was enough to solidify that thought. “Every night,” Eddie grunted.

“Your cock is so long,” you said with a whimper. “May I?”

“Please,” Eddie was able to say in his haze, right before you started to unzip his pants slowly. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me.”

The words made you throb harder on Steve’s cock as he thrusted into you, making you imagine the moment when the two roommates would switch places. The younger Harrington was staring at you both like he was watching his favourite film come to life. Even the words you were saying were right out of an erotic movie he saw the other day.

“Can I ride you one day?” You whispered to Eddie, kissing down his shaft slowly.

“You’re so needy,” Steve grunted. “Just the thought is making your pussy throb on me — unh, fuck ,” he moaned.

It’s true, getting a taste of Eddie made you throb slightly at pleasure of it all. Especially once you started to lick the head, tasting the precum and hearing the guitarist moan above you, you felt yourself throb around Steve harder and harder.

“Sweetheart, are you gonna be our good little fuck toy?” Eddie asked once you started to envelop your lips around his cock.

The image of you looking up at him and drooling over his hardness will be something ingrained in his mind forever. Then the humming got louder and louder as you nodded, causing vibrations to flow through Eddie’s cock. It felt so good that he tilted his head back slightly as you moaned on him, the warm and sucking sensation only making him get closer to the edge. After a moment he looked down to see that the source of your mouth’s vibrations weren’t just due to the fast pace Steve was thrusting into you; but it was also the fact that younger Harrington also was reaching down to circle his fingers in your clit.

You were so overwhelmed with pleasure that your hands took over now to squeeze Eddie’s hardness, all so you could whimper and moan loudly for both men to hear.

Here’s hoping the neighbours won’t complain tonight.

“Your mouth is so good, you know that?” Eddie said in a tone deeper than usual.

“I can take you deeper, use my throat, Eddie,” you looked up at him whilst moving your hips to meet with Steve’s. The pleasure was overtaking all of your bodies now.

“I wanna see you cum while you’re sucking my cock, can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes,” you nodded quickly, your hand stroking him faster out of pure eagerness.

Eddie smiled, nearly sinisterly. “Can you do that for me, Harrington?”

“We both know I can,” Steve grunted, moving faster into you.

In truth, he was so happy that Eddie said those words. Steve swears he was about to combust at any moment, but he was just waiting for you to find the climax of your pleasure. He was only praying that he would last longer. However, with the way you were throbbing so beautifully on him, nearly glowing with ecstasy, Steve wanted to see the climax of it all. “That’s it, pretty girl,” Steve teased, he knew exactly what you needed to bring you closer and closer to the edge. “You look so pretty with two cocks in you. This is what you wanted, huh?”

“Yes, yes, every night I think about it,” a loud groan fell from your lips as you responded, Steve’s cock hitting you from an angle that was hitting your sweet spot over and over. Then, Eddie was the one who felt the remnants of your pleasure — with your hands and mouth going back to milking his own hardness in the process.

“Looks like we’re all on the same page. The amount of times I’ve imagined fucking you on this balcony. You look so pretty when you’re reading here in your little shorts.”

Who knew the exhibitionist bug within Steve rubbed off on you in more ways than one?

“Keep going, Steve,” Eddie moaned as he gripped your hair with his right hand. “I think she’s close. Sweetheart loves to hear how pretty and fuckable she is.”

“Feels nice,” you whispered quickly before going back to suck harder.

“Oh yeah? You should hear about Eddie’s little escapades about you, doll.”

All you could do was tilt your head whilst The guitarist was still inside your mouth. Eddie got the hint as he looked into your eyes, his hardness thrusting deeper and deeper into your throat slowly as he spoke. “Every time I see you in the hallways I swear I can’t control myself. I feel like such a perv with the dreams that float through my head.”

The man barely had a moment to savour the feeling of being fully into your mouth now, because you released him quickly to tease. “Wanna make them come true one day?” You asked with a wink.

“One of them already is, sweetheart,” Eddie smiled, noting the way your legs began to tremble as Steve continued to circle your clit again whilst hitting the soft spot within you with his cock.

“Now how about you cum for us to really make this dream one to remember?” the man behind you said.

“Faster,” you nodded, accepting his challenge.

“Good girl.”

The words were echoing through the air, but you weren’t sure who said it. In truth, it could have been both of them. The roommates were so prone to playing off of each other, seeing what exactly the third person liked and enjoyed. Most of them adored it when one of them was sweet whilst the other was slightly degrading. Some wanted them both to be a little mean. But then there was you, who enjoyed the feeling of being praised and teased like such a good girl for them. So with the words echoing in your head, of different compliments which bordered the line of perversion each time — you swear that the pleasure you’ve been feeling had been turned up a thousand times. On one hand, Steve was doing such a good job on you: thrusting back and forth into your throbbing hole, whilst bending down to circle your nub. The stretch was everything you needed after such a long time of being single and busy with life. From behind you, he would whisper just loud enough for you to hear.

“Such a sweet girl for me, huh? So tight and wet for us,” he would chant like a prayer — a prayer to the gods who were probably looking down upon this scene from the starry sky. Steve was nearly thanking them for putting him in this moment where he was able to see how you nodded in response upon Eddie’s cock, and then feeling your pussy throb below as you reacted to the little compliment.

Then, there was Eddie, who was doing such a wonderful job stroking your hair lovingly as you looked up at him. Now it was your turn to give the pleasure, noticing how Eddie would thrust his own hips upwards into your mouth every time you squeezed his balls with the right amount of pressure. He also adored the way your moans would vibrate through his own body every time you felt good. So the guitarist used his skilled fingers to reach down and use one hand to twist your lonely nipples. The way you would moan and whimper was felt on him ten-fold. With a light grip on the side of your hair, he would help you swallow more and more of his cock: his main goal wanting to feel your ecstasy.

“If we knew you were so horny, these holes would have had a lot of fun by now,” Eddie teased as he saw your eyes start to roll back a little. “Come for us, sweetheart.”

With that, Eddie looked at the way you nodded up at him with pleasure-filled tears in your eyes. Your climax was so close now as your moans became louder and the grip on Eddie’s shaft tightened.

Eddie looked up at Steve with a smile, knowing that his roommate was close to the edge as well. And so, Steve circled your clit faster and faster — the movement making your pussy throb. It wasn’t until you gave one hard suck on Eddie, tasting his cum, while Steve massaged your nub at the right angle that it happened. You felt the orgasm take over your entire body in an instant; it was like a vibration that you didn’t know how to control. It was evident to everyone on the balcony that your climax was extremely overwhelming. You were arching your back more, creating another angle for Steve to thrust into you. All while you had to let go of Eddie, who was inside of your mouth, in order to release your moans to the world. Your hands continued to stroke his hardness until you saw that his hot tip was ready. With a slightly open mouth, you looked up at the man to show him you were ready to taste his cum too.

“Are you boys gonna cum for me too?” You teased sweetly. It was enough for both men to finally let go from the pent up ecstasy they were feeling.

You were so beautiful, taking the creamy liquid everywhere. Moans filled your ears as both men thrust deeply inside of you; at the same time, you were being filled from two different holes as the men fell deeply in love with the feeling of your warmth. For all three of you to ride out your orgasms so sweetly, was the most erotic part of it all. With the situation nearly looking like it was out of a painting as all three of you took a few moments to bask in the evening breeze, a blanket intertwined between your bodies, and sweat glistening upon your skin.

Both men looked at you with adoration, noting how you were glowing as you relaxed your body. Just as Eddie pulled out of your mouth first, grabbing one of the leftover napkins from dinner to wipe away at your mouth, he noticed how you had swallowed nearly all of it.

You really were such a good girl , he thought but didn’t say aloud as he wiped your mouth that was covered in saliva.

Then, Steve took his softening cock out of you, taking a moment to admire the creamy fluid in between your legs. He pushed your skirt down to cover you up and whispered, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Steve.” Your voice was tired out — mainly from all the moaning and whimpering you were just doing. The serene sound will never leave the men’s thoughts.

“I hope we weren’t too rough on you,” Eddie sweetly chuckled whilst pulling you up to move your body and have you sit comfortably on the couch.

“Not at all,” you giggled sweetly as you sat closer to the guitarist. “It was quite fun.”

The giddiness in your voice was apparent as you smiled to yourself. Steve adored how you became slightly shy, even after all of the lewd acts you three have committed on this balcony. He would do anything to continue seeing the heat rush to your face, even in the coldest of weather. Just as he sat down on the couch, leaving you in between both men, Eddie continued to tease.

“Yeah? Looks like we gave you a nice housewarming gift.”

“Maybe we gotta christen every part of the apartment — it would only be right,” Steve said whilst smoothing the blanket over your thighs.

“Is he always this kinky?” You questioned towards Eddie now, with a chuckle in your voice.

“Oh yeah, sometimes if I know he invited this one girl over, I don’t go to the apartment for a few days so the smell of sex can leave the air,” Eddie groaned jokingly, putting an arm around you.

Honestly, you do remember the way you heard a patterned noise that sounded really similar to a headboard hitting a wall, alongside moans and laughter. Your innocent mind genuinely thought that Steve was watching a funny movie with a date — not, well, you know . “That explains why you didn’t come the other weekend. I thought you hated me. Who knew it was because Steve is so horny.”

“Hey, I didn’t bring you two together to gossip about me,” Steve gasped in disbelief as he saw the way you and Eddie had quickly gotten past the phase of awkwardness.

“But it’s fun,” you pouted, moving over so your cheek could rest on Steve’s broad shoulder.

“There’s definitely something more fun than this that I could think of,” Steve teased, looking in his roommate’s direction

“Maybe we could —” you paused as you looked between both men, fearful that you looked too eager.

But, they seemed to admire the excitement in your eyes, looking at one another before focusing their gazes on your figure which was sinking into the couch. A teasingly sinister smile crept up on Eddie’s face as he touched your thigh softly. “We could do what, sweetheart?”

“Maybe we can head inside? It’s so cold now,” you giggled, shivers running through your body.

Luckily for you, warmth ran through your body, shooting straight to your heart amongst the cool autumn breeze overtook your senses now. No other moment in your life has ever made you feel so exhilarated like this. Just as Eddie placed a chaste kiss on your lips, whilst Steve teased his mouth over your neck — a million thoughts ran through your brain. Then, when you felt a hand reach under the blanket and touch the soft skin of your thighs, one thought became louder than the rest:

Maybe, just maybe, moving into a new apartment during the month of October was a good idea after all.

-:-:-:-:-

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 10 months

Text

Uselessly Protected | Yandere Black Butler

Zombie Apocalypse AU

The howling sounds of the undead groaning rang through your ears as you adjusted the strap of your backpack. Letting your hand hover over the pocket knife you had hidden, you were acutely aware that you weren’t supposed to have it. But you found that impossibly unreasonable for the state the world was in.

“Birdie? What are you lookin’ o’er there for?”

The light voice of Finny calls your attention to him. Bright-eyed and no longer adjusting the grip of his bat, he’s searching your face for some indication of your drifting attention. You smile at him, shaking your head at your odd behavior hopefully silencing any worry. For Finny it's enough as he waits for you to walk ahead of him down the shadowed path to the vehicle. You move forward, eyes trained on the light illuminating the exit of the alleyway. Slow to leave, you scan your surroundings before darting across the street to the bus your troupe had begun calling home. Knocking a tune from childhood, the bus doors swing open revealing Elizabeth, dressed in the bloodiest, pink zombie armor ever, in the driver's seat.

“Hiya (Y/n)! Finny! How was the run?”

“It was great, Miss!”

You let yourself inside immediately dropping the backpack to the ground, relieving yourself of the hefty load. Hovering over your catch with sweat dripping down your face accompanied by the ache of your back relaxing it, you enviously watched the blond still at the entrance of the bus. Completely unphased by the weight of his backpack, which was already five times bigger than the one you had, he was still joyously conversing with the girl. You always thought his unbelievable strength would be generally unideal in a modern world but with the era of the infected starting anew, he was an asset through and through. Not to mention he was a sweet boy, a little clingy but that word doesn’t mean much since you’ve joined your troupe.

Your troupe weren’t some randos you collected over time, the majority of them were the people you spent your hours working with. Maintaining the mansion, catering to the heir who lived in it, and raising the prodigy to be a decent person. It was a part-time job, miraculously handed to you after you returned the missing prodigy at a young age. A glorified babysitter–that’s what your peers called you; laughing about your gig when you told them what you do. Their jeers weren’t all that bad especially when you could wave your fat paycheck in their face. The Phantomhive family was more influential than one would think, with connections spreading across the criminal world all the way to the English Monarchy. The point is this was a position beyond any average citizen, which meant striving to put your best foot forward at all times if only for your own safety.

This is the only reason why you found yourself in the Phantomhive manor the day the world ended. It didn’t matter that you tried to leave and failed. Those in the manor did not want you to leave so you didn’t. They were a different breed, something made clear by all their reactions to the world turning on its head.

“It was good…that department store is starting to have less and less.” You spoke to the blonde as you unloaded your pack, already missing the discouraged look on her face.

“B-but you shouldn’t worry Miss! Sebastian and the Master are already working to find a new place!”

“Oh…good.”

You appreciated Finny’s attempt to lift her spirits but you feared it was all in vain. When you were allowed to go on trips you could easily distinguish the severe lack of supplies it had originally been the hub for. You suspected another, larger group had found it and weren’t afraid to ransack the place. If that were the case, it could mean there were others who’d be willing to help survive. Others to pull their affection from you.

Having unpacked your bag and finished tying down the supplies in their rightful place, you plop on one of the seats designated as your bed. Nuzzling into the planklike surface of the old bus seat. You tried to ignore the thought of the millions that had previously sat on this nearly months before.

“Why y’all lookin’ so glum?”

“Bard!”

Finny cheered, launching himself into the chest of the cook. Returning the hug the two would begin to excitedly recount the number of zombies they offed. A game they started when they went on supply runs together. Not long after Mey-Rin followed suit, too busy stumbling over the stairs of the bus to speak properly.

“We oughta make an official tally for ya, yes we should!”

“If we did, everyone would see how I’m sweepin’ the floor with ya!”

“That’s not true, it's not! I’m doing better than yous, I did!”

You hummed to yourself almost relaxed by their familiar squabbling, you let your eyes close. Listening to the steps going deeper into the bus before attempting to lightly tap away, you figured they must have figured you were trying to sleep.

So sweet. You almost felt bad tricking them.

“Feeling relaxed, (Y/n)?”

Your eyes snapped open to Sebastian Michaelis who was leaning over you with a knowing smirk. Settling your beating heart with a hand over it, you sat up. Straightening out your position as his red eyes seemed to follow you.

“S-seb, you scared me!”

“How was your run today? Successful and uneventful I hope.” “Yeah, it was okay…”

You trailed off as you crossed your arms over your chest. It was normal for him to probe like this, even before the zombie apocalypse. He’d always catch you alone with this intense look in his eyes that had you demanding all of what he wanted. In a gross way, it was hypnotic. Others who have had the misfortune pleasure of coming across your co-worker would fondly recall his crimson gaze. You could do no such thing.

Especially when it was attached to someone who obviously saw himself as more than you. Challenging your authority, in the guise of being a mere colleague. And of course, as the senior in the workplace, you expected that but not in life in general.

“Reporting Sebastian! It was all clear! Not a single scratch!” Finny explained with a not-a-mock salute, smiling wider as the butler smiled at him.

“Good.” He leaned in closer to you bringing his voice lower. “So why do you need that pocket knife?”

You had half a mind to curse him right then and there but the others were already turned away from you to focus on something else. No use bringing their nonsensical input. You held your ground tucking the folded weapon under you as a deterrent.

“Why not? The world’s going crazy and I have a right to want to protect myself.”

He looked at you like you were stupid.

“Don’t you remember we said that we’d protect you? It’s an insult to our capabilities for you to hold on to something so useless.”

“Be insulted. I’m not who you guys are hired to protect, not to mention there’s no doubt going to be more…stressed scavengers looking for food. With the Department store running low, this weapon may very well save my life.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed at you initiating a silent bout of wills. You held his gaze while keeping a hand on your pocket knife. Knowing him, it wouldn’t be hard to distract you while he swiped it from underneath.

He stopped, tilting his head to the side, closing his eyes in a tight-lipped smile.

“Fine then. For now, you can keep it with you. But the moment we leave this area you’ll be relieving it from your possession.”

With that, he stepped away no doubt to help the on-comers who followed or more accurately clung to the young noble. Soma, a prince who happened to be in the area, was quickly ascending the bus steps hand-in-hand with Ciel. It isn’t long before Agni follows suit, waiting until the both of them were on the bus before shutting the door close, using the snipe to look out the window.

“Come on Ciel! I’ll have to show you all my latest finds. Oh hi (Y/n)!”

“Hi, Soma.”

Ciel went to say something only to be pulled away deeper into the bus. Occupying the cot and pulling back the curtain Sebastian had arranged for him Soma happily dumped the contents of his bag on Ciel’s caught. You turned away stifling your laughter as you could see the red overtaking his cheeks.

You instead watched the way Agni and Sebastian sent speculative glares to something or more likely someone outside. Groping the pocket knife in your hand you hoped you wouldn’t have to use it.

Everyone began to settle down with the falling of the sun, having eaten and barricading the bus’ entryways. You still seemed to have trouble settling down, mostly on the account that Agni and Sebastian were both active.

It was normal for Sebastian to roam at night, he did it often on your overnight stays. Surely, it's been heightened because of the Zombie apocalypse, which demanded his presence be known. This begs the question was he purposely not making himself known before. Agni mirrored him fully tense and prepared to fight in what should have been the safety of the bus.

You were tired but not that tired.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

They didn’t bother turning to you, completely well aware of your creeping steps over the sleeping troupe. Agni spoke first.

“Many of us have been followed by this fellow for a while. My guess is that he’s a scavenger.”

You looked out the window they hadn’t blocked, failing to find whoever he was speaking of. But this was Agni, he’d never lie over something like that.

“Why not rest (Y/n)? We’ll handle them should they attempt to move forward.”

You glared at him or at his silhouette annunciated by his eyes which weren’t looking at you. He was doing it again. This undermining is an overprotective suggestion he’d do before steering you into a corner. A useless corner for the useless au pair.

“Why can’t you trust me, Sebastian?”

His gaze shifts to you, fully focused on you.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Why do you keep pushing me out of the way like I’m not an adult myself? I’m not Ciel, in fact, I help you care for him so why do you act like I’m so helpless all the time?”

You could visualize the smile that was spreading across his face.

“I think you misunderstand my intentions towards you.”

“Am I?”

“You equate my care for you to be on par with that of Ciel.”

“Right?”

“I won’t shy from it, I care for you on an intensely different level (Y/n). Which naturally has me prioritizing your safety, can’t I have that luxury?”

“Not in a Zombie apocalypse you can’t…”

You stole a look at Agni who looked incredibly uncomfortable like a family friend in a couple’s spat. Sighing you turned to Sebastian’s silhouette putting a hand on his back.

“Just believe in me some more okay?... And maybe I’ll appreciate your efforts a bit more.”

With a light pat to the back, you walked over to the ammunition corner taking to doing general upkeep on the arsenal.

Thankfully in the darkness of your shelter, you didn’t have to witness the fumes of obsession spiraling off the butler.

It’s nice to be heard every once in a while.

_____________________________________________________

“Hello peasants, we’ve come to make a proposition for all of you!”

“Who let this idiot into the bus!?”

That was a good question. The blonde noble you only recognized from the various competitions Ciel was meant to attend, was making the declaration while standing on the seats. Ciel was clenching his fists, turning a dangerous shade of red as everyone spoke their piece.

“Well hello there, you look around master’s age, you do!”

“Oh my goodness there’s three of them and they all look the same!”

“No, we’re not.”

“A little bit kinda.”

“Not at all you’re wacked in the head.”

Sebastian was glaring intensely at the boy’s butler, while his maid was smiling at an on-guard Agni. It was an odd dynamic to wake up to. Something that wasn’t solitary to living with them during a Zombie apocalypse,

“You guys let’s all settle down and talk this through.” You gestured to the outside where the streams of the undead limped about. “Which sure beats alerting them.”

“Ahh (Y/n)! You’re still alive! Always so cool! C’mon Claude let’s sit next to them!”

Darting across everyone he was hugging you clinging to your arm as he chose a place to sit, no doubt worsening Ciel’s mood. In direct competition, Ciel took to your otherside slyly slipping his hand into yours.

“Ahem, (Y/n) is right we should attempt to peacefully discuss your intrusion.”

“Intrusion!? How rude! (Y/n) we were in danger and had nowhere else to go!”

“Don’t cling to them like that!”

You sent a look to Sebastian eager to usher everyone into a calmer state. Hopefully you could end this without bloodying your hands.

[Continue?]

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atinylittlepain · 6 months

Text

Chapter Four

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ violence, physical injury, but there will be hope

a/n: this is a heavy chapter, i am not going to lie. as always, i have done my best to treat this heavy content with respect and truthfulness. i am not out for shock and horror, but honesty, yes.

..........................................

The burdens that you carry now

Well they're not of your creation

So let's not weep for their evil deeds

But their lack of imagination

Sweetheart Come - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

...........................................

There’s no denying winter now. Fall is always fleeting, and by the end of November, there’s no calling it anything other than cold. Sarah didn’t come home for Thanksgiving this year, a new boyfriend with parents to meet and a promise for Christmas. A small hurt still, tempered by how he and Dolores spent the holiday. No turkey, no stuffing, no stir or stress to any of it. A meal shared, simple as that, like any other day.

It’s been a slow gift, this new and unfurling closeness. Touch is always cautious, and quietly asked after. Every new okay, allowing for a bit more so that now, some things have become simple comfort instead of anxious and unknown. Like in the evenings, nothing even has to be said, already expected that they will settle down and around each other on the couch, and if she has grace to give, she’ll read aloud to him from whatever book she’s currently working through. Like in the mornings, sleep still making everything small and quiet, it isn’t uncommon for his hand to find the dip of her spine as they pass around each other in their shared routine, and it isn’t uncommon for her to lean into that touch, to pause in his palm. And around noon, whenever he stops into the diner, his hand will often catch hers when she slides his check across the counter, the slow sweep of his thumb over her knuckles.

“I might be late picking you up today, gotta help John with all the end of the month paperwork. You okay hanging here a little after four?” He tries to ask it casually, but the truth is, he doesn’t feel very okay about it at all. And he has no business feeling that quick curl of worry in his throat all because of the smallest, stupidest deviation from their usual routine.

“Of course. If it’s easier, Sal can drop me at the station after we close?” He isn’t sure which idea he likes less, her waiting around for him at the diner, or her coming anywhere near the station when she doesn’t have to. But closer to him always feels better these days, so he nods, a reluctant break of his hand from hers.

The thing about all this closeness is that it has only made that meanness, that hate blossom in their separation. Sometimes all he can think about when she isn’t around, the things he would like to do to husband. She has told him more, quiet in the night, things that make his heart stutter and then clench like a fist, like a jaw snapping shut. And today, moving through the day, he works all the poison over in his mind until John asks him from across the office what he’s scowling about. Oh, nothing. Nothing that anyone else could ever know about.

“Well, you got the last of this under control? I gotta pick up the kids from the bus stop pretty soon here.” Joel nods, working his mouth around civil words, polite words, sighing the instant John closes the door to the station behind him. He isn’t sure if husband has called this month. John hasn’t mentioned it, and Joel doesn’t want to ask. And there’s no point in telling himself that he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t be in the slow spiral of whatever this is with her. Because he is, and all the good of her makes him forget about shouldn’t. But the reality remains. That there is a man in Nebraska who called her his wife. That there is a man in Nebraska that Joel has imagined violence upon. An equal and accounted amount of it.

“Hello?” Sudden and startling, he nearly jumps in his chair at the sound of someone at the front desk. Not dressed in his uniform, but he’ll have to do, getting up and walking out to the front of the station.

“Hello, sir, how can I help you?” Just passing through, no doubt. Tall man, thin man, wiry and a little worn-looking. A strange time for him to be here, though. One of the extreme types, he figures, cross-country skier or the like. The kind that enjoy pain, probably looking for directions up into the mountains for a novel excursion.

“Are you Officer Davis?”

“No, he just stepped out. Did you speak to him over the phone or something?”

“Oh yeah, a couple of times. I tell you what though, he hasn’t been much help.” Yes, definitely a tourist, probably out from Denver, full of himself and full of shit. Wearing an expensive-looking flannel beneath a puffer jacket, Patagonia, and making some snit, some little tiff about something, calling John like that.

“Well, what exactly are you needing help with?”

“Are you a cop?” Said with a raised brow and a once-over, and Joel has to remind himself that yes, this is part of the job, grinding his teeth to hold back a grimace.

“I’m Officer Miller, yes. Could you tell me what you talked with Officer Davis about so I can see about helping you?”

“My wife, we talked about my wife.” A strange feeling. A sick feeling. Pinpricked vision and a hard rush in his ears. Not just passing through, not just a tourist, and not from Denver. Suddenly, he’s not sure how he imagined this man, even though he built him in his mind over and over, a piecemeal Frankenstein that’s full flesh and bone and body before him now.

Smaller and slighter than he imagined. But aren’t all monsters much bigger in our brains? Easier to fight something that looks just as evil as its rotten core. But this is just a man wearing an expensive-looking flannel beneath a puffer jacket, Patagonia. A tired-looking man at that, drawn and dark circles under his eyes. A man that wears glasses. Men that wear glasses aren’t supposed to be the ones beating their wives. Give him someone with tattoos up and down his arms, someone with enough muscle for it to menace, someone with greasy, long hair and a sneered scowl. This man looks like he goes to work everyday from nine to five in a cubicle, this man looks like anyone else, this man looks like someone who would never be suspected, someone who would never be caught. And just like that, it starts to make sense to Joel.

“Your wife?” His wife, who is going to be dropped off here any minute now.

“Yessir, I’m Charlie Wright? I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened back in June. There was a car, reported stolen around your parts and well–”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. With all due respect, I’m not sure why you’ve come all this way after five months. Wherever your wife has gone, I can assure you she ain’t here.” At least for a few more minutes, at least enough time for him to get this man far away. No time for fight, not with the fine line of risk he’s currently walking just by having this man in the station.

“Are you sure of that, officer? Has there been any kind of a search effort for her? I’m sorry, if you could just empathize with me here. I’m only a man who’s trying to bring home his wife.” No, not now to that quick flood of fury threatening up his throat. He clenches his fists behind his back until it feels like the skin over his knuckles may split.

“I’m sorry, but it’s like I said, after five months, I reckon your wife is long gone from anywhere around here.” Whatever the man says back to him, he doesn’t hear it, eyes flickering over his shoulder to movement in front of the station.

And what comes next happens so slowly, so stupidly.

Dolores no longer feels anxious around the station. After five months, a figuring that it’s fine, that there’s nothing to fear or fret over. So when Sal pulls up and drops her off, she is barely even considering the building, idly walking over to it as she reads the back of a book she picked up yesterday from the library, using her shoulder to open the door and step inside.

“Lori?”

The rest does not happen slowly. A flash, a bright burst of motion. Something that sounds like a curse, a garbled, grunted you fucking bitch. Her book drops to the ground, spine splayed and cracked open, all the pages getting smeared to the side in an unfortunate crumple. And Joel can’t move. Husband has his hands on her. And Joel can’t move. It’s like husband knew exactly how he was going to move the next time he saw her, fingers closing around her throat, cage and crush as he walks her back until the terrible length of his body is pinning her up against the wall. And Joel can’t move. But husband isn’t just out for fear, a method to the way he takes one hand and clamps it over her nose and mouth while the other stays wrapped around her throat. Husband is looking to take something from her that’s past the point of fear. And Joel can’t move.

Husband is saying something to her, sneering something to her, though Joel can’t hear it through the pure panic flooding through his brain. His whole body screams to move faster, to get big and mean and loud, but he feels so very small, shocked into a slow, stuttering step that stops just as soon when suddenly husband lets out a curdled scream, his whole body recoiling from her in a tight curl, bent at the waist and clutching at his hand.

There’s blood, and that’s not right. Not the fact of it, of husband’s blood. The not right comes in how husband’s blood is smeared on her lips and dragging down her chin. In how there is nothing behind her eyes as she slumps back against the wall, a slow slide into a posture that he recognizes, curling in on herself, hands clasped behind her neck and her head ducking between her knees as she comes to sit on the ground. It’s a posture that’s taught to people to take when they’re afraid for their lives, a last hail Mary of protection to all the most vital, soft parts of the body. And Joel finally moves.

Second drawer from the bottom in the front desk, a pair of cuffs that he’s never been sure why they’re kept there. But now he doesn’t have to think at all about grabbing them, doesn’t have to think about how to pinch the back of husband’s neck in his hand and take him all the way to the ground, a knee pressed between his shoulder blades as he collects his flailing wrists and snaps them together in metal. There’s a fine flood of red dripping down husband’s left hand, perfect punctures on his pointer finger. It looks deep, it looks like it hurts, and Joel is glad for it.

The station has a single cell, used mostly and infrequently for folks needing to sober up after a particularly miserable night. Husband is still groaning and panting in pain as Joel hauls him down the hallway and behind the bars. All a bit cartoonish, all a bit garish. Lock and key and all that. And he only lets out a breath when the door to the cell is shut behind him. Much more important things that must be tended to.

His thoughts had been moving so slowly, if there were any thoughts at all, that suddenly it’s like a rubber band snapping back into place, breaking the surface, big gasp and a quick flood of frenzy and fury and fret, needing to make all of this right when he got it so very wrong. She’s still curled into and over herself, the heels of her palms pressed into her ears. And he’s not sure if it’s okay to touch her right now, erring on the side of caution as he kneels down in front of her, calls for her once, twice. Dove, Dovey. It’s enough to get a flicker of her eyes, seeing him, enough for her hands to fall from her ears, though she still stays all tucked up. The blood has already dried, rusted flakes of it on her skin, and he has to tamp down his own want to get it off of her as quickly as possible, settling instead for something slow, a careful coaxing of it’s okay now, please, let’s clean up, please, let me, please.

She’s still not quite looking at him, not quite looking at anything, something unfocused in her unblinking stare as he leads her to the bathroom, a small mercy that it’s down the other hall. A hand on her shoulder, an ask that she doesn’t say no to, lets him move her to sit on the edge of the toilet. A hand held on her knee as he fumbles to get a paper towel damp in the sink, still afraid that she will be gone if he doesn’t keep a pulse running to her.

He kneels down in front of her, and he tells himself that he has to be so careful, so gentle, violence already starting to split all her seams, all that slow stitching, all five months of it. And he can, for her, slow fingers tilting her chin for him. He is meticulous in his work, every last reminder of red until all that’s left is the suggestion of it and the shake in her lip. She doesn’t say a thing, shrugs out from under his touch, all he can do to make space as she stands up and shuffles over to the sink. And it is a shuffle, a limp, something heavy held somewhere in her body that she’s dragging with her. She dips her head under the tap, like prayer, like holy, lets the water run over her turned face until Joel starts to get worried. Pink water in the porcelain when she straightens back up, a slow unfurl of her spine. Still in her uniform, his stomach curls when he sees the spatter on the starched blue collar of it.

…

“You sure you got this covered for the night?”

“Not a problem, reckon your wife would have my balls if I kept you here any later.”

“Well if he gives you any trouble, I’m a phone call away, you know?”

“Yeah, John, I think he’ll be just fine once he sobers himself up.”

“Alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for taking care of this.”

“Sure thing.”

Joel made two phone calls. The first was to Patty. No explanation needed, not a thing said, already understood when she came and picked up Dolores, a careful arm curled around her shoulders and a murmured promise of home and clean clothes. Only a cursory glance to Joel, an implicit command for a conversation later.

The second call was to John. And he had been ready to tell him the truth when he got to the station. But husband didn’t say a thing when the officer asked him what the hell happened, just kept his hands tucked between his thighs, a blank look on his face. Drugs, alcohol, drugs and alcohol, enough of an excuse for John to sigh and shake his head and agree that yes, he would have to be held overnight. And Joel is doing him a favor really, by staying overnight to keep an eye on things so he doesn’t have to. Joel is doing him a solid, Joel is a real pal, Joel is a real good guy for letting his partner off the hook like that. And really, Joel doesn’t mind, craning his neck to watch John’s car pull out of the parking lot, no, he doesn’t mind at all. Really, Joel is happy to stay at the station with the man in an expensive-looking flannel and a puffer jacket, Patagonia, getting striped and slanted between metal bars.

The thing about the station is, it is very old and very small, and not very serious at all. Just enough power behind those silver stars to keep things in order over the years. But because the station is very old and very small, there is nothing like a security system, nothing like cameras recording anything. So no one else will get to see. Only him and husband bearing witness when Joel steps into the cell and closes it behind him.

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” Husband scoffs, tips his head back until his skull rests against the wall, slumped on the paint-peeling bench.

“You’re gonna get in your car, and you’re gonna go back to Nebraska. And you ain’t ever gonna come looking for her again.” Husband thinks this is a joke, Joel can tell, the way he tilts his head to the side, grimacing up a smile.

“Like it or not, officer, that’s my wife you’re talking about. And by law, I can drag her sorry ass just about anywhere I want to.” Only him and husband. No one else will get to see how silence falls, only for a flicker, before Joel takes two steps toward husband. And she isn’t here now, so he can get as big and mean and fearfully fast as he wants to.

Easy, really, anger makes it feel like nothing. Like nothing to get husband back down on the ground, prone and gasping little broken breaths with Joel’s hand clamped around the front of his throat. And he could, right now, he could. Break this man and bring what’s left of him to lay at her feet. He wants to, so very badly, let his hand crush that flutter, that pulse. But just on the heels of that anger is something else. Something small and sodden and sighing. All he can do to let a flame of frustration tamp it down, hauling husband up onto his knees, giving him enough coughed-in oxygen so he can understand what words come next. Speaking slowly, right in his ear.

“By law, I could show the bruises that will surely be on her throat to any cop in a fifty-mile radius and have you put in jail for a very long time. But I don’t think that’d be enough, do you?” What did Dolores tell him at the bar that night? Once, right here. To temple, that’s right. Where Joel settles the mouth of his gun now. And there is no monster. Something far more pathetic before him now, beneath him now. A blubbering man, a begging man, tears and snot shining up his face. Please, please don’t, please don’t do this.

Fear feels good, right. Making something right when his finger curls against the trigger. A burst of sound, a sob tearing through husband’s chest as he keels over, breathing hard, relieved and retching all at once. Joel lays a single kick to his stomach, sending him skittering back on the floor.

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” A hand gripped tight in husband’s hair to hold his face up, to make sure he is listening so very closely.

“You’re gonna get in your car, and you’re gonna go back to Nebraska. And you ain’t ever gonna come looking for her again. And if you don’t do as I say, that cartridge won’t be empty the next time you and I cross paths.” He lets him go, lets him slump back on the floor, still heaving.

Not another word is spoken. The door to the cell is left open. By morning, husband is gone.

…

“She didn’t eat anything.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t know if she slept, I doubt it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“You and I are gonna have a talk.”

“Okay, Patty, later.”

“Yeah, later.”

The house is quiet and still when he goes inside, ears pricking to the sound of Patty’s car pulling away. Her door is cracked, the thin light of morning slipping and slivering down the hall. He’s not sure how much of anything is okay right now, silent and standing in the doorway. At the very least, she’s not in her uniform, an old sweatshirt he had offered her when the nights kept getting colder. Not bruised yet, but blooming fast, a smear of dark red across her throat.

“Is he okay?” It shocks him, startles him. He almost asks who, is who okay? But he knows who she’s asking after, asking for, and it makes him dizzy, makes him sick.

“He’s gone, Dove. You don’t have to worry about him now.” Her brow pinches and pulls down, a full-tilt crumpling of her expression that forecasts tears, though they don’t come, just that tremble to her lip.

“I hurt him.” Like confession, like sin, and he can’t stop himself from trying to sweep it away, two big steps to kneel between her legs where she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on her knees to hold her where she is and tell her no, you did the right thing, you had to, it wasn’t that, it wasn’t bad or wrong or regretful, do not regret what you did, what you did was right, what you did was escape. And something else too, sorry. Sorry that she had to, because he didn’t, at least not in time.

“Is he really?”

“He is.”

“Forever?”

“He’s not coming back, I promise.” And this startles him too, the wrecked wail she lets out, head held in shaking hands, shaking shoulders, and shaking ribs that ache with sound and sob. And this isn’t relief, at least not entirely. It’s a mournful sound, it’s a losing sound, it’s a lost, longing sound.

The thing about a cage is that it becomes comfort once it is familiar. And the thing about monsters is that it doesn’t take much to become one. Just power and presence and taking something that does not belong to him, and never did. Part of her still loves that man, part of her is still kept by that man. And what Joel did, well, a keeping of his own, wasn’t it? A deigning and deciding of his own.

Something inside of him cracks, fine fissuring lines that splinter and snap, slumping back on his haunches, his hands slipping down to only a weak curl around her ankles as her whole body heaves. The loudest he’s ever heard her, a pure posture of agony in the way her spine snares and snarls up tight. And because of the crush of pain around her throat, the sound is near terrifying, broken and rasped, wounded animal, and so very not right, big, hot gasps of not right.

At first, he isn’t sure what it is, maybe just her body acting out some deep desperation in her hands reaching and grabbing onto his coat, still in his coat. Fists in fabric, asking him for something he is afraid to give her, though he does. An awkward contortion, lifting up onto his knees so he can bring his palms to span the shake of her back. She curls over him, into him. And what she says, what warbles up from her chest is an even sharper devastation. She thanks him, quiet and caught between gasps, thank you. Once, twice, his arms tightening around her to steady his own shake now. She thanks him for this undoing he has caused, and it in turn is his own quiet destruction. Because he would do so much more, unasked and unbidden. Dangerous, what he would do.

There’s no making sense of it, of the strange stir of grief and grace. Eventually, everything slows down, turns silent, and he’s still holding her, and she’s still holding him.

Nothing is said, not when bodies have already made so much clear. She lets him lead her to the bare light of the window, careful palms tilting her jaw so he can see what must heal. Asks her where it hurts the most and she just makes a dry sound that tries to be a laugh. There have been much worse hurts than this, he knows.

Maybe mercy, that there is always something that must be done around the fact of the land and the animals. They sniff into the morning cold, silent but close. Bleats turn into puffs of pale air, the flock already beginning their slow wander for the day, snow crunching under foot.

It’s a leap, a lurch of his heart to take her hand in his. She lets him, unspoken relief. Unspoken, all of it. But staying, both of them.

.............................

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asolareclipses · 17 days

Text

(Previous Part)

Taking a bus halfway across Maine was not on Nicos bucket list. Yet, there he was in a stuffy bus that looked, and smelled, like it had been made back in the 20’s—which Nico would know, he was there. Next to him Leo sat anything but still, his fingers drumming against the arm rests and occasionally grabbing things from his tool belt to tinker with. Sometimes he looked like a toddler hyped up on too much sugar. His constant movement comforted Nico though, it was a reminder that he wasn’t alone.

Of course he was still mad at Leo for ruining his genius plan to face a goddess alone, or at least he was trying to convince himself he was mad.

“Dude, this bus needs so much work.” Leo said, as he held up his freshly made penguin that consisted of various screws. “I’m not sure how they got it to last this long, it’s like beyond messed up.”

“Probably why the tickets were so cheap,” Nico replied as he watched the screw penguin’s head bobble around.

“I give it about an hour before it breaks down,” Leo suddenly paused, titling his head as if he were hearing something. “Scratch that she’s going down now.”

As soon as he said that the bus sputtered, losing speed as the driver pulled over to the side of the road.

“Sorry everyone, we seem to be having some problems.” The bus driver grumpily announced, he acted as if this were a regular occasion.

“It’s my time to shine,” Leo grinned as he stood up from the seat. “Don’t worry mortals, Leo’s got this all under control.”

“Please ignore him,” Nico gave the few confused passengers a smile as he pushed Leo towards the door. “You can just call people mortals.”

“Oops,” Leo shrugged as he hopped down from the last bus step onto the pavement. “Anyways let’s see what’s up with this bad boy.”

Nico rolled his eyes as Leo popped open the hood of the bus to reveal the engine. The driver appeared shocked, as Leo shouldn’t have been able to just open it without releasing the latch.

“Hey kid, what do you think you’re doing?” The driver called out as he slowly made his way out of the bus.

“Just fixing up some stuff, don’t mind me.” Leo didn’t even look up as he pulled some tools out of his belt.

Nico was about to try and mediate the situation when he realized something was wrong. Back in the bus he hadn’t noticed it due to the overpowering musk of age, but the driver was most definitely a monster.

By the change of expression on the drivers face, Nico saw that he too realized they weren’t just regular mortals. Leo was, of course, oblivious to this.

“Looks like I have a rat problem,” The bus driver snarled in their direction.

“Nope, not rats, just a really rusted battery.” Leo offhandedly replied.

“Leo, he’s not talking about the bus.” Nico nudged him, as the mist around the driver began to evaporate, morphing his two eyes into one.

“Then what is he-holy smokes!” Leo dropped his wrench in surprise as he saw the undercover cyclopes be revealed.

“Should’ve known you demigods would’ve snuck in here sooner or later,” The driver clenched his bulky fists as if preparing himself to attack.

Nico scanned the area for any makeshift weapon, he was really regretting leaving his sword behind.

“Hey buddy,” Leo raised his hands in attempt to reason, “I’ll fix your bus for free, how about you don’t kill us?”

“Killing you is much better than driving this piece of junk,” His eye was focused on Nico as he spoke. “Especially you, you reek of the underworld.”

“And you reek of spoiled eggs,” Nico snapped back, “at least I have an excuse, what’s yours?”

The cyclopes didn’t like that, which was made apparent by him grabbing a chunk of dirt and lobbing it towards them.

“Hit the deck!” Leo called, which didn’t really apply to them as there was no ‘deck’ but Nico didn’t point that out. Instead, he dropped to the floor as the piece of earth sailed past their heads.

“Leo, does your tool belt supply weapons?” Nico asked while the cyclopes reloaded on dirt.

Leo rummaged for a moment before pulling out a weird hatchet-hammer tool, which later Nico found out was a drywall hammer. “How’s this?”

“Good enough,” Nico said as he grabbed the hammer thing.

Another mound of dirt flew towards them but it was blasted to dust when Leo shot a ball of fire towards it. “Take that dirt boy!” He screamed.

Using Leo as a distraction Nico bolted off to the side, running around the bus so that he ended up behind the cyclopes. Unfortunately the cyclopes seemed to have predicted this as he quickly spun around, his arm slamming into Nico resulting in him being thrown into the side of the bus.

Before the cyclopes could do anymore damage Leo screamed, “Take this dirt face!” Then a wrench bounced off the back of the cyclopes’s head.

A flash of rage appeared on the cyclopes’s face as he turned towards Leo, grabbing an extra large chunk of dirt. “Oh you’re going to regret that.”

“I am?” Leo asked with a grin.

The cyclopes had forgotten about Nico leaving him the perfect opportunity, “I will crush you-” The cyclopes stopped mid sentence as Nico stabbed the hatchet into his back. Then with a look of shock, he erupted into dust.

“Nice!” Leo called out.

“Yeah..” Nico winced as he looked down at his arm, the bandages had been soaked through with blood after the hard hit he took.

“Dude, ouch.” Leo’s smile dropped as his eyes moved over the once white gauze.

“It’s fine,” Nico sighed looking back towards the bus, “more importantly. What are we going to do now?”

Leo seemed to realize they were now faced with a bus full of angry commuters, with no bus driver, and still had about 150 miles to go. “Right, looks like we’re taking a ride on the Leo express!”

—

Leo knew how to drive, mostly.

While he’d never taken the time to get an official license, he knew machines better than anyone. A bus was certainly easier to handle than a giant flying ship.

Fixing the engine was also a piece of cake.

The difficult part was the passengers, turns out they weren’t thrilled by the sudden staff change.

“There’s no way we can just let a 15 year old drive!”

“Hey!” Leo snapped at the lady who looked like she was about to demand to speak to his supervisor. “I’ll have you know i’m 18!”

“Do you even have a license?”

“Now now, everyone calm down. Listen, i’m a trained professional.” Leo shrugged with his palms up, “I mean, do you want to stay on the side of the road forever?”

The bus went quiet with defeat.

“Right, well then sit down, get comfortable, because the Leo train is leaving the station!” Leo didn’t get the cheers and applause he expected from that statement, just a few groans and unpleasant mutters.

Soon, the bus was driving smoothly across the roads and Leo barely had to pay attention as he’d fixed up a temporary autopilot gadget. Beside him, Nico winced as he removed the bandages from his scratches. Somehow the wound looked worse.

“Dude, that looks really bad,” Leo frowned as he pulled out more bandages from his tool belt.

“It’s fine,” Nico mumbled, not even looking up at Leo.

“Yeah you keep saying that but I’ve yet to start believing it.”

Nico wrapped the bandages carefully around his arm, gritting his teeth as he tried to hide the pain. “It’s just a scratch, i’ve seen worse.”

That didn’t comfort Leo, in fact in made him feel worse. Of course, it’s only expected that a demigod face some pretty rough injuries here and there—Leo himself had seen quite a few. But Nico’s insistence on ignoring his pain made Leo worried that if it were to be serious, he’d never know.

Despite that, he knew arguing would just make Nico more annoyed, so he tried to liven up the atmosphere. “You know, if we were in an episode of the Magic School Bus right now you’d be Arnold.”

“What the Hades is the Magic School Bus?” Nico looked at Leo as if he were crazy.

Leo threw his head back in exasperation, “You’ve got to be joking! You don’t know the Frizz?”

“The what?”

“That’s it, i’m making a list of all the things you need to watch when we get back to camp.”

“Whatever,” Nico rolled his eyes, “as long as you don’t put Twilight on there i’m happy.”

“Hold up, Twilight?” Leo tried and failed to hold back a smile.

“Yeah, Will told me it was iconic, or whatever.” Nico paused as if remembering something unpleasant, “If iconic means torturous, then it surely was.”

Leo burst into laughter at the thought of Nico actually watching Twilight, “Dont worry, we will not be watching any vampire shows.”

The rest of the ride was spent with Leo determining what things Nico had and hadn’t watched. Turns out Will had caught him up on quite a lot, but Leo still developed a lengthy list of things he would bless Nico with. In a way Nico’s unawareness of modern culture reminded him of Jason, due to his upbringing by wolves he was a bit out of the loop when it came to many popular things. Leo figured he’d do a “modern culture” class at camp, maybe invite Hazel. The idea made him smile, it was something to look forward to.

Eventually, they made it to the bus station, where he and Nico quickly snuck away to avoid suspicion. To their luck no one at the station had realized what happened until they were long gone.

Not to their luck, they still had a five mile walk ahead of them.

They spent a large part of the walk in silence, as it was hard to focus on anything other than the heat. Eventually, Leo got bored and tried to think about anything else, his mind wandering back to their previous conversation.

“I’m really wishing I had a magic school bus right about now,” Leo whined as he trudged forward. The warm air was now unpleasant as the sun beamed down upon him.

“And i’m really wishing I left you back at camp.”

“Hey!” Leo glared at Nico who bit back a smile, “You’re lucky! I blessed you with my company.”

Nico scoffed, “Right, blessed, that’s the word I was looking for.”

“Why does this place have to be out in the middle of nowhere?” Leo asked as he peered into the distance in hopes of seeing the outline of the school.

“Guess they didn’t want any kids running off,” Nico shrugged. “Honestly I don’t remember much about it, I was only there for like a year?” He seemed to think about it for a moment before giving up.

“That was after the casino?” Leo asked, he decided to take this as a chance to ask more about Nico’s past. It was the one topic Nico avoided, or maybe Leo was the one who avoided it, after all he knew how much old memories could hurt.

“Yeah, time felt so messed up back then. I mean it was like seventy years? But then suddenly i’m in the 20th century at some school in a state i’d never heard of before.” Nico sighed, “Not sure how I wasn’t more confused, it just felt normal, or whatever I thought normal was.”

Leo nodded, he was afraid to speak, careful to not scare Nico away.

“You don’t have to be so on edge,” Nico turned to look at him, almost as if he’d read his mind.

“I’m not...” Leo paused, “It’s just you’ve never talked in depth about this stuff with me before.”

“Yeah, I hadn’t talked about it with anyone until Will. But Mr. D says ‘talking is good,’ so might as well take his advice for once.”

The idea of Mr. D being a therapist threw Leo for a loop but he didn’t say anything about it, “Yeah, I guess I never really told anyone about all my stuff until Jason.”

Nico suddenly smirked, “You too seem pretty close.”

Leo’s face flushed red as he avoided Nico’s eyes, “What? No-I mean, of course we’re close, we’re best friends. Totally platonic best friends.”

“Right, and I totally believe you.” Nico rolled his eyes with a grin. There was a peaceful silence for a split second before Nico’s smile faded. Now, in the distance the outline of a large school could be seen.

Nico sighed, a hesitant look flashing across his face before he spoke, “We’re here. Welcome to Westover.”

Part Six

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starryhutcherson · 12 days

Note

hii, hru?

i have an idea for another clapton davis one shot:)

what if the reader is an spanish girl and she help clapton with his spanish homework but one thing led to another and yk it ends in smut

- 🫧

━━ NO HABLO ESPAÑOL

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x spanish-speaking!reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! oral sex (m!recieving), come swallowing, mentions of p in v, swearing, google translated spanish word count: 3300+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

Clapton’s bedroom is drowned in the drowsiness of a late-afternoon heat; the sunshine bleeds against his scattered memorabilia, stretching beams across the floor and illuminating the entire space in a picturesque light. It’s hot, too hot — sweat settles on your starfished body as you lie sprawled atop his carpet, surrounded by stationery and permanently tainted with a subtle flush of rose.

Initially, he’d intended for this to be no more than a harmless study session — he was god awful at spanish, and you were a fluent speaker. You just happened to be unfathomably drop-dead gorgeous. It was pure coincidence, of course it was.

He’d erupted in an animated grin when you’d agreed to help him, teeth gleaming in a wide display of genuine gratitude – he wasn’t entirely sure of the appeal of helping your friendly-but-not-a-friend classmate with their spanish homework, especially due to his apparent lack of intelligence — but you agreed all the same. You had your reasons, even if he didn’t know them.

What he does know is that he’s struggling. With the Spanish, sure, though that wasn’t much of a surprise — he’s also struggling not to seize hold of you, hands splayed against your skin, taking you right here on this fucking carpet. The eye contact you’re maintaining is dangerous; that damn cloying smile, those saccharine sentences – the impact it has on Clapton is enough to shatter bullet proof glass and he’s not sure he'll be able to rope his caveman brain out of the gutter. Your voice is so sweet he swears it’ll give him cavities.

“Alright, translate this one. Tomé al autobús.”

His forehead creases with concentration, trying to focus on the meaning of your words, and not the simmering spike of dry heat that spirals in his throat and his crotch. He narrows his eyes, inhaling a breath as if about to answer, but after a delayed moment all that escapes is a dejected huff.

“I got nothing.”

You tut at him disappointedly. “C’mon. We just did this one.”

He tries to think back, but it’s hard to cast his mind to one single moment with you, because every minute seems to blur hopelessly into the next one. Concentration is impossible when you’re this close to him, when he can hear every breath of yours like they’re his own, when his head is full of filthy fabrications in which your velveteen voice screeches while he slams into your g-spot with lethal precision.

Get a grip. He swallows around the presence of nothing and tries to hold the crumbling pieces of his facade together.

It isn’t working.

“Uh, no we didn’t,” he teases slyly, attempting to reach for your own sheet, which is already full with all the answers. You snatch it away from his desperate hand, swatting his palm for emphasis. The desultory touch shouldn’t mean as much as it does.

“Yes. We did. C’mon. I’ll give you a hint— bus.”

He does light up with a fraction of recognition. “Oh, shit, yeah. I got it, it’s uh— I’m gonna take the bus?”

You let out another dissatisfied hum. “Not quite. It’s I took the bus. Past tense.”

He rolls over onto his back with a tediously drawn out groan. “That’s like, the exact same thing, c’mon.”

“Uh, no it isn't. If someone asked you how you got home, you’d say “I took the bus,” not, “I’m taking the bus.” You taunt, a mocking twinkle in your eye that renders his body weak with desire.

“Uh, actually I wouldn’t say either, because I get home by car.”

With mild amusement you roll your eyes, and Clapton’s head wanders yet again, to venereal visions where that eye roll is taken far out of context — right now, spanish isn’t the only thing that’s hard.

“These entire sentences are too hard to translate. Just gimme some words.”

You scoff at his swift abandon, but you do oblige, reaching across yourself to grab the standard textbook for the grade, idly flipping through a few pages before finding something you deem to be his level.

It’s a basic configuration of nouns, English situated on one side of the page and Spanish on the other; the lists are out of order and the goal is to match up each pair with the correct translation. You figure with a bit of your help, it’ll be easy enough.

“Here,” you say, handing him the textbook. He hauls himself back to his prior position on his stomach, snatching a pen, examining the page, and then staring back up at you blankly.

“C’mon, what am I, a kindergartener?”

You snort, shuffling marginally closer to him so that your shoulders just barely collide. The contact is faint, sure, but it’s enough to make his mind warp. Maybe his desire for you isn’t so one-dimensional.

“I know it looks easy, but it’s about the words, Clapton, not the activity.”

“Well it’s dumb. I liked the other stuff better.”

“You asked for this. Start matching.”

He glares at you through narrow eyes, a semblance of their hazel hue present through the gap in his lowered eyelids — the irritation doesn’t last long. Not when his gaze meets yours and he can feel the gentle wash of your breath against his lips, dainty and dangerous simultaneously. He’d swallow it if he could; preserve the very flavor of your exhales straight from your lips to his.

An obvious spill of crimson fragments blossoms against the dermis of his cheeks, every moment he spends around you is like being bathed in incandescence, like being roasted from the inside out. He’s a moth and you are a painfully hot flame.

His eyes stray downwards in a weak attempt to hide his blush, grumbling to himself before beginning the work. He makes it through one and a half questions before he inevitably gives up for the second time.

“This is too hard,” he admits.

"Thought it was for kindergartners." You chuckle, to which he mumbles a low, "Shut up."

A measly moment passes before he's hit with an idea. "Let me test you."

"Seriously? You know I'm fluent. That'd be like me testing you on English."

He chuckles to himself, the smug sound leeches to the atmosphere and sends a fresh swarm of butterflies to thrash amidst your stomach lining. He’s too tantalizing for his own good, he’s your forbidden fruit. You’d love a taste.

“Pretty confident then, huh?”

The delicate development of his smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you; it’s hot, the way his bottom teeth are just partially visible by the action, the way his eyes glitter with the promise of a challenge and his demeanor is altered from defeated to determined in one brief snapshot of a moment.

“Seeing as I’ve grown up speaking Spanish, uh, yeah. I’d say I’ve probably got this in the bag.”

His grin flourishes exponentially. “We’ll see about that.”

✩‧₊˚

Four minutes later, Clapton’s master plan at veering the pair of you away from doing the work is proven to be pointless — his assumption in which he could find some big word to stump you was dismissed after witnessing your effortless answers.

“Sun?” “Are you kidding? Sol.”

He glances up from the textbook, where all of the answers are, huffing a little and searching for something more difficult.

“Gimme something harder.” He can think of something harder.

“Okay, okay. Uh… dance?”

“Bailar,” you say, rolling the ‘r’ with a tantalizing flick of your tongue and he’s sure that by now the tightness in his jeans is obnoxiously prominent. “Seriously, these are so easy.”

“Okay, full sentence: “I’m gonna buy a coffee.”

“Hmmm… let me think,” you say mockingly, and he almost believes he’s got you until you answer with a mirthless chuckle: “Voy a comprar un cafe.”

A dull ache burns in his pants, even the most mundane sentences sound sultry when you use that tone. That fucking tone. He’s still minutely annoyed that you answered his questions with ease, but what did he expect, really? This was your language.

“These are the simplest questions ever. You really underestimate me.”

He snorts at this. It was impossible to underestimate somebody like you. He knows that much.

“I don’t. Trust me.”

A sideways glance, a furrowed brow. You seem to dismiss the comment – it looks that way to him, at least. He’s unaware of the internal screams that loop in your head, cacophonous to the drill of your pounding heartbeat. He really knows how to throw you off your game, after all.

He clears his throat at the lack of response, endearing albeit the awkwardness. “What even are these words anyway? They don’t even sound anything like the Engish version. I mean— Patio-day-jaygoes?” He flicks his eyes over some of the words in the textbook; his over emphasized, americanized interpretation of the syllables makes you chuckle.

“Patio de juegos. It means playground— and I already told you that ‘j’ in spanish is pronounced like ‘h’ in english. Y’know. Heart. Hat. Hole.”

“Doesn’t make any fucking sense. Like, look at this– Zapaytoes?”

“Zapatos. Shoes.”

“Days-fil-e?”

“Desfile. Parade. You really do suck at this.” He scoffs, but you can see the humor buried beneath his irritated disposition. “I told you that like a thousand times. Bay-so?”

“Beso. Kiss.”

Shit. He can feel the color prick his cheeks before your words even truly compute with him. There shouldn’t be any meaning behind them; just a simple definition. No hidden feeling lurking beneath your shallow translation.

Right?

Wrong.

He has an idea. He wants to be cocky. Every single splintered thought is you, you, you, and he feels like if an opportunity presents itself he’d be an idiot not to take it. He wasn’t going to be an idiot. Not today. Not with you.

“Oh. So… just out of, y’know, curiosity… how would you say, ‘I want a kiss?’”

His ulterior motives soar above your head – you’re so ingrained in helping him that you fail to recognise his confident grin.

“Puedo tener un beso.” You reply, eyes combing through the familiar words etched against the textbook pages, completely oblivious. A beat of silence falls, a second of hesitation, before he goes in for it.

“Si, si. Uh… si puedes. ” Yes you can. He grins, clearly a little proud of himself.

If you’re being honest, it’s pretty cheesy, what with his eager eyes and butchered pronunciation. At least he’s trying — scraping together his kindergarten-level dialogue to form a simple sentence, and it’s sort of sweet, you think.

“Was that a sincere offer?”

No harm in asking, right?

“Was it a sincere question?” He fires back instantaneously.

And oh, he knows it wasn’t. You were merely answering a question, following the sound of his voice and the way it rose and fell like pebbled leather – but his taunting is tantalizing. Your desire is hungry and he offers to feed it – and why would you refuse?

He tastes sweet. Barely a moment of brevity was able to pass before your lips cradled his, sucking and soaking the flavor of lingering soda straight off his teeth. His tongue is his weapon of choice, breathlessly exploring the cave of your mouth, trying to mold himself right into your gums.

His hands roam, up and down your figure, eventually settling on either side of your waist and thumbing circles into your hip bones, it’s sexy. Just as he is.

You crook your head to alter the angle and he moans, completely unabashed, the sound passes through his mouth and into yours, and you know his mind is following the same dirty pathway as yours.

You tear away from him, reveling in the way he pants like a wounded dog, the way he struggles to leave your lips as if he’s magnetized to them.

“I think I know how to help your spanish…”

“Mmm?” He tries to sound like he’s in control but it’s a vain and vacuous attempt. It’s cute.

You don’t offer a response, but your fingers traipse lower, beyond the region of his shirt’s hem and dipping beneath his waistband. You glance at him, eyes seeking consent. He nods, words failing him as your fingers find his buttons and begin to tug.

When his denim restrictions pool around his ankles, you guide him to sit on the edge of his bed – his thighs are quivering in anticipation and a saturated spill has soaked his boxers, where the defined shape of his dick has begun to show.

You grab the spanish textbook from beside you before spreading his legs with your hands. Your pace is agonizing.

“C’mon, you’re killing me,” he croaks, eyes struggling to stay on you with the weight of this moment heavy on his shoulders.

You have a spark in your eyes, one that’s ignited and waiting to devour – your thumb encircles his clothed tip and a shudder licks at the base of his spine. His twitching hands come to rest in your hair, interlacing with a grip that stings like rope burn – you’re not opposed to the pain. It’s proof of his lack of control over himself, and the thought itself is enough to make you, in turn, shudder as well.

“You— fuck. You’re totally evil.”

A few painful moments of you tracing him through the fabric and he’s getting a little bit frenzied – his jaw is uncomfortably taunt and his hold on your hair is only growing tighter. You decide to indulge his whispered pleas.

Your hands shift from their position splayed on his thighs and delve into his boxers, making a show of drawing them down his legs until they join his jeans at his feet. His cock’s hard, weeping as he writhes with want. He thinks if you don’t do something, he’ll actually die. Just something.

“Can you— ah– just do something?” His voice sounds scratchy, punctured by his longing.

“Ask me in spanish.”

“What?” He’s maybe a little delirious, what with all the blood leaving his head.

“I’m here to teach you, Clapton.” Your devious grin sends him reeling— his cock shivers with him as he scrambles to open the textbook, trying to find some stupid page that’ll give you what you want.

He thinks it’s cruel, dangling yourself in front of him like this, mocking him every minute that those decadent lips aren’t wrapped around him. He wonders what Spanish would sound like when it’s muffled by his cock.

Your hands, callous-free and creamy with the vestige of vanilla lotion, inch gradually upwards along his thighs, enjoying the way their feather-light touches cause tension to erupt across his nerves. He’s trembling in the mid-may heat.

“Uh— fuck— por– por fay– por-far-vor pay-paydo tenarlo?” You can barely understand the massacred words, and when you do— por favor puedo tenerlo— you deem it to be a little vague. But at least he’s trying. He just needed some motivation.

When you finally allow him solace in the comfort of your mouth, he goes a little dumb. His jaw slackens with an audible sound as his tongue falls from the roof of his mouth — he was previously rolling it around to try and find any remaining taste of you. He was unsuccessful, of course, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Not when his cock was buried in the narrow channel of your throat, not when you’re groaning against him as his weight settles against your lapping tongue, not when your teeth graze along his shaft and his hips wildly buck off his bed. It’s so filthy, but it’s everything he needs.

“Shit— shit, that’s good, yeah, just like that. Fuck that’s— ah!”

His English is nearly as bad as his Spanish right now, and can you blame him? With every trembling buck forwards he’s thrown deeper into your mouth, your trachea, all accompanied by that greedy glint of lust in your eyes that’s damn near tangible.

His eyes are rolling backwards, up into the depths of his skull so all you can see are the alabaster parts of his sclera. Your own eyes are misty; soaked with spills of tears that taste like a reward, a reminder of your efforts. He’s breaking and it’s all because of you.

“Holy fuck,” he rasps, his hands still settled in the roots of your hair. This might not be his first blowjob, but it’s certainly his best one.

His length prods deeper, bruising at the palate of your mouth, drooling pre-cum around your gums, sousing them in his salty scent. You fall into a rhythm and he falls into you, teetering on the brink of bliss with every prolonged suck that you give him.

By the time his edge is impending, his cheeks are kissed with stains of vivid cherry red, hair is tousled and slick with sweat, and he’s managed to regain control of his rolling eyes, keeping them trained on your figure with a bout of concentration. Good.

Your lips leave him, just for a moment, matching your previous pace with your hand and ignoring the desperate whine he emits from the action.

“You gonna come?”

He looks almost ashamed, as if the prospect of it occurring so early is anything but what you wanted.

“Well – yeah. Yeah– fuck— if you, if you keep going like that, then yeah.”

His voice cracks like distant thunder and his body bites back another pitchy whimper.

“You gotta ask nicely.”

The words sound a little foreign as you spit them from your mouth, but you’re too stuck into the experience to care. Your hand chafes against him with the dry friction, and he yearns for your lips once more. In this sticky-sweet moment, he thinks he’d do anything for them back.

“Please. Please– please, I gotta, you gotta just–”

You interrupt him with a tut. “In spanish.”

En español.

He fumbles for the book, his hands sliding from your hair with a begrudging expression – he can’t stay infuriated for long though, not when you're subtly slinking your head back to nuzzle his tip. Fuck.

“Por— por favor.”

His docility is almost pathetic.

“Por f– fuck, do I really gotta– ah– do this?”

When your hand threatens to leave his cock completely, the panic he exudes is nearly comical. He’s been wanting this for so long, he’s not losing it now.

“Okay, okay! Por favor, por— shit– por favor. P– yeah, that’s it, you’re so good, so hot, shit—”

His endeavor is ultimately scrambled when your mouth makes its return around him, and you know the moment his eyes begin to lose their focus that he’s gone. You let his consciousness leave, with every desperate thrust into your throat, with every dulcet whimper – your hands extend to fondle his balls and ultimately he’s nudged off into the void of blissful oblivion, by you and you alone.

His wail is weak but encouraging as he comes, polluting your throat with opalescent ribbons, he tastes like seaside salt and everything you’ve been missing. Indulgent. His shattered voice is the most gratifying sound, incomprehensible praises clotting between his lips and washing over you, and you bask in it.

You're battered and probably bruised, your jaw aches and your knees are raw, but it was all for a good cause. Seeing him like this, quaking with the pleasure that you carved into him— maybe it’s the orgasmic haze but Clapton swears you’re glistening in the afternoon sun. An angel on Earth.

Un ángel en la tierra.

You don’t end up leaving his house that night — instead you lie against the quiet ebb of his heartbeat, tangled in his sheets and woven into his arms where you rightfully belong. His homework still isn’t done, his room carries the scent of sex and sweat and all things filthy, but neither of you have the cognitive ability to worry about it.

So, you sleep; rocked into exhaustion and sharing a pillow. Your flesh sears as his gentle hands stroke it, he can feel your smile as it forms against his chest.

Aquí es donde usted pertenece.

reminder, my requests are always open

masterlist

✩‧₊

#clapton davis x reader #clapton davis smut #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson x you #clapton davis x you #clapton davis iamgine #clapton davis fluff #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt smut #derek danforth smut #detention 2011

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thornpixie · 9 months

Text

I am Team Jeremiah, but that doesn’t mean I hate Conrad. However, I find it very hard to feel any sympathy for him: an essay.

I truly hope Conrad finds happiness. I just don’t think he and Belly are right for each other. And no, I haven’t read the books (you can read my feelings on that argument in another post I’ve done lol), so I’m just going off the show.

I am Team Jeremiah, I make no secret of it. But that’s because he is just the better choice for Belly. Not because he is better than Conrad, full stop. They both have their flaws. Should Jeremiah have made out with his brothers ex girlfriend like that, without at least talking to him first? Hell no. But come on - the guy tried to resist. He tried so hard. Belly kept pushing. And let’s remember what Conrad said to Belly at the start of the season after they kissed - ‘Do you want to be with him?’ ‘Being with you is all I’ve ever wanted.’ ‘Okay so be with me then.’

Belly choosing Conrad over Jeremiah was all that mattered back then, not how it affected anyone else, even though she was quasi-dating his brother for most of the summer. He didn’t give a fuck about Jeremiah and if it wasn’t for Belly saying no, he would have flaunted her immediately, even knowing she had kissed Jere a few times. When he asked Jeremiah for his blessing, I don’t believe he did that for any other reason than Belly would continue to distance herself from him until she believed Jere was over it. Conrad did not go to Jeremiah to make sure he truly was okay. He was ticking a box for Belly. Jeremiah was quite obviously not okay with it but Conrad chose to ignore that because he wanted Belly. We saw that in what he told Belly about it afterwards. He took the parts of the conversation that suited his narrative and the outcome he wanted, and he ran with it. And it worked. Jeremiah got hurt, and Conrad didn’t care, because he had Belly.

Their relationship wasn’t this epic love story. I still don’t understand where it came from. I understand Belly’s crush. But when and how and why did Conrad start loving her? The writers of the show seemed to just say ‘he just does’ and we are supposed to say ‘okay yeah sound makes sense.’ I just don’t understand the timeline. Besides that though… Look, I understand and empathise with the fact that his mom was dying while they were dating, and that he was struggling with his mental health. It was a lot for an 18 year old to deal with. (Of course, Jeremiah was dealing with it, too, but Conrad stans conveniently forget that). But Belly suffered in that relationship because of it, and no one should have to do that. To me, it seemed like she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to pull away. Scared. Maybe Conrad wasn’t going to break up with her at prom, and she jumped the gun, but it says a lot about how she was feeling that she immediately assumed that. A relationship shouldn’t be like that.

Jeremiah, though… from day one he was open and honest with her. He asked her straight up if she could ever love him like she did Conrad and she said YES. Belly said herself - Jeremiah is always there when she needs him. That’s what you need in a life partner. And fuck me, the passion they have. A perfect blend of supportive and passionate. Tie that man DOWN. He is supportive, he defends her, he speaks his mind, he is honest and reliable (the only time we saw him ‘let her down’ in any way was when he missed the dance at the Deb Ball and jeez, he had a damn good reason so no one can blame him). He makes her laugh. They can have fun together, but can also have the serious conversations. I married my best friend and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s honestly amazing to know you have that person who truly sees you, loves and supports you. Who is your comfort. Jeremiah is that for Belly. Honestly, I could go on and on about how Jeremiah is the perfect match for her - and the chemistry between Gavin and Lola definitely adds to it, but it isn’t the only factor - but everyone has probably given up reading by now…

Both boys have been dealt a shit hand, losing their mother. Both boys have made mistakes and have flaws. But they both have incredibly good qualities, too. Personally, I just think that Jeremiah is more suited to Belly, and they will have a happy, healthy relationship.

Also, the way she kissed him back in that episode… I’m sorry but there’s no way she’s not jumping his bones when they start officially dating. It wouldn’t make sense to me. She was smiling against his mouth and knotting her fingers in his hair, and it was ‘Wattpad level hot’, as Taylor would say. Considering she’s already done the deed, I can’t see any logical way for the writers to incorporate a ‘no intimacy’ storyline for them. Especially after that scene in particular, but also their first kiss in the pool back in season one, and the booby fondling in the car - WHERE BELLY STRAIGHT UP SAID SHE WAS NOT NERVOUS BECAUSE IT WAS JEREMIAH. Sorry, but let’s be real - there’s not a chance in hell those two are not banging the brains out of each other. And good on them. So I hope that is a change made to the books. Furthermore, show-Jeremiah cheating? I cannot see it happening. I really really hope it doesn’t.

IF Bonrad must be endgame, then please, Jenny Han, I beg of you to right your wrongs and not assassinate Jeremiah’s character to reach that ending. There are better ways to do it. But I maintain that the better choice for Belly is Jeremiah. And Conrad should meet someone new who is more emotionally mature and able to deal with his very obvious mental health problems. Someone he feels he can open up to about them. Because, as a sufferer myself, you need that support. Belly doesn’t provide that for Conrad and, as a result, Conrad doesn’t give Belly what she needs either.

One last parting thought - what the fuck happened to Jeremiah and Steven’s friendship? Jeremiah told Steven how much he cared for Belly in season one. Why did literally no one listen to him? And how did no one see it in the way his entire personality seemed to shift in season two. He’s lost his sparkle. YES most of that is because of his mom, but is everyone really that blind to him? No one notices that poor guy. He’s completely overshadowed by Conrad in every aspect. Everyone just expects Jeremiah to roll over and let everyone else have their happy ending while he gets trampled on because he’ll ‘just get over it’. Come on. WRITERS - DO BETTER. There is too much phenomenal acting talent in this show to let bad writing and tropes ruin it.

In conclusion, I haven’t written this much on one topic since I did my degree and I am obsessed with this show. Goodbye.

#belly conklin #jeremiah fisher #the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #belly x jeremiah #tsitp conrad #conrad fisher #team jeremiah #j

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koorminii · 2 years

Text

relax with me | hwang hyunjin

It’s your turn to make noises now, it seems, because Hyunjin drags a moan out of you so loud that you’re worried the neighbours have heard. Your cheeks are red for a whole new reason now, and the fact that Hyunjin is yanking at the collar of your dress doesn’t help. You let him, you don’t care, you want to give Hyunjin everything, anything.

❥ pairing: hyunjin x f!reader ❥ genre: pwp (minimal), smut & fluff ❥ rating: 18+ ❥ word count: 3.4k ❥ warnings: grinding, kissing (??), clothed sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, first kiss, love confessions, idk they’re basically just grinding on each other outside, this looks so fluffy but it’s honestly quite filthy, this was from a wip that I’m most likely gonna scrap so there’s like no background info and there’s barely plot, i think that’s it… ❥ a/n: my first post on this acc!! please give it a read and I hope you enjoy ^^ it’s filthy in the way that they’re doing anything to get off but also sweet bc u can assume reader is a virgin! it’s very sweet posting this is making me wanna finish it but I doubt it very much

He smiles, takes your hand in his, squeezing gently. “I wanted to see you again,” he says shamelessly, tugging you a little closer when you duck your head, embarrassed.

“So shy,” he mumbles, lifting one of your hands to kiss the back of it.

You are dying, you’re sure of it. This is what death feels like. It feels good. And maybe it shouldn’t, because that’s a bit darker than your general way of thinking, and tastes a lot like self-sabotage, but you don’t stop the pestering thoughts from invading you.

“Can I take you to lunch?” Hyunjin suddenly asks, squeezing both of your hands, eyes hopeful as they bore into your own. You’re a mere human, and can't deny the man before you anything when he’s smiling at you like that— not even the fire on your cheeks, on your chest, in your blood, at this point— so you nod.

“I-I’d love that,” you whisper, and Hyunjin pulls you into a half hug where your head is buried into the crook of his neck in such a way that feels scarily intimate.

You pull the bike helmet out of your bag— you didn’t expect to need to use it until later this afternoon, and even then, you contemplated just running away and taking the bus instead— and pulled it over your head. Just like this morning, Hyunjin’s chest was firm beneath your hands, and you wondered what it would be like to rest your head against the heart that beat in time to the bursting of stars above your head in the night time.

And— and things escalate. You’re not dating, not really, but you go on lots of things that resemble dates. Hyunjin picks you up and drops you home from university almost everyday, and on those same days, will join you for lunch. Sometimes you two go out, other times you go back to the garage and eat in the back room. A handful of times you tried eating in the canteen, but Hyunjin never felt comfortable, and he put an end to that after a mere three sessions.

After nearly three weeks of said dates, some of which even taking place after hours at the garage, with you seated on the armchair or perched on top of the bench while Hyunjin worked on a car, or bike, you felt confident enough around him that staying the night to watch movies and eat pasta didn’t scare you.

Hyunjin had promised to make dinner, but had first said that he prepared a picnic lunch for them to have in the backyard. A picnic lunch— you really were living in a romance film.

Turns out Hyunjin lived behind the garage shop front. The block was larger than you had thought, extending backwards by such a length that there was a front lawn behind the garage that led to a house that, although old, was well looked after with rose bushes and large cherry blossom tree— which was unfortunately out of season, but you were sure it was beautiful in spring— and the front porch even had a rocking chair like some kind of fairy-tale.

The inside was unsurprisingly eclectic, with photos and art from Hyunjin and Jisung’s many travels hanging on the walls, and styled with repurposed or vintage furniture in a mismatched fashion that all seemed to work. In the living room, there was even one of the most exquisite paintings that you had ever seen, and when you had told Hyunjin as such, he was positively beaming, telling you that both he and Jisung had actually made it.

The two of them had been living together since they purchased the plot and old garage, and had been friends for almost as long as you and Felix had been. Their closeness seemed different, though. Whereas Felix and you were so clingy one would think you were touch-starved, Jisung almost seemed like a brother to Hyunjin.

Upon hearing this, Hyunjin sniggered, but there was a light of fondness in his eyes when he explained how much he cared for the younger boy. The kitchen was the oldest room in the house, as it was the only room to not have gone through some form of renovation, but it was quaint and cared for, with a bouquet of irises on the dining table. You looked at the array of photographs pinned to the side of the fridge as Hyunjin fluttered about the kitchen, packing up the picnic basket with food he’d prepared the night before.

Outside, the sun was warm, but not burning hot— it was the cusp of summer, after all. It was just the right temperature to be able to take their coats off without getting cold.

You propped yourself up on your arms. Legs stretched out on the blanket in front of you, and let your head fall back to the sun. Your eyes shut as you sighed, inhaling and smiling at the faint smell of oil in the distance. Beside you, you hear Hyunjin shift where he’s seated, followed by a sigh, and then an unexpected, though not unpleasant weight in your lap. Your eyes fluttered open to see Hyunjin curled up on your lap with his eyes closed and a faint grin.

Like this, he looks gentle— despite the bit of muscles that stretch the fabric of his shirt. You find you can't resist, and with the most delicate touch you can manage, combs your finger through the soft strands of Hyunjin’s hair. You feel the latter relax in your lap as you do, and a faint smile grows on your lips.

With one hand, you sneakily take a few photos with your phone, silently wishing you had your camera. You continue playing with his hair until Hyunjin is almost purring, writhing in your lap, and you have to bite your lip, turn away, and let the redness of your cheeks go down. When you turn back to look at him, Hyunjin’s eyes are already open and watching you. They look a little distant and hazy, as if he were waking from a deep sleep, but no less beautiful than usual.

He stretches, arms above his head, making his shirt rise up around his hips. You divert your eyes, but can't miss the muscle of his hips or the trail of hair leading down below the waistband of his jeans. In another universe, a confident version of you is placing your lips there, pressing open mouthed kisses on the pale skin of Hyunjin’s stomach, tasting it, even, but in this universe, you want the ground to swallow you whole even just thinking of it.

Hyunjin calls your name,, not in greeting or question, but as if just saying it because he could. Because he liked the way it sounded on his tongue. You liked it too, much more than you cared to admit, but you're sure Hyunjin knew that already.

“Baby,” he says, this time pinching your side a little, but not enough to hurt. You smile so he knows you're listening, and it only gets stronger when Hyunjin laughs.

“Mhm, baby, I need to tell you something.”

Your heart, first and foremost, sometimes cannot handle being called baby, Felix and Jisoo, who have done it on the rare occasion you’re either particularly sleepy, homesick, or unwell; never had you been called baby by anyone other than your mother in such an open, non-vulnerable position before. You liked it— loved it, even, if the roaring heat on your cheeks and chest meant anything.

“W-what is it?”

There’s a moment where neither of you are speaking, possibly not even breathing, but just staring at one another. That’s not necessarily uncommon, but the tone between you two now differs from before, because Hyunjin’s face is gradually getting closer and closer to your own, by pushing himself up on one hand. Soon, Hyunjin’s face is directly across and in front of your own; he's no longer laying his head in your lap, and the cool air hits your now exposed thighs with a shiver.

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker downwards, to your mouth, and You feel relatively prepared this time—Hyunjin is always giving you little cheek kisses, and you won’t let it startle you this time around.

Hyunjin is propped up on one hand, and the other comes up to cup the side of your neck. You feel overly sensitive—can feel the calluses of his labour but the softness that surrounds it; can feel the puff of breath he releases against the tip of nose, his lips. Hyunjin tilts his head up the tiniest bit, but there are no lips on your cheek or at the corner of your mouth or on your forehead like those times before.

Instead, there’s a pair pressing against your lips, soft and wet with a taste of vanilla, and maybe it lasts six hours or two seconds or it was all in your head, but when Hyunjin pulls away, he doesn’t go very far, and presses his kisses into the skin of your throat instead.

“Baby,” he says again, rougher this time, like he’s choking on his own tongue.

He doesn’t bite at his neck, but you feel your skin prickle against every kiss placed gently against you. You mustn’t be breathing, because you feel lightheaded, more so than usual than when you’re with Hyunjin, and the elder must notice. He draws back, eyes staring into your own.

“Baby, breathe,” and you do, because you live to please, and it's rugged and rough like you’d just been on a run, but your head clears the tiniest bit—enough for you to realise that the kiss did happen, and it wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

“Was- was that okay?”

For the first time You hear Hyunjin stutter. Confident and brave Hyunjin, stuttering because he thinks he’s upset you, did something you didn’t want. If only he could read your thoughts, understand what you were feeling right now, instead of only being able to see the shock written on your face.

And this must be some kind of role reversal bullshit you’re too stupid to understand, because from somewhere deep within you, or maybe from Hyunjin himself, You grab Hyunjin’s face within both of your hands—softer than Hyunjin’s ever would be, but no gentler—and kisses him with as much energy and emotion and love that you can.

Hyunjin is stiff at first, no doubt shocked at your unbidden confidence, but soon relaxes into; he melts. Hyunjin groans, falling into you, his hands trailing down your arms, around your waist, where they lock together in a secure embrace.

You have no experience kissing beyond the two pecks you’ve ever received in your life—one of which was a mere minute ago—so you do what you think is right, what feels right.

Hyunjin is doing that purring thing especially, and it only gets louder when you turn your head for a better fit. Your own hands disappear from Hyunjin’s face, up around his neck, and drag Hyunjin’s body closer to yours. You’re both seated facing each other, but the closer you drag him, the more entangled you become.

Soon, Hyunjin’s tearing away from you, chest heaving and panting and eyes glassy, but props himself up on his knees so he can hover over you, before caging you between his thighs. You gasp, but it’s swallowed up by Hyunjin’s mouth all over again, and you let your hands slide up the back of the mechanics loose t-shirt. Your skin is warm, and Hyunjin hums into your mouth when he presses you closer, your chests pressing together with each movement. Hyunjin’s tongue is begging at your mouth, and your confidence is starting to run out, but you let him anyway.

You let him, you don’t care, you want to give Hyunjin everything, anything.

You think maybe it’s moving too fast, but you don’t want to stop. You think Hyunjin ends up ripping the buttons of the dress open, too desperate to waste time unbuttoning it, and you’ll probably be annoyed later—but now, you groan again, finding his urgency unfairly attractive. Suddenly, Hyunjin’s lips are pulled away from yours again, and you whine loudly, chasing after him. You succeed, biting at Hyunjin’s bottom lip to get him to open up again, but it doesn’t last long.

You’re pushed back gently, and Hyunjin pecks at your lips repeatedly until you feel your back hit the ground. Then, like every girl’s wet dream, the beautiful man is crawling up your body, till he’s seated, straddling your hips and grabbing your hands to hold by your head.

Hyunjin then proceeds to kiss the shit out of you, till you’re breathless and whimpering, and desperately trying to avoid bucking your hips upwards into him. Eventually, Hyunjin drags his mouth away, replacing it at your neck. You’re gasping against him, and you curl into his touch, whimpering when sharp teeth finally nip at you. There’s a tongue soothing the wound, sucking at the same spot, laying over it. You can feel yourself starting to shake, whimpering more often than not, before you’re yanking your hands free from Hyunjin’s hold, and dragging his face back up. You can feel Hyunjin smiling into it, chuckling just the tiniest bit, but resume kissing him.

One of Hyunjin’s now-free hands cradles your neck, fingers massaging into your shoulders as he licks into you; the other roams down your body, before it grasps at the underside of thigh and yanks it upward, wraps it around his own waist.

You throw your head back when Hyunjin grinds against you, hard and hot where you’re pressed together. You had known yourself to be wetter than ever before in your panties—it was constricting, almost uncomfortable—but you hadn’t expected Hyunjin to be as turned on as you clearly were.

Hyunjin, who had had partners before, and plenty of experience, turned on by just kissing you.

It spurred confidence and pride within yourself, and you continued rolling your hips and forcing them upwards with as much power and rhythm as you could. Hyunjin whimpered with you, forcing the leg further up his side, closer to him, until you were matching each other’s thrusts.

Your kisses died out, gasping into each other’s mouths instead.

One of your hands tangles itself into Hyunjin’s hair, yanking slightly just to see the way Hyunjin bites his bottom lip. Running on your confidence high, you let your other hand trace down Hyunjin’s chest, making the elder shiver, until you slide it over the bulge in Hyunjin’s jeans like you’d seen in those cheesy romance movies before.

The reaction is immediate: Hyunjin groans loudly, grinds against you harder, rougher, and though the denim-on-cloth action really limits how much friction you can create, you don’t want to stop—even to remove the barriers.

You feel like a teenager, but you’re close.

You’re close.

You feel like you’ve been whimpering this entire time, non-stop just crying into Hyunjin’s lips, but Hyunjin isn’t much better. He’s given up trying to kiss you, so instead bites and sucks at your throat and collarbones, leaving as many marks as he can. On one particularly hard roll of his hips, your head falls to the side, and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“I—we shouldn’t,” Hyunjin is panting right by your ear, but despite his words, his hips don’t stop.

In fact, Hyunjin shifts a little so he’s back on his knees, and the change in angle means Hyunjin has more power, and then they enter an all different ball game. He grabs your hips roughly, pushing the hem of your dress above your waist.

You can’t speak anymore—feel yourself choking on your own words, on his tongue, letting out nothing coherent, only breathless little squeaks and the occasional moan. You’re sweaty, you can feel a bead of it down your temple, and you can’t really focus on Hyunjin, but you’re sure the elder isn’t much better.

“Fuck,” You hear him say, and that only gets you wetter, if that were even possible and—shit. You were going to come. You were going to come from a bit of teenage grinding.

“Fuck,” you hear again, Hyunjin’s voice cracking and high in pitch, similar to your own, and his hips are starting to lose their rhythm.

“I-I,” you start, stop, your own moan cutting you off. Hyunjin’s face is closer to yours again, hand tightening around your thigh, heat tingling even in your toes.

“Uhh, baby,” he pants, mouth pressing a wet kiss to your forehead, then another to your mouth.

He lingers there for a little, until neither of you can breathe, and you’re gasping at each other again. You suddenly move so you can hook your other leg around Hyunjin’s waist, which the elder immediately catches and drags around himself tighter, and your arms loop around his neck.

You grip tightly into his shirt, the material scrunching up under your hold, but Hyunjin doesn’t relent. His thrusts, though sloppier now than before, were no less powerful—if anything, they got more so, and if you had a clear head, you’d make a mental note to ask him if he had ever dislocated them.

“Hyunjin-Hyunjin,” you beg, almost a squeal, and Hyunjin swears against you again. “I’m—I’m gonna’ come,” you say, and this time, the moan that rips from Hyunjin is animalistic, and he’s pulling back to stare at you in the eyes.

“Shit, fuck—c’mon baby, come for me.”

And you do.

It's immediate, permission granted and you obey. You lock around Hyunjin’s body, hips still working against each other, and your head is thrown back from the force of your orgasm, tightening and then loosening and tightening all over again when Hyunjin’s hips don’t give up.

You’re whining, louder than before, at the sensitivity and the discomfort in your panties, and you feel Hyunjin slowing down.

“No! No, no,” you beg, eyes wide, alarmed, and Hyunjin’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, hungry, like a starved man hunting down his prey. “Don’t stop, please, please, don’t stop—”

And then Hyunjin is swallowing your words with his mouth and with a groan, hips resuming their hurried dance, until you’re practically screaming beneath him, your pussy that had long since checked out now logging right back on, soaking where it’s still trapped in your ruined underwear. Hyunjin can’t stop swearing against your neck, can’t stop biting it, and you’re sure you’re going to look absolutely mauled later, but you can’t bring yourself to regret it—at least, not right now.

When Hyunjin comes, it’s with a guttural moan, and one last thrust; it’s with a grip on your thighs and his mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut as he works through it. It might’ve been the situation in its entirety, or the oversensitivity, or maybe just Hyunjin’s expression alone—but whatever it was, it sent you over the edge a second time, this orgasm far shorter than the first, but no less powerful.

When you slump back against the grass, Hyunjin half falls atop of you, supporting himself on his forearms so he doesn’t drop his entire weight on you. You want to feel every line of him against your body, but you can barely breathe as it is, so later, you’ll demand cuddles.

For now, you let Hyunjin press soft kisses into your mouth, calm and peaceful compared to the ones they shared moments ago, and for the first time in probably forever, you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed.

“Baby,” Hyunjin starts, chest still heaving, words made mostly of air. “I really, really like you.”

Ah—there it is.

“I swear it’s not just—it’s not just because of—”

You shut him up with a chaste kiss, “I know, I know.”

Hyunjin kisses you again, softer this time, lingering. He pulls away, only to press one last kiss to your bottom lip.

“C’mon, let’s clean up and go eat.”