#dystopian future

Contains: smut, porn with plot, dystopian time period, mentions of sex robots, slow burn/angst, glory hole, #mattthemunch, bigdick!matt, slight dirty talk, oral (m & f receiving), m & f masturbation, breast/nipple play, fingering, hickeys, slight dry humping, implied praise kink, unprotected piv, body cumshot, multiple orgasms, soft!dom stranger!matt x sub!fem stranger!reader

Year 2082

This was the world I was born into. I've never known anything else besides the robots, the laws, and the quiet hum of surveillance that followed you through every street. They told us it was for the best, and maybe it was. Maybe it was the only reason the planet was still habitable. But that didn't change what we were. Or what we needed.

The planet was dying, and that part was true. Previous generations had gutted it through overconsumption, pollution, and an endless hunger for more. The scientists ran the numbers, and the numbers were ugly. There were too many people, and resources were scarce. Something had to give.

So they gave us the robots.

Highly functional and hyper-realistic sex robots. Customizable down to the smallest detail, including hair colour, body type, voice, and personality. They never got tired, refused, or judged. You could program them to love you exactly the way you needed to be loved.

And everyone had one. It was law.

The law came with logic: control reproduction to save the planet. The rule was one child per woman, and they made sure of it. There would only ever be one embryo, every time. Conception happened through artificial insemination with lab-grown sperm. This meant no fathers, family lines, or accidents. The government managed everything, from the timing to the actual fertilization process. You followed the schedule and you didn't ask questions.

Sex between humans became a liability first, then a crime. It was too risky, and would destroy the fine balance that was kept in place. It was made sure nothing would have the slightest chance of breaking the system that was so carefully built. In the beginning, the law frowned upon it, then discouraged it, and now it has criminalized it altogether.

And that’s when the sex robots were created to fill the silence we humans weren't allowed to break.

I had one too.

A male model, sleek and warm-skinned, with programmed sighs and perfect hands. It serviced me well enough. I came every time and it always cleaned up afterwards. And the cycle repeated.

But there was a hollowness to it. There was always this persistent unease that overwhelmed me which I could never quite shake. The way its fingers never stumbled, the way its thrusts were always angled with such precision, or the way it looked at me with eyes that were the right colour but held nothing behind them.

Deep down it always kept me on edge.

And that was how I found myself standing in this empty alleyway.

I hadn't planned this. My feet simply carried me here, down streets I'd never walked before, past neon signs and shuttered windows, until I found myself standing in a dark, narrow passage between two buildings. The air smelled of rot and damp concrete. Somewhere behind me, a dog scavenged for scraps. I could hear its nails scraping against metal and the wet sound of its tongue working the inside of a tipped-over dumpster

The two-storey building in front of me looked abandoned. Its windows were boarded up, and graffiti covered the brick walls. There was no sign or number to identify the structure. There was nothing to suggest it was anything more than another forgotten building in the outskirts of the city.

But my eyes caught it… a faint lion's paw print painted in red on the far bottom corner of the door. It was small and easy to miss if you weren't looking for it. The wood around it had been worn smooth, as though hundreds of hands had brushed against it on their way through.

This was it. The place the whispers had led me to, even though no one had ever spoken the address aloud. The Den. It was an underground love hotel, one of the city’s biggest secrets. And it offered just the thing we weren't supposed to want or seek out.

Real intimacy. 

I attempted to push open the door, and it gave in, causing the old wood to creak from the force. The silence immediately engulfed me the moment the door clicked shut behind me. I couldn’t hear the scavenging dog or the distant hum of the city anymore. There was only the hollow stillness of the empty building and the sound of my own breath.

A narrow hallway stretched ahead, barely illuminated by a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. It flickered weakly, as though it was fighting to stay alive. But it all felt intentional. Everything about this place was designed to stay hidden and obscure.

At the end of the dark hallway, there stood another door. But this one was different, as there was no handle or lock. It was just a flat steel surface with a small rectangular panel set at eye level.

I approached slowly, my footsteps echoing in the narrow space. I raised my hand, reaching out, and knocked lightly against the metal.

A moment passed, and then finally the panel slid open. A pair of warm, friendly eyes met mine through the gap. They seemed to belong to a woman. I could tell by the curve of her cheek, and the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

"Password?" she asked. Her voice was soft but certain, like she'd asked the same question a thousand times before. 

I swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very anxious even though I was prepared with the answer. "Red paw.”

The eyes crinkled at the corners, before the panel slid shut. A click came from within the door, and it finally swung inwards.

The neon red hit me first, harsh and sudden, flooding my vision after so long in the dark. I winced, my eyes struggling to adjust. The room was small and intimate, lit in deep crimson. A girl sat behind a desk at the far end, her face warm and unguarded in a way that felt almost out of place here.

She smiled at me. It wasn’t the practiced smile of a service worker, but something softer and knowing. "First time?" she asked.

I didn't answer. I didn't have to. She already knew.

"It's simple." she said, her voice gentle. "Pick any room down the hall with a green light by the door. Green means vacant and red means occupied. Walk in, close the door, and someone will be waiting for you on the other side."

And that was it. No names, no paperwork, and no questions.

"The whole point is anonymity." she added, as if reading the question on my face. "No one knows who anyone is. That's what makes it safe. You fuck, you leave, and you never see them again."

I nodded acknowledging her words. My throat was simply too dry for words.

She tilted her head towards the hallway behind her. "Go on. Take your pick."

I walked past her desk, down a corridor lined with doors. Each one had a small light beside the handle. Red. Red. Green. Red. Green. Red. I stopped at the third green one. My hand hovered over the handle momentarily, before I fully committed to all of this and twisted it open.

The room was small and sparse. A wooden chair sat against the far wall, its seat worn smooth by others who'd sat there before me. A cabinet with drawers stood to the right, and a mini fridge hummed in the corner, its motor the only sound in the silence. And on the left wall, there was a hole, about at hip height.

The dark circle was cut into the wood, rimmed with something soft like rubber, so the edges wouldn't bite. On my side, a padded rest was bolted beneath it, shaped to take a knee. I stared at it for a long time. The darkness beyond was absolute, making it impossible to see through.

I opened the cabinet’s top drawer to check its contents. There were two kinds of lube, strawberry and pineapple flavoured. Condoms of various sizes and flavours were also available for use, placed in a small glass bowl. The second drawer had a neat stack of clean cloths and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. Everything was so thoroughly thought out. When I went to open the last drawer, I heard a soft exhale on the other side of the wall.

My fingers instantly went cold. I stood frozen, one hand still on the cabinet handle, staring at the dark circle anticipating for something to appear through the darkness.

"Hey." A man’s voice came through the hole, it was low, barely above a whisper.

"Hello." I greeted back, the word barely a breath.

A pause came. Then he said, "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

That was what did it. Not the permission, but the space he gave me. The way he said it like he meant it.

I crossed the room, over to where the chair stood, and took a seat.

On the other side, I heard him shift. Probably taking a seat on his own chair, as I could make out the rustle of fabric. I could tell he was waiting for me to initiate.

I stood up again and walked up to the wall. I lowered myself onto my knees on the padded rest. The wood was cool against my palms as I braced myself. Through the hole, I could feel the faint warmth of him on the other side, or maybe I was imagining it. I leaned in close, my lips almost touching the edge.

"Are you there?" I whispered, and I heard him exhale.

And then I saw his hand appear through the hole. Just his hand, with long fingers, broad knuckles, and a light dusting of hair across the back of them. A real working hand. He held it there with his palm up, waiting, as an offering.

I softly gasped to myself as I stared at it in awe. It was such a simple thing, a stranger's hand, extended through the hole, asking for nothing but contact, but nevertheless adrenaline coursed through my veins.

I reached out to touch him, and his fingers closed around mine. They were warm, calloused, and slightly rough against my palm. He held my hand like he was memorizing it, as his thumb traced over my knuckles and pressed into the center of my palm. I let out a breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding this whole time.

Then his hand retreated.

I heard him move on the other side, the slide of a zipper and the rustle of his clothing. My stomach flipped… this was really happening. I sat back on my heels, suddenly aware of my own body and clothes, especially the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Can I see you?" he asked. His voice had gone lower and thicker.

"Yes." I breathed, and I reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. The cool air hit my skin, causing goosebumps to appear. I was wearing nothing underneath, just as I had planned it.

I leaned forward, close to the hole, and let my hands rest on the wood. My nipples brushed against the rubber rim, as I bit my lip.

His hand appeared through the hole again. But this time it found my chin first, his fingers curled under my jaw, and his thumb pressed gently against my lower lip. A silent request for me to open up.

Obliging, I parted my lips open for him and took his thumb into my mouth.

The taste of salt and skin hit my tongue. He was warm, real, and slightly rough against my lips. I closed my eyes and sucked, slow and with full intention, wrapping my tongue around the pad of his thumb like I already knew what I wanted to do to the rest of him.

I heard him exhale heavily, a sound that was almost a groan, barely contained. "Good girl." he murmured, huskily.

He held me there for a moment, my mouth on his thumb, before he began to move it. He dragged the wet digit downwards, over my chin and down the column of my throat, tracing the line of my pulse, making me shiver. He kept going, trailing a slick path between the valley of my breasts, as I arched into him, wordlessly begging for more.

He circled one nipple with the damp tip of his thumb. Once, then twice, until he zeroed in completely, pressing and rolling until I gasped, my hips shifting restlessly on my heels.

"That's it." he coaxed quietly. "Let me hear you."

He worked my breast through the hole with just one hand, using his thumb and fingers, pinching and rolling my nipple until it was hard and aching. I was trembling, as my forehead was now pressed to the wood, my breath coming in shallow gasps. And through it all, I heard it: the wet, rhythmic sound of him stroking himself on the other side. His pace was slow and measured, matching the pace of his fingers on my chest.

The sound undid something in me. "Let me see you." I whispered, my voice barely carrying through the hole.

The stroking stopped instantly. A beat of silence passed, and then his hand retreated from my chest, disappearing into the darkness on his side.

I waited, my heart hammering in my chest. And then the final reveal came, as his cock appeared through the hole.

It pushed through the darkness slowly, emerging into the amber light of my room. It was thick and hard, the head flushed deep, as a single bead of precum glistening at the tip. It was real, veined, and most importantly it looked warm.

I couldn't breathe. I just stared at it, this proof that a real man was on the other side, and that this was actually happening. My mouth went dry as I pressed my thighs together.

He let me look and let the silence stretch. And then his voice came through, "Let me feel you." I knew exactly what he meant by that.

I reached out with both hands, wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock. The skin was hot and smooth, stretched tight over the hardness beneath. I felt him twitch in my grip and heard his breath hitch on the other side of the wall.

"Like this?" I asked, as I leaned forward and took him into my mouth.

The weight of him on my tongue was overwhelming. He was hot and thick, the skin soft over a core of rigid steel. My lips stretched around the girth of him, and I felt the slight tremor run through his body on the other side of the wall. A low groan escaped him, muffled but unmistakable, and the sound vibrated straight through my chest.

I started slowly, testing, as I learned the shape of him with my mouth. The head was silky against my tongue, and when I swirled around it, I tasted salt and warmth. This was nothing like the sterile silicone I'd known my whole life. This was real. This was a man, breathing, twitching, and groaning for me.

"Fuck." I heard him pant, the word barely carrying through the hole. "That's it. Just like that."

His hand found my hair, as he threaded through it, not pulling, but just resting there like he needed to anchor himself. I took him deeper, relaxing my throat, feeling him push past the curve of my tongue. Another groan came, longer this time, and more rougher. The sound went straight between my legs.

My free hand drifted down my body on its own accord. I was already wet, which I’d been since I heard his voice and when his hand first touched mine. My fingers found the waistband of my pants and pushed past it, sliding through my slick heat and up to my aching clit.

I moaned around his cock, a sound that was half pleasure and half plea.

"Yeah?" His voice was strained now, thick with want. "You touching yourself while you suck me off?"

"Mmhmm." I hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch against my tongue. My hips shifted, as a soft whimper escaped around his length.

"Touch that pretty clit for me.” he rasped. “Let me hear you."

I did, as I took him deeper, circling the stiff bud in slow, tight motions, matching the rhythm I set with my mouth. Every stroke of my tongue sent a pulse through my body, gathering low in my belly. His taste was everywhere, from my lips, my tongue, and the back of my throat. And I couldn't get enough.

"God–" I gasped, pulling off just enough to speak. "You taste... I can't—" And then I swallowed him down again, desperate and hungry.

"You feel incredible." he said, his voice barely a whisper now. "Mouth so warm and so perfect. You’re taking me so well."

His dirty praises made my fingers move faster on my clit. I was soaked, causing my pants to stick damply against my thighs, as the slick sounds of my own hand filled the quiet spaces between his moans. I didn't care that he could hear. In fact, I wanted him to hear. I wanted him to know what he was doing to me.

"That's it." he husked. "Make yourself feel good while you suck my cock. Fuck, you're perfect."

The praise washed over me like heat. I moaned around him, hollowing my cheeks, and took him as deep as I could. His hand tightened in my hair, still not pulling, but just holding, like he was barely holding himself together.

"C–Close." he warned, his voice cracking. "I'm close. If you keep doing that..."

"Don't stop." I mumbled against him, the words thick and slurred. "Please. I want it." I doubled my efforts, my tongue working the underside of his cock, as my hand was a blur against my own aching bud.

He came with a sound I would never forget. It was a low, guttural groan that started deep in his chest and rolled through the wall like thunder. I felt his cock pulse against my tongue, as the warmth of him spilled into my mouth, and a wave of satisfaction rolled through me that no robot had ever come close to giving me.

He was still trembling when I pulled back, slow and gentle, letting him slip from my lips. I stayed on my knees, catching my breath, as my chin dripped wet and my body hummed in bliss.

"Shit." I panted, tasting him on my tongue. "That was..." I trailed off into silence, to catch my breath, as I pressed my forehead against the cool wood.

I heard him shift on the other end, as his chair creaked. Then he spoke up, "I want to see you." His voice was different now, it appeared much softer and raw. "All of you. Not through a fucking hole in the wall."

I should have said no. Maintaining anonymity was the rule and the safest way of doing things. You did the deed once and moved on.

"There's a room on the next floor up." he said. "Last door at the end of the hall. I already booked it."

"I'll be there." I whispered. The words came out before I could stop them.

Then he pulled out, slow and gentle. I heard him moving on the other side, the rustle of clothing could be heard, as he most definitely was tucking himself in again.

I stayed on my knees. I couldn't move. My body was humming, trembling, and it felt alive in a way it hadn't been in years.

I heard his receding footsteps, and then the door on the other side opening and closing. I was alone in the amber light with my own ragged breathing and the smell of sex consuming me.

I finally stood up and pulled my shirt back over my head again. My legs were shaking as I walked towards the door, adrenaline pumping through my veins again from the sheer excitement of what was waiting for me upstairs.

I followed the man’s directions, up the stairs and down the hallway to the very last door. It was cracked open, as a sliver of violet light spilled into the corridor. I stood there for a moment, my heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it on the other side.

I pushed the door open and my breath instantly got caught in my throat.

He was sitting in a chair near the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but his jeans. It sat low on his hips, unbuttoned, and the waistband of his underwear clung to his hipbones. His posture was languid, with legs spread wide, and one arm draped over the back of the chair. It was like he owned the room and the air I was trying to breathe.

He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.

He had soft brown hair, slightly tousled, which was curled just at the nape of his neck. His light-coloured eyes, eyed my figure with a piercing gaze, enough to knock the wind out of my chest. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his full, parted lips, which he swiped wet with the run of his tongue. And the most defining features of his face were his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. It was as if someone had chiseled and carved him from stone and then decided to bring him to life just to ruin me.

His heated gaze never strayed from me. A slow, sweeping glance started at my eyes and then traveled down my body, taking inventory, lingering. When his gaze returned to my face, he gave a small tilt of his head.

"Come here." he beckoned. His voice was the same from before, low, rough, and warm. But hearing it without a wall between us was different. It vibrated through my chest.

I crossed the room on command. My legs felt unsteady. On the way, I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head, tossing it aside. I saw the way his eyes latched onto my bare chest, my hardened nipples, and the way my ribcage rose and fell with each shallow breath.

When I reached him, his hands found my waist immediately. His warm palms against my bare skin made me shiver, as his fingers pressed gently into my hips. He didn't rush. Instead, he traced a slow path down to the button of my pants, and popped it open with a practiced flick. The sound of the zipper lowering was loud in the quiet room.

I couldn't help myself. The curiosity had been building since the moment his voice first came through that hole. "What's your name?" I asked, in a hushed tone.

He smiled, with a knowing curve of his lips. He looked up at me through his lashes, those bright eyes warm and unreadable. "M." he said simply.

Just one letter. Just enough to be something without being everything. I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of disappointment bloom through me. I wanted more. I wanted his full name and to know who he was outside this room, but I understood. Anonymity was the whole point. Better safe than sorry.

"Your turn." he said softly. "What do I call you?"

I gave him my first initial as well. Just one letter, the same way he'd given me his. A trade. An understanding.

He smiled again, wider this time, and I felt the tension in my chest loosen just a fraction.

His hands found the waistband of my pants and my underwear together, and he began to peel them down my legs, slowly. His knuckles brushed against my thighs as he went, sending goosebumps across my skin. I stepped out of them when they pooled at my ankles, and the cool air hit my bare legs, my exposed center, and the wetness that I could already feel gathering between my thighs.

He looked up at me then. All the way up, from my ankles to my knees to my hips to my breasts and finally up to my face. His gaze was heavy, appreciative, and hungry in a way that made my stomach flip.

"You're pretty." he said quietly. Almost to himself. "Even prettier than my robot."

My breath stuttered. A flush crept up my neck, heating my cheeks. I didn't know what to say to that. Being compared to a perfectly crafted robot and winning felt like the highest compliment this world could offer.

I stood there, naked except for the blush spreading across my skin, and waited for what he would do next.

"Why are you here?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. "If your robot keeps you happy, why risk it?"

He chuckled, a low sound that rumbled through his chest. "My robot is one of my most prized possessions. Cost me more than I'd care to admit." His thumb traced a slow circle on my hip. "But nothing beats the real thing. Nothing even comes close."

I swallowed. "Have you been here before?"

He nodded, his eyes holding mine. "Once. About a month ago." A pause. "I had to come back."

"Why?"

His hand slid around my waist, fingers splaying across my lower back, and he pulled me in close. My legs brushed against his knees, with my stomach inches from his face. He tilted his head up to look at me, a slow smirk spreading across his lips.

"Because I'm glad I did."

I softly gasped. The way he said it, final and certain, like it was the simplest truth in the world. It sent heat pooling low in my belly.

His hand tightened on my waist, anchoring me in place. "I want to taste you, sweetheart." he said, his voice dropping lower and rougher. "Can I?"

I could only nod.

He guided me, his hands firm but gentle, motioning for me to lift my foot. I placed it on the armrest of the chair, my balance wobbling for a second before I steadied myself against his shoulder. He sank deeper into the backrest, his face angling just below where I was aching, wet and desperate for him.

His hand found my thigh, and gripped it firmly, his fingers pressing into the soft skin, holding me open and anchored. I couldn't look away from him. The way his eyes traveled up my body, the way his lips parted, and the way his breath ghosted warm against my inner thigh.

Then he licked a line up my thigh. His tongue traced a wet path from just above my knee to the crease where my thigh met my hip, stopping just short of where I needed him most. I gasped, my hand flying to his shoulder to steady myself, as my fingers dug into the warmth of his skin.

My other hand pressed flat against my chest, right above my heart, as if I could stop it from pounding through my ribcage.

He pulled back just enough to look up at me, his lips wet, and his eyes pupils wide. "You taste even better than I imagined."

Before I could respond to him in any way, he leaned in again. And this time, his tongue didn't stop at my thigh.

He licked into me like he'd been starving for it. A broad, flat stroke started at my entrance and then was dragged all the way up through my folds, collecting every drop of my wetness that he had me dripping with. The sound he made, a low groan against my skin, vibrated straight through my clit and up my spine. My knees almost buckled.

"Fuck!" I gasped, my fingers curling into his shoulder. "Oh, shit—"

He didn't respond with words. He just did it again, but much slower this time and more deliberately. His tongue circled my clit once, twice, and then he pressed against it flat and firm, lapping at me like only I could quench his thirst. A wet, obscene sound filled the room, and I couldn't tell if it was his mouth or my own slick or both.

"Oh god." I whimpered, my head falling back, as my hand slid from his shoulder and towards the back of his head. I grabbed a fistful of his soft hair, gripping him there as he worked me open. "Just like that— yes— don't stop— please."

And he didn't. Instead, he found a rhythm, with broad strokes that slipped through my folds, then tight circles that zeroed in on my clit, and then back to long, flat passes that collected my slick from every crevice. His tongue was warm, firm, and relentless, and every time I thought I'd get used to his pace, he would then change the angle and would make me gasp all over again.

My hand over my heart started to move. It just drifted upwards, across my collarbone, and over the curve of my breast, until my fingers found my nipple. I pinched it gently, rolling the hard tip between my thumb and forefinger, and the sensation doubled. His tongue below and my fingers above, both sent waves of heat crashing through me.

He must have noticed, because he moaned against my entrance. The vibration of it shot straight through me, and I felt my hips rock forward harder, grinding against his face with less and less restraint. His nose pressed into my clit and his tongue pushed deeper. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the quiet room, mingling with my own breathless moans.

"That's it." I heard myself whimper, barely coherent. "Right there— fuck—"

He held his tongue flat against my clit and let me grind against it, letting me use his face to get myself off. I rolled my hips in slow, desperate circles, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps, as my fingers continued to work my nipple in time with the rhythm. The pressure built low in my belly, hot and tight, coiling like a spring that was about to snap.

I was soaking his chin at this point. I could feel it, with the way the wet slide of his mouth against me, and the way his jaw glistened every time he pulled back for air. But he never stopped. He just kept eating me out like I was the only thing in the world that mattered in this moment, as his tongue alternated between firm pressure and soft teasing, always finding exactly where I needed him.

"Please." I chanted, not even sure what I was asking for. "Please, please—"

The sudden pressure from the gentle pull of his lips around my aching bundle of nerves made me cry out. My hand flew from my breast to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair, as I held him against me with my hips bucking against his face. And he still didn't pull away. He held me steady, one hand firm on my thigh, and the other coming up to press against my lower belly, keeping me anchored while he sucked, licked, and devoured me.

I came apart with a sound I barely recognized, a broken, desperate moan that spilled out of me as the wave crashed through my body. My thighs trembled around his head, my hips twitching through the aftershocks as he lapped me through every pulse, every clench, and every shuddering breath. He didn't stop until I was gasping, oversensitive, and sagging against his shoulder.

Only then did he finally pull back.

I looked down at him, breathless and shaking. His chin was wet, his lips slick, and his eyes, when they met mine, were dark, satisfied, and burning with lust. He didn't say a word. He just smiled, slow and smug, as he licked his lower lip clean.

Feeling spent and boneless, I started to sag forward. My knees gave out, the strength draining from my legs like water through a sieve. I was falling limp, collapsing towards him, but his arms were already there to catch me, guiding me down onto his lap before I could even register the movement.

I settled across his thighs, my bare skin pressing against the rough denim of his jeans. The material was warm from his body heat. I could feel every seam, and every ridge pressing into the soft flesh of my inner thighs. I was still trembling and catching my breath, as my forehead dropped to rest against his shoulder.

And he didn't rush me. Instead, his hand came up, and he gently smoothed down my hair. A rhythmic, grounding touch that brought me back to my senses, after my euphoric high. 

Once my breath became even, I lifted my head up to look at him. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite name. It was heavy, his pupils were blown wide, and those hypnotic eyes of his were fixed on my face like I was the most mesmerizing thing he'd ever seen. There was no glint of smugness or playfulness in his eyes now. Just raw, naked hunger. The kind of want that didn't know how to hide itself.

I felt heat creep up my neck under the weight of his stare.

"Was that..." He paused and swallowed thickly. His voice came out lower than before, a bit rougher. "Was that the first time a real person made you cum?"

I nodded. I couldn't find my voice to answer.

His thumb traced a slow arc across my hip bone. "Better than you've ever had?"

A blush burned across my cheeks. I felt the smile break across my face before I could stop it. I nodded again.

He let out a breath, sounding like almost a laugh and a groan, or something caught between the two. "Good." he said, and the word carried weight. "I haven’t had enough of you yet. I’m going to make you feel so good."

Beneath me, I felt it. It was his hard length twitching, as it was pressed up through the denim, thick and insistent against the curve of my ass. My breath hitched. I could feel exactly how much he wanted me.

And I couldn't help myself, so I shifted. It was just a small movement, with a slight roll of my hips against his lap, testing and feeling the shape of him through the rough fabric. I felt him twitch beneath me again, making a satisfied smirk curve up my lips.

He hissed through his teeth, as his hands flew to my hips, fingers digging in, to hold me still. "Easy now." he murmured, his voice strained. The look in his eyes was half warning and half plea.

I barely had time to react before his arms hooked under my knees and he was standing in one fluid motion, lifting me up with him. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, and my arms locked around his neck. His clothed bulge prodded against my bare ass as he carried me over towards the bed.

He laid me down gently like I was something fragile, despite the predatory gaze in his eyes. The mattress dipped beneath my weight, and the sheets were cool against my heated skin. And then he stepped back, and I got to watch.

He slid off his jeans with intentional slowness, thickening the air with suspense. They pooled at his ankles and he stepped out of them, standing there in nothing but his own skin, fully bare for the first time. My eyes traveled down his body: across his broad shoulders, his defined chest, and down the trail of hair that started from his stomach to where his cock stood thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip, and already oozing with a bead of precum.

He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked slowly, as his eyes never strayed from my own body. I watched him watch me, the way his gaze traced the curve of my breasts, the dip of my waist, and the spread of my thighs. And when his eyes reached my cunt, which was wet, open, and waiting just for him, I splayed my legs wider. It was an invitation and a plea to be claimed.

"Fuck…" I whispered, the word slipping out of me before I could stop it.

His lips curved into a slow, devastating smirk. He took a step towards the bed, but then paused, to reach for the drawer of the nightstand. His hand emerged with a condom wrapper between his fingers, as he held it up.

Then, he asked, in a playful and teasing tone, "Want to use any toys? There’s some fun stuff in here."

I sat up, my hand catching his wrist before he could tear the wrapper. He looked at me, with a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Wait." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I held his gaze, my fingers curling around his arm. "I just want to feel you. Please."

My pleading request made him freeze. For a long, heavy moment, he just looked at me. His eyes searched mine, weighing something I couldn't name. I could see the war in them: the ingrained caution, and the years of conditioning that told him this was dangerous, reckless, and wrong. But beneath it all, the same hunger that had driven me to this very moment.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, I'm sure."

He held my gaze for another heartbeat. Then he tossed the condom aside.

And he didn't waste another second. He dove onto the bed, the mattress shifting as he settled between my spread legs. His body hovered over mine, his forearms braced on either side of my head, and his cock pressed hotly against my thigh. He looked down at me, and the raw want in his eyes stole my breath away.

Then his hand slid down between us. He kept his eyes locked on mine as his fingers found my folds, and swiped through the creamy slickness, collecting the wetness that had been pooling there since his mouth was on me. I shuddered at the touch, oversensitive from my orgasm, but the feeling was too good to pull away. He dragged his fingers up through my fleshy petals, spreading me open, and I gasped at the way the cool air hit my wet skin.

"That's it." he murmured, almost to himself. "Look at you. So ready for me."

He replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, and began to glide it across me. It was slow and torturous passes through my slick folds, as the thick mushroom tip slid up and down, occasionally catching on my clit with his strokes. I watched his face as he did it, watched the way his jaw tightened, and the way his pupils blew wider with every pass. He was watching me too, cataloguing every twitch, every gasp, and every time my eyes threatened to roll back.

"Look at me. " he demanded softly. I forced my eyes to stay on his. "I want to see your face when I fuck you."

And he finally pushed in.

The stretch hit me first, a burning pressure that made my breath catch and my fingers dig into his shoulders. He was bigger than my robot's cock, thicker too, and there was a real weight and heat to him as he pressed into me inch by inch. My body clenched around him, resisting and welcoming him all at once, and I felt him shudder above me.

"Fuck, pretty girl." he breathed, his voice cracking at the edges. "You feel— shit, you're squeezing me so tight."

He stopped when he was fully seated, his hips flush against mine. He gave me a moment to settle, as his face dropped into the crook of my neck, his breath hot and uneven against my skin. I could feel him throbbing inside me, every pulse of blood through his length, and the reality of it all… a real man, inside me, was making my head spin.

"You okay?" he whispered.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I flexed around him, just to feel it, and he groaned against my neck.

He pulled out slowly, as his face now hovered over mine. The drag of him against my walls was electric, every nerve ending lighting up as he moved. And then he pushed back in, still slowly, and I felt every inch of him fill me up again.

"Please." I gasped, the word barely audible. "Faster—"

He didn't make me ask twice.

The rhythm immediately shifted. His hips snapped forward with more force, the pace quickening from slow and careful to something more desperate. He fucked me raw and dirty, the sound of our bodies meeting filling the room, wet and obscene. His breath came in harsh pants against my lips, and my hands found his back, as my nails dug into his skin while he drove into me over and over.

"Yes— just like that— fuck—"

I wrapped my leg around his hip, hooking my ankle over the curve of his ass. The angle shifted, and suddenly he was hitting a spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. A cry tore out of me, high and broken, and I saw him smile wickedly.

"Right there, huh?" he husked, his voice tormenting me further.

I couldn't answer. I could only hold on as he drove into that sweet spot with every thrust, as my body clenched around him. My moans had turned into a litany of wordless sounds that I barely recognized as my own.

"You feel so good." he rasped. "Feel so fucking good around me.” His eyes were dark, his lips parted, and there was a sheen of sweat across his brow. He looked so wrecked and ethereal in the room’s violet hue.

I pulled him down and kissed him, swallowing his next words, as he fucked me into the mattress.

Our mouths stayed locked together as he kept driving into me, tongues sliding and tangling in a wet, frantic rhythm that matched the snap of his hips. I could taste myself on his lips, and feel the way his breath came in ragged bursts against my cheek between kisses. And he never slowed his pace. If anything, the kiss made him fuck me harder, like the connection of our mouths fed something feral inside him.

And then he hit that spot again.

The sensation blindsided me, a bolt of pleasure so sharp and deep, that I tore my mouth away as a raw sound erupted out of me. My back arched and my fingers clawed at his shoulders as he kept pounding into me in that same angle, relentless and precise.

"Shit— right there— don't stop—"

Our faces were still inches apart. I could feel his breath on my lips, and could see the way his pupils had swallowed almost all the colour. He was watching me, studying every twist of my features, every time my eyes rolled back, and every moan that spilled out of me unchecked. A low, rough sound rumbled from his chest, it sounded like approval and satisfaction. I knew he was getting off on this, to watch me fall apart beneath him.

Then, he lowered his head to my neck. His mouth was wet and hot as it found the curve where my shoulder met my throat. He softly kissed me there first, almost like he was cherishing me, but then his tongue filthily dragged across my skin, tasting the salt and sweat of me. When his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below my jaw, I gasped and tilted my head back, offering him everything.

And that's when I saw it. The entire ceiling was a mirror.

It stretched from wall to wall, a seamless pane of glass that reflected everything below: the erotic imagery of rumpled sheets beneath me, the tangle of our limbs, and the way his body moved over mine. I could see the broad expanse of his back, the way the muscles flexed and rippled with every thrust, and the way his shoulder blades shifted beneath his skin. And I could see myself beneath him, with my legs wrapped around his waist, my breasts bouncing with the rhythm, and my head thrown back in an expression of pure, undone pleasure.

The sight of us like that, two strangers who'd found each other tonight, tangled together in the most intimate way possible, sent a fresh wave of scorching heat crashing through me.

"Fuck." I moaned, the word barely a whisper.

He kept working my neck, licking, sucking, and dragging his teeth along the sensitive column of my throat. I felt him smile against my skin when I moaned, and felt the vibration of a low chuckle that sent goosebumps racing down my arms.

As I felt the pressure coil tighter in my gut, I unabashedly moaned, a long, broken sound that turned into the start of a rhythm. "Yes— yes— yes!" The words fell out of me with every thrust, a desperate chant that kept building up in volume.

My hands slid from where they'd been scoring his back down to the small of his back, fingers pressing into the dip of his skin. I pushed him deeper, trying to angle him into that spot again, and to feel him as far inside me as he could go. He groaned against my throat and gave me exactly what I wanted, making his hips drive harder and faster.

He pulled his mouth from my neck and dragged it lower. His lips trailed down my sternum, and over the curve of my breast, until his mouth found my nipple. He took it between his lips and sucked, hard and sudden, and that was it. The last thread of my restraint snapped.

"I'm close." I gasped, the words tumbling out of me in a rush. "I can’t—"

He pulled his mouth off of me just long enough to gruff against my skin. "Cum for me."

That was all it took, to have my orgasm devastatingly snap through me. My back bowed off the mattress, as a cry tore from my throat and my body clamped down around him, pulsing and clenching in waves that seemed to go on forever. I heard him groan above me, feeling his rhythm falter as I gripped him tight, my nails raking down his back as I rode out my climax.

He didn't stop. He fucked me through it, his pace turning desperate, and his breaths came in harsh, ragged gasps. I was still trembling when he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making me gasp, and then his hand was on himself, stroking fast and hard as he hovered above me.

His face twisted with the effort of holding back. His jaw went slack, his eyes squeezed shut, and then he spilled across my stomach in thick, warm ropes of white. A guttural groan tore from his throat as he worked himself through every pulse, and I watched him fall apart above me.

The sight of him like that, stripped of all control and composure, completely undone by what we'd done, was almost as good as the orgasm itself. His chest heaved, and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. His hand slowed into stillness, and he opened his eyes to look at me. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he collapsed beside me, his arm sliding around my waist and pulling me against his side. His skin was hot and slick against mine, and I could feel his heart hammering against my shoulder. He pressed his lips to the top of my head and let out a long, shaky breath.

We laid there in the quiet, tangled together, with our breathing slowly evening out. His arm was still wrapped around my waist, and his lips pressed against the top of my head. The mirror above us reflected our intertwined bodies, a snapshot of two strangers who'd just shared something that felt bigger than either of us had expected.

I was still floating, half-dazed, as my fingers traced lazy patterns across his chest when the first siren cut through the silence. My eyes snapped open in fear. I lifted my head, and looked towards the window.

Before he could ask me what was wrong, the sirens multiplied, a chorus of them, growing louder and closer. And then a harsh, blaring alarm erupted from the hallway, making me flinch. Red light began to flash in the hallway, visible through the thin crack between the floor and the door. It flickered and strobed, casting the room in alternating waves of dark and crimson.

I sat up, my heart slamming against my ribs. "What's going on?"

He was already moving, untangling himself from me, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His voice was tight when he spoke. "I don't know."

We then heard a series of bangs of someone frantically pounding on the doors down the hallway. A voice, panicked and urgent, cut through the alarm, screaming, "Raid! Get out! It's a raid!"

My blood went cold.

"Shit!" he hissed. He was immediately on his feet, grabbing his jeans, and pulled them up hurriedly. "We need to go. Now!"

I scrambled off the bed, my limbs clumsy with adrenaline. I found my shirt on the floor and pulled it over my head. My pants were crumpled near the chair, and I yanked them up, as my fingers fumbled with the button.

More pounding came and it was getting closer. There were shouts in the hallway from various voices, and the building shook from the heavy thud of boots somewhere below.

He grabbed my hand. "Come on!"

We ran towards the door and burst through it into the hallway. It was complete chaos: there were half-dressed bodies running in every direction, someone's shoe got left behind, and a woman was clutching her shirt to her chest as she sprinted past us. The red light continued to flash overhead, casting everything in a nightmare strobe.

And through it all, he didn't let go of my hand.

He pulled me down the hallway, past the other rooms, and past the reception desk where the girl was already gone, with her chair knocked over. He wrenched open a door I hadn't noticed before, it was a back exit, that led to a narrow stairwell. We took the stairs two at a time, our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls, as the alarms still blared above us.

The back door burst open and we spilled out into an alleyway, and I felt the cold air hit my face. The city stretched out before us, dark and indifferent. Other silhouettes were already scattering, disappearing into side streets, ducking behind dumpsters, and melting into the shadows like they'd never been here at all.

We stopped at the mouth of the alley, both of us breathing hard, while still holding each other's hand.

I looked at him for the first time ever since we evacuated our room. His hair was a mess, his shirt was wrinkled, and his chest was heaving. He looked as wrecked as I felt. But his eyes, which I realized were blue this whole time, as I finally got to see them properly in natural light, were fixed on me with an intensity that made my chest ache.

Around us, people were already gone. The sirens were still wailing from the building behind us, but out here, the street was quiet and empty.

It was time to disappear. But I didn't want to let go of his hand.

"Will I ever see you again?" I asked. My voice came out smaller than I intended. It almost sounded vulnerable.

He looked at me for a long moment. The red glow from the building behind us caught the edges of his face, casting his features in sharp relief. And then he smiled, warm and reassuring, the kind of smile that made me believe impossible things.

"I'll make sure of it." he said. He squeezed my hand once, like he was making me a promise. Then he finally let go, where I swear I felt my heart crack. "Go." he urged softly. "Save yourself."

I took a step back, nodding, understanding this was the safest way. My feet carried me down the street, as my body moved on autopilot while my mind was still stuck on the way he had looked at me, and the weight of his hand in mine.

I turned back once, and he was still standing there, watching me retreat to safety.

And when I turned to look back once more when I reached the corner, he was gone.

A/N: what if I quit my job to write a whole au series based on this fic jk

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“We left careful in the rearview about six months back, Harrington,” Eddie says as he nears him.

Steve is dressed for a dinner party, Eddie thinks, unless that’s just how the Sons of Hawkins are dressing these days. He's wearing tailored trousers, a cashmere sweater. The only concession to the situation is his worn Reeboks. He must have slipped out without Richard noticing. So they have to be quick, as always.

Steve holds out his arms. Something lands behind Eddie with a soft thud but he’ll have to figure that out later. Right now, he’s burrowing into Steve’s chest, those broad hands holding him perfectly in place.

“Are we fucking or fighting tonight?” Steve says into Eddie’s hair, held back with a dirty bandana.

Part of him wants to fight. No matter what Steve says, he’s part of the twelve families controlling Hawkins, controlling the freshwater and the food supply, while the rest of the town is worked to the bone or worse. Except for Eddie, and his friends, who wait, and scheme, and plan their overthrow.

Steve says he’s on their side. That he’s working on the inside. But he left Eddie behind, to sleep in a house with heat and attend dinner parties and wear nice trousers. He left Eddie out here in the dark.

“Don’t,” Eddie says, instead of the fight he wants to have. “I’m sweaty and disgusting.”

Steve pulls back and palms the sides of Eddie’s face.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and kisses him. A kiss that belongs in a safe warm bed. A kiss that blots out all the horror Eddie is living through, at least for now.

Steve makes quick work of him, but he makes it count. He puts his hands all over Eddie’s grimy back, his trembling stomach. He shoves into his underwear beneath his open jeans, spits directly onto his cock.

“We’re making love on the beach,” he mutters into Eddie’s hair. “You’re fucking me in a sunlit field of flowers.”

Eddie wants to laugh, but he can’t. Instead he’s holding back tears. Everything he feels and wants to say is boiled down to a stifled call as Steve touches him, makes him come, and erases the whole world.

Only when he’s alone again, when Steve has run back into the night, does Eddie see the backpack, and look inside. Water bottles. Dried fruit. Six maps. Of Steve’s house, and other scion houses, and underground tunnels. A handwritten note.