#and it looks like he cut off his curls 😩

[jessieren]

Me seeing the IG reels last night and trying to work out wtf is going on with Evans hair...

[mickyschumacher]

Im not sure if your request are open but if they are- a fic with Lando based off the song lose control by Teddy swims. Angst and smut, the whole works😩

But if your request are not open and you see this I hope you have an amazing day/night 🫶

(also I absolutely love your writing. Binge read majority of them the first day I got tumblr and I’m obsessed)

𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐎��𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and lando had ended things on a good note... or so you thought. you didn't expect to find him at your front door begging for a second chance. or in which lando doesn't know when to give up.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), mentions of magui (not a fan of what she's done but this is fiction), angst, jealousy, cheesy confessions, unprotected sex (pretty please use protection), teasing, slight-public roleplay? breast play, eating out, fingering, oral sex, p in v, cumming inside, mentions of crashing, technically infidelity on lando's part, poor humour, fluff, and poor proofreading.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: ex-fwb!lando norris x fem!reader, special appearances: magui corceiro and joão felix.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 9k+

𝐀/𝐍: first of all so sorry for taking this up so late! my bad... but it's done! in time for my 2k special! yes that's right, there are two thousands of you little buggers reading my work! i'm ever so grateful, especially because i'm the most inconsistent person i know! thank you for putting up with me, for reading my work, and for your cute little comments. they all make me very happy in such a tough time i've been going through. sending you my ever grateful love from the bottom of my heart ♡︎ p.s it's my 100th post shocker!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

"I miss you."

Lando's voice was always like this. Slightly croaky and brittle yet warm and full of need. For you it was a sort of drug. It always pulled you in, it blurred the line between wrong and right, and you always came back for more. And when it was paired with those brown tinged blue eyes of his and all the freckles on his face, you were a goner.

"Lando," you sighed, leaning on your door frame. It was one in the morning. You were asleep but ever so gracefully woken up to the consistent ring of your doorbell. You rubbed your face with an exhaustion not familiar to your slumber but familiar to the antics of Lando himself. The words fell from your lips in an eased flow. "You can't be here. You don't miss me. You need to leave."

You tried to avoid his pained eyes but everywhere you looked, you met them in some shape or form.

"But I do miss you. I miss everything about you. Your smile, your lips, your body, your laugh, fuck, everything."

You blinked slowly, wondering how you had got here. How is it that the decisions and choice you made in life lead to Lando Norris pleading at your front door at one in the morning?

Ah...

There was an answer to that.

As the story goes, around a year ago, you were with Lando. 'With' was a loose term. It was supposed to be friends with benefits. You had been for almost a year by that point. Naturally, the only rule to being friends with benefits was to not fall in love with each other. And as natural as that rule was, there was a common saying: 'Rules are meant to be broken.'

You and Lando both realised it. But it terrified you the most. You weren't cut out for this. Things were already hard enough as it was sneaking around.

Travelling on the private jets, facing the media and the public, having to watch Lando race every weekend and pray for him wellbeing... it wasn't exactly your cup of tea. It was exactly why you were friends with benefits in the first place.

So you ended it. Lando wasn't happy about it but he respected it.

That was the end of your story.

Or so you thought.

"Lan, you're in a relationship. For fuck's sake, please can you consider her at least?"

Lando ran a hand through his dark mop of curls, sighing while holding back the eye roll at the mention of his intricately created PR relationship. He knew you were right. You often were. But you weren't understanding him. He didn't think you ever could, no matter how much he tried to explain it to you.

You and him... you were made for each other. He knew it from the bottom of his heart. You were perfect. Together, you were perfect. There was no one like you. And for him, there was no one else. Not ever. No matter who he dated or who he was with, he'd be damned if there was someone else other than you.

Lando's tongue poked his cheek, eyes firmly on you. "Are you coming this Sunday? In the evening?"

This race weekend was the Silverstone circuit and in the same day, afterwards, was a dinner party with the drivers, families, and friends. In other words, it was a recipe for disaster.

"I don't think I should..." you trailed off, internally wincing when you knew deep down you should've just said you weren't coming rather than being open to it. When it came to the blue-eyed boy in front of you, any assertiveness you ever had was thrown out the window.

Lando reached to grab your hands, fingers automatically rubbing smooth circles into your skin. "Please come," he pleaded, "if not for me, come for mum and dad, hmm? They miss having you around."

You pressed your lips together, eyes falling onto the floor as you began to chew your lip. "Lando, I can't come. It doesn't look good... for the both of–"

"She won't be there."

Your eyes flickered up to Lando, widening slightly at his words.

With an eager sharpe intake of air, he doubled down on his response. "If that's why you're saying no, she won't be there."

You tilted your head, giving him an almost dry look. "You know that's not even half of the reason." A sigh fell from your lips. "Go home, Lando. You've got practice tomorrow. You need sleep."

Lando's eyes softened. You always kept track of those small things for him, scolding him for not going to sleep early or not taking care of himself. It was like old times all over again. His grip around your hands tightened. "I will," He promised, "but tell me you're coming on Sunday. Please."

You cursed at yourself. It was that same voice. That one with so much need and desperation. It was as if a voice gained the ability to have puppy eyes.

Reluctantly, you nodded slowly. "Fine... I'll come," you relented.

A smile finally sprawled across Lando's face, hands moving to quickly bring you into a hug. His arms felt comfortable, bringing an ease you hadn't felt in over a year. "Thank you."

Your eyes widened when you felt a quick kiss on your cheek, still lingering after Lando parted. He grinned, taking a few steps back from you. "I'll see you Sunday. "

━━━━━━━━━━━

The Sunday jitters were real. You couldn't ever truly imagine how anyone of the drivers felt on race day but you imagined it to be something like this.

The way your heart was thumping, one would think you have an odd case of arrhythmia. You were working up a sweat masked by the anxious sprays of perfume you had lathered on and all you were doing was standing.

You hadn't watched the race in person because that was equally as idiotic as going to a brunch where the person you love and his family was despite him having a girlfriend. And you didn't want to be twice as idiotic. In the end, Lando had gotten a well-earned P3 at his home race, despite the mistakes of his team.

You were happy for him. But it didn't rule out the fact you were in a serious dilemma of awkwardness as you dawdled outside of the venue. Your fingers twirled around the fabric of your dress.

You shouldn't of worn it. It was Lando's favourite. You knew that.

Hell, you shouldn't be here.

You should go home.

It wasn't too late.

Your name abruptly sprung into the air. "Is that you?"

Well shit.

You took a slow turn on your feet, a sheepish smile automatically working its way onto your face. "Mr and Mrs Norris!" you greeted.

An amused huff fell from Lando's mother's mouth. "Please! You know you can call by our names!"

Somewhere in the back of your head, you could feel your mother's voice nagging you at the very thought of calling them by their names.

Cisca smiled, bringing you into a warm hug. "God, we've miss you!" Pulling away after a few seconds, she took another few to observe you. "You've become more beautiful since we last saw you, isn't that right, Adam?"

Lando's father chuckled. "Not more than you though," he teased only to get a playful elbow from his wife. He turned to you and grinned, reminding you exactly where Lando's came from. "The girls will be so happy to see you, sweetie. Oliver too."

You laughed gently, thanking them. Your mouth felt dry. Usually you knew what to say to them. But it had been so long, you weren't sure what to say. Whether it was right or wrong. How much Lando had even said...

"Lando was telling us how you've been busy studying, is that right? You've been doing your master's?" His father queried.

Speak of the devil...

You nodded slowly. "Yes. It's research based so it's quite, uh, time consuming. So I just wanted to put a year dedicated to it. That's why I haven't been around as much."

Both of his parents nodded in understanding. His mother pouted, "While it's been sad without you, I'm very proud of you. A bachelors is no easy feat let alone a master's!"

Your heart constricted while her soft eyes met yours. His mother was always like this. Talking you... treating you as if you were her daughter. You never understood it. You'd only known each other for a couple of years including the period were you and Lando were with each other.

You asked her a month before you had ended it with Lando how she knew you so well. Her response... you could've never forgotten it even if you willed it. '"A mother knows everything. What's good and bad for their children. You know it as mother's intuition. When I look at you, I just know."'

"'Know what?'" You remembered asking.

"How important you are to Lando."

And that was when you realised you were completely and utterly in love with him.

"If you two are done talking, we should finally go inside," Lando's father continued to tease.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you walked with his parents inside the venue.

It was definitely too late.

━━━━━━━━━━━

To be honest, Lando had seen many beautiful things in life. Life, if you looked at it carefully, perhaps on a slight angle, was beautiful. And besides, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

But the sight of you walking into the venue, arm linked with his own mother and you chatting with his father was forever etched into his brain.

He could've sworn his heart was leaping out of his chest. Everything about what he was seeing was perfect. Your smile, the atmosphere, the sun shining down on you, the sound of your laugh, your hair, the wind, the dress... God, he could go on and on.

"Lando! Look who we met outside!" His mother cheered making him grin.

"Well, well, well," Lando smiled, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek before hugging his father. He stepped back, blue eyes fixated on you. He stretched out his arms, waiting for a hug making you sigh and his parents laugh softly.

You took a step forward, reaching your hands to wrap around his back while Lando's own hands fell to your waist and brought you close. His classic Tom Ford perfume lingered around you as he whispered in your ear. "You came."

"I promised," you responded softly, pulling back only for him to tighten his grip on you. You suppressed an eye roll. "Congrats on P3. You did well."

Lando perked up at the mention of his race and finally pulled back. "You watched?"

"I–" Your voice was interrupted by another familiar Brit.

"Is that who I think it is?" Alex queried with his usual wide grin.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Depends... is it the most prettiest girl? After Lily, of course."

Alex chuckled. "Is there any other answer?"

You pretended to ponder. "Nope! That's the one." You both laughed as you gave each other a hug.

"Where have you been? I needed someone to give me company on the tracks. It's been so lonely," He complained dramatically.

And without realising it, you were back to meeting everyone you hadn't seen in a long time. Weirdly enough, you missed this. Talking to everyone, joking around, just spending time with them... it gave you some sort of peace.

"Okay! Oscar, you're time's up," Lando announced, standing at the table you, Oscar and his girlfriend, Lily, were seated at.

Oscar gaped at his teammate. "But we only just met her!"

Lando gave a sickly sweet smile. "Aw... tough. Now scram!"

You shook your head as you watched the couple leave the table. "You are the worst," you said, leaning on your arm while Lando took a seat next to you.

"I haven't seen you in so long! Sue me for wanting to spend time with you," Lando shrugged in his defence, blue eyes trained on you.

You blinked, averting your eyes to the rest of the party. "I going to get some champagne," you murmured, standing up to go the table full of various spirits and juices.

You cursed silently as you caught Lando following after you from your peripheral. Arriving to the table, your fingers danced around, looking for the right glass of bubbles.

"You're ignoring me," Lando stated, hot breath skimming past your ear as he stood inches away from you.

You kept your eyes on the alcohol, letting a small laugh fall from your lips. "Gee, has anyone ever told you that you're a smart cookie, Lando"?

Lando pursed his lips. "I miss you."

You sighed at the familiar words, fingers wrapping around a glass of what you were pretty sure was Dom Perignon leisurely being given. "Lando... stop it. I came here because you wanted me to, okay? Just forget about whatever it is you're thinking about."

You sucked in a sharp breath when you felt Lando's hand travel to yours, fingers just hanging on to each other. You hated how his touch made you feel so... so tingly. As if you were having your first crush.

"So that's why you wore this dress? To tell me to stop? Because I wanted you here?" He laughed softly, playing with your fingers. He shook his head. "I can't even imagine what you'd do if I told you every single thought running through my head right now."

Your eyes widened. You shakily put back the glass of champagne.

"Lan–" Your voice cut off upon the feeling of his fingers trailing at the back of your neck. You gulped while Lando's voice continued to linger.

"How much of a mistake do you think this really is? Wearing my favourite dress? Don't think I haven't seen that necklace on you. Let's turn that pendant around and show everyone who's name is on it, hmm?"

Your eyes widened. Shit. You had completely forgotten about the necklace. You had spent all your time using it on the front side that you had forgotten about his initial's engraved on the back.

Lando's tongue trailed over his bottom lip, head tilting to the side. "Sweetheart, I'm torn. You have no idea how gorgeous you look. But you have no idea how much I would give... what I would do to take you home right now. That dress would be off and my fingers would be on you. Fuck, just imagining it, I–"

"Lando!"

You and Lando both furrowed your brows, chests heaving breathlessly. You definitely didn't say his name nor did you sound like that. Turning your head slightly, the view made you take wide steps back from Lando.

Lando mended his brows even more, only smoothing them when he saw what you had seen. "B-Baby!" The endearment failed to come out of his mouth smoothly, making you wince.

You watched Lando hug the blonde girl in front of you. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Brazil?" He asked, only just covering up his sheer curiosity.

"I was but I wanted to surprise you... so surprise!"

A surprise... yes it was.

You blinked as the blonde turned to you, extended her hand, and introduced herself. Awkwardly, you returned the kind gesture because ultimately she had done nothing wrong to you.

You introduced yourself as Lando's old friend because it was the safest bet. And it was the truth... to some degree.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Lando asked his girlfriend as a queasy feeling began to form in your stomach. You think you can hear her respond, settling for a glass. You weren't sure. Your ears were tuning in and out of this noise. Out of your peripheral you see the driver turn to you. "Did you still want your champagne?"

You let out a low exhale and gave the both of them a tight smile. "It's okay. I was just leaving."

The smile on Lando's face dropped. "W-What? Already?"

You nodded curtly. "Lots of things to do."

Lando narrowed his eyes. "Like what? It's barely seven... the day's almost over..."

Your eyes widened, feeling startled as an awkward laugh fell from his girlfriend's lips. "Lan, the girl said she has things to do. Stop grilling her. Sorry... must be the post-race adrenaline or something. It's a shame you can't stick around though. See you around?"

You gave a small smile, slightly irritated at how genuine and sweet she was. You actually wished there was something about her to hate. "Yeah," You agreed softly, "See you around."

━━━━━━━━━━━

About thirty minutes had passed since you left the dinner party, much to everyone's dismay.

You were exhausted.

You only just had the energy to take off your heels and put aside your purse before you fell onto your bed. Sighing, you stared at the ceiling. What even was life anymore?

You couldn't believe yourself. You were so angry and pissed off at Lando and you were jealous of his girlfriend.

There wasn't any rocket science to it. You were still very much in love with Lando. You shouldn't be but you were.

Your mother once told you that love wasn't black and white. It was the blurred line between: it was grey. It was never as simple as being in love or not. You fall in love and fall out of it and just as you did, you would fall once again but with someone else entirely. And sometimes it compelled idiotic things like infidelity or rebounds.

Love was also seasonal. It changed all the time and sometimes you enjoyed it and sometimes it made you suffer. It was entirely demanding. It drove people crazy. It was overwhelming and yet so lonely.

Point in case: love sucked.

And you and Lando had not escaped from it.

You weren't sure if you ever could.

But you had to. It was the right thing to do. Maintaining boundaries was the right way to go.

You blew some air up to your face, pushing the hair out of your face. Nodding to yourself, you told yourself you were getting over Lando.

You sat straight at the sound of your doorbell ringing throughout your house. Begrudgingly you walked towards the door, a hundred percent sure it was your neighbour a floor down. She was a sweet, quiet old lady who fit the 'crazy cat lady' persona a bit too well. Often, she came to you asking if you had seen a cat of hers but the worst part was that all of her cats were the tabby orange type. How she could tell the difference was beyond you, no more than how exactly the cats were using elevators and opening fire exits to get to your floor.

Without thinking too much, you opened the door to greet the lady but all the words you had ever known fell to the air upon seeing Lando.

"Lando," you took a calm deep breath, "Please tell me I'm hallucinating or that you're not actually in front of my door right now."

"I can't do that," Lando said, eyes burning with something a bit too familiar.

Wordlessly, you begun closing the door. But the jutted foot of Lando's quickly intercepted the act. "Please," Lando pleaded, coming into your apartment.

You let out a distressed sigh as you hear the door close. "Lando, you can't be here. You're supposed to be at a dinner party. With your friends... family, with your girlfriend, oh my God, with your freaking girlfriend, Lando."

"But you're the only one on my mind," Lando breathed, watching you walk around your house. His arm reached out to your waist, stopping your endless rounds of circles. He could feel you take a sharp intake of air, standing still at his touch. Holding you close, his lips lingered near your ear while his warmth enveloped you.

"I think I'm going crazy," he murmured. "You're in my dreams. Even when I look at her, I see your face. You're fucking everywhere, sweetheart."

You pursued your lips together. "Why do you have to make things so difficult?" you asked quietly, not to Lando in particular but to the silence of your house.

"Then tell me... that you don't want me here. That you don't feel the same way. Tell me... tell me you don't love me. Then I'll leave. I promise."

"I–" you paused, turning your body to him. You could feel his eyes searching your face but you couldn't even lift your head up. "I don't love you."

A lengthy silence ensued and it spoke volumes.

Finally, a soft chuckle from Lando's lips broke the silence. "You can't even look me in the eye and tell me that."

You threw your head back with an exhausted sigh, giving up. Your hands began to flail about. "What more do you want from me, Lando? Why can't you just leave me, us, alone?"

Lando's hand travelled to your jaw, pulling you in a mere inch away from his face. His grip was soft and warm, lulling you. "I can't leave you alone... I can't ever leave you alone. You don't get it," a cry of frustration fell from his lips while his eyes watered, "You were made for me and I was made for you. You... you are all I ever think about. I can't breathe without you. I exist for you. I am so fucking in love with you, it scares me. And i-if you tell me you love me, I'll break up with her right now."

Your eyes burned with an all but familiar salty liquid. "Lando... I can't."

Lando clenched his jaw. His voice was so quiet, a crack away from breaking entirely. "Why? Why can't you just admit that you're in love with me?"

"Because I'm terrified!"

You feel Lando's hand fall from your jaw while his brows furrowed, asking you what you were talking about. Your cheeks were flushed with heat while your fingers dug rested on your hips, digging into your flesh. You took in a shaky breath.

"I can't do this life, Lan. I can't be away from you all the time and travel with you all the time. I'm not another girl on your arm for the media. And I really can't watch you race. Every time I watch you race... I, " you blew air into your cheeks, "I watch with a sick stomach. Every spin, every crash... I always just think.. God, if something happened to you. If I love you..."

Lando fell silent. For the first time in a long time, he had nothing to say to you. All he had were the fresh tears quietly leaking out of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, using his arm to wipe off the rest of his silent sobbing. Stepping forward, with the soft pad of his thumb, he collected the tears you hadn't realised were falling.

Lando cleared his throat, breathing in while he rested his hand on your cheek, rubbing soft circles into your skin. "Ever since I met you, before I even realised I was in love with you, I've spent every race thinking about you. You're my first thought when those lights go off and the last when that flag waves. You don't know it but you are the only thing that makes me feel truly safe. And I would fight the world if it meant that you could openly love me back."

A singular tear made it's way down your face, seeping into the pores of your skin as Lando pressed a long kiss on your cheek before quietly leaving towards the door. Before entirely leaving, he stopped in his tracks. "I'm not giving up on us. I told you before. I could never leave you."

━━━━━━━━━━━

It had been a month since you and Lando had talked... whatever that was out.

The promise he had made before leaving your house that day was one he was persistent in pursuing. You knew Lando. He was stubborn. Often, what he wanted, he got.

You tried to avoid him. But the good morning and good night messages you received every day despite his ever-changing time zones still reached you. You spent the first three days ignoring them but the guilt with each passing day got heavier.

In a way, it felt like you were restarting your friendship. Taking things slow. Except the odd times that reminded you it was anything but. In particular Lando's 'drunk on horniness' messages or the sudden love confessions that popped out of thin air.

Things were... steadyish.

It was the only reason you had accepted Carlos' extended invitation to join him and the other's at a nightclub. You couldn't lie. Of course, Lando was at the forefront of your brain when you accepted. A part of you was curious.

How was he holding up?

Whether he was still with his girlfriend...

Were his plans on not giving up on you limited to his consistent texts?

But alas, as life usually worked, things did not go the way you planned.

While most of the drivers steered clear of the alcohol aside from their podiums, a practice Lando often took somewhat seriously, he was seriously considering breaking at the sight of you. More specifically, the sight of you and João Felix, the famed five-star FIFA player, mingling.

Lando who wasn't starving for any spirits was ready to down a few shots. But instead, he was completely sober, not a lick of alcohol in him, watching João, the ex-boyfriend of his own girlfriend chat you up.

Lando couldn't exactly blame the athlete. He would've done the same thing: the fixated eyes as you talked, the ear-to-ear smile when you laughed, the seamless checking out when you turned to take a sip of your drink or talk to someone nearby because Lando was a hundred percent sure you were the most gorgeous person in the room.

But he could blame João's pettiness. Lando had his ex and now he was going after you. In way, he rated it. But Lando knew you too well.

You were not interested in the player at all. The tight smiles, the absentminded nods, the readiness to jump into a conversation with literally anyone else... you were practically inviting Lando for a talk.

You could feel yourself freeze at the sight of Lando and his girlfriend walk over to the both of you. The air, all of a sudden, felt thick, fogging up your brain. You weren't quite sure what to say. This odd intertwining history between the four of you was nauseating.

"João," Lando greeted with a fake cheer. Magui, his girlfriend, gave a tight smile that bordered on pissed off – you knew the look all too well.

The football player gave a loose grin, shaking Lando's hand. "Lando... Magui," he sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh! Have you guys met yet?" He asked, brown eyes moving to you as he introduced you to the couple.

The three of you blinked at the dry sarcasm underpinning João's voice. You let a small laugh fall past your lips. "We have, actually. I'm Lando's old friend and Magui and I met not so long ago."

Lando gave you a pointed look. "You are way too down to earth. She's a special old friend," he corrected, grinning at João.

You pursed your lips awkwardly as the two Portugueses raised their eyes brows. You raised your hand to rub the nape of your neck nervously. "Uh, well, no... just old friend will do. Always the funny one, huh, Lando?" You murmured with a forced laugh.

To be honest, as the silence began to build, you were surprised to even hear Magui's voice. "I'm sorry..." she started, arm darting out to grab João's hand, making you widen your eyes, "João, we need to talk."

You incredulously watched Magui drag away the Portuguese before turning to Lando. You pondered over her words. "She still–"

"Likes him? Yup!" Lando said, popping the 'p' as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"It's weird how similar she and I are. Lonely... and both head over heels for our exes." Lando tilted his head, eyes examining you carefully while you took a deep breath. "Can't say the same for João though," he clicked his tongue.

The comment made you raise a brow. Lando softly laughed at your confused expression. "Sweetheart... it is my worst luck that you are the most gorgeous woman to exist. João had eyes for you. From the moment you were talking till the moment we stepped in."

You folded your arms, a small grin teetering on your face at the irritated expression on his face. "So you were watching me... obsessed much?" You humoured out of pure amusement.

Lando poked his cheek with his tongue, taking a step towards you, hands still shoved into this pockets of his pants. "Oh you have no idea."

You pressed your lips together.

There were an infinite amount of things that were unhealthy. Rewatching your comfort shows five times too many, the double digits on your screen-time, a high sugar intake (although your tastebuds said otherwise)...

But for you, it usually ended up being Lando. The various facets of Lando often left you undone. And a clean-shaven Lando, stalking towards you in the loosest long sleeve polo shirt, folded at the arms and half unbuttoned so the necklace you brought him and bracelets he wore glittered under the club lights was just another one of many undoings.

"Lando..." you murmured, taking a step back, eyes darting to your surroundings. "What are you doing?"

"I haven't told you how good you look today, have I? Because you have no idea how fucking hot you look," Lando responded, ignoring your question as he took another step forward.

You swallowed your saliva at the recognisable look swirling in those blue orbs of his. Like he was going to ravage you.

"Lando," you hissed, putting a hand to his chest to maintain some distance. You breathed shakily, trying to think straight. "Have some self-control!"

"Oh sweetheart, you know as much as I do." You widened your eyes as Lando used your hand to pull you closer, merely inches away from his face. His voice, despite it's softness, is drowned in a husk that runs down your spine. His warm breath pricked the surface your skin. "When it comes to you, I have no control."

Never in your life had your throat felt so dry. You burned at his words and his touch made your stomach churn. "But..." you furrowed your brows, trying to remember what you wanted to say. "But Magui? João?" You managed to get out.

As the strobes of light glimmered across Lando, you managed to capture him closing his eyes after being trained on your lips for so long, as though he was trying to hold himself back, swimming up to the surface for some sort of consciousness.

His forehead fell to yours as he pondered those three words. "I told you..." Lando said, hands travelling up your neck to hold your face, relishing the heat your flushed state brought. "I exist for you."

In essence: fuck Magui and fuck João.

━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're kidding me," Lando flatly said, evilly eyeing the 'Out of Order' sign on your elevator.

"I'm also totally kidding that my room's on the fifth floor," You laughed softly, sarcasm underlying your voice.

Lando turned to you with a blank stare. You two had both managed to get out of the nightclub as discreetly as you could (which included the most obvious winks from Carlos and Fewtrell). While both of your patience was wearing thin, in the nature of an F1 driver, Lando was losing it ten times faster.

Lando had been waiting what felt like forever to be with you, for you to green-light him. That time he spent without you felt torturous as though he was being punished for being in love. And now that he had you, he was going to make up for lost time.

The only hitch in his plan was an elevator under maintenance and five flights of stairs.

Lando raised a brow at the anything but innocent smile tugging on your lips. He sucked in a sharp breath. "I do not like that look on your face."

You suppressed an eye roll, knowing damn well those twinkling eyes were saying something else. Slowly, you walked towards the fire exit with Lando following after you cautiously. Popping your head into the room, you looked up and the numerous staircases trailing up the building.

A quiet laugh slipped past Lando's mouth. "What are you doing?" He asked as you took your heels off and placed them on the floor.

You turned to him, resting your hand the railing of the staircase while the other found your hip. "My dear Lando," you tsked, "you didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

You smiled at the furrowed brows he sported. "They say you should work hard to get what you want. Who knows..." you shrugged, "Maybe you'll find my panties on the third floor."

As the cogs finally clicked in place, Lando sunk his teeth into his lips. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, raking his eyes over you. "And if someone catches us?"

You jutted your bottom lip, pretending to ponder his question. "Guess you'll have to be fast then. Aren't you an athlete or something?" You teased, grinning ear-to-ear now.

"You are going to be the death of me." Lando gave you a pointed look, throwing his heading back soon after receiving a cheeky wink from your side.

The British driver watched carefully as you started to make your way up the flight of stairs. Smiling to himself while shaking his head, he grabbed your heels with his two fingers and climbed up after you.

Lando was amused and excited at the same time, seeing you occasionally turn to him with a knowing glint in your eyes. He knew himself that things were currently tame: finding your heels, purse, and jacket in his hands.

He felt dazed upon catching a glimpse of the lace underneath your dress, tight around your ample flesh, his own pants beginning to constrict.

"Not just yet, Lan." Your voice piped up in the silence. Lando fluttered his eyes open, seeing you turn back to him again. He questionably hummed in response, gathering himself once again.

"What are you going to do now?" You queried with feigned innocence, eyes flickering to your bra dangling in your hand. "Whoops!"

Lando sucked in a sharp breath, watching your bra fall to the floor before shamelessly moving his eyes to your chest, eyes bulging at the now uncontrolled cleavage spilling from your dress. His fingers clenched around all of your items while he swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth.

The sudden urge to increase his pace up the stairs made you widen your eyes with a fire-like anticipation, matching his action. As Lando grabbed your bra from the floor, he could only imagine what was coming as you arrived to the third floor.

But surprisingly enough, Lando had caught up to you, intentional on your part he was sure. He eyed your body as you sat on a stair, leg crossed over another, letting your dress ride up your thighs.

"Looking for something?" You queried, catching his attention.

"Nothing." Lando winced at the poor and croaky lie escaping his lips.

You grinned, gliding your tongue over your lip. You stood up, hand clenching around the soft and wet fabric in your hands. You could hear Lando's breath hitch as you used your free hand to trail up his leg, only millimetres away from the bulge in his pants.

Lando's eyes focused on you as you met his gaze. He felt your lips graze his own, naturally making him lean in for more but your finger pressing down stopped him, instead pulling his free hand open.

Lando closed his eyes upon the feel of the soft textured fabric in his rough palm. "Please tell me that's what I think it is."

He knew what it was. But he wanted to hear it from your lips.

You moved your lips to his ear. "What do you want to hear? That your holding my panties? Or that they're soaked?"

Lando's eyes snapped open, dropping your items to his side. His hand travelled up your neck, holding your face to jerk it towards him. You could feel his hot breath swarm your vicinity. His thumb trailed over your lips, head leaning in.

You gave him a small smile, pulling away. "We still have two whole floors, Lando. Patience is a virtue."

Lando blinked blankly at the light tap of your fingers on his cheek. He watched you leave once again. Knowing that you had no underwear unknowingly awoke something deeply sinister within him.

You were a siren. Luring him in by doing so little and yet, the most. He was sure of it.

Lando took in a deep breath, closing his eyes once again. He was also sure that the next thing about to come off was the last thing you had on: your dress. And he wasn't confident he could handle it at all. His cock felt impossibly tight against his pants, aching in such a way that begged for release.

"You're missing the show, baby."

Lando looked at you, gathering your items and slowly walking up the stairs, watching you carefully take the straps off your shoulders, emphasising 'L' on your necklace. His tongue rested at the corner of his mouth, preventing them from tugging upwards when you realised you had to deal with the zipper of your dress.

"Need some help?" Lando asked, catching up to you once again.

You pouted at his amused expression. "Lan... I had a thing going," You whined. You had used a damn string and paperclip to pull the zip up earlier this evening. And now? Now you had a lover who drove a papaya-coloured car for a living with a shit-eating grin.

"How about," Lando started, moving your panties to his other hand to wrap an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, "I help you get out of this dress and you stop being a little minx so I can fuck the tease out of you, hmm?"

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, feeling Lando's bulge push up against your ass. Your skin pricked with a wave of heat that you hadn't felt in a long time. You hear Lando hum in your ear, waiting for a response as he nestled his chin into your collarbone, fingers grazing up and down your body.

"Fine, fine," you relented, turning to grab Lando by the hand before you hurried up the last flight of stairs.

"I thought you said patience was a virtue!" Lando huffed, smiling at your pace.

You rolled your eyes. "You're one to speak."

Lando chuckled softly, trailing after you with the same eagerness sparking within him.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You peeked your head into your empty hallway, hand still around Lando's. There were four flats on your floor. Two of which were empty thanks to the cost of living crisis and the other, your neighbour, who was often out of town.

In other words, you were free to be as loud as you want.

With as much humbleness and reserve you could manage, you tamely walked down your hallway, hearing Lando mumble something about how your hallway belonged in a horror movie.

"Gee... that's so sexy, Lan. Keep going," you dryly encouraged, turning to grab the keys in your purse.

Lando jutted out his hand, letting your keys dangle from his fingers in front of your face. "I'm just saying," he said defensively with the corner of his mouth tugging upwards in amusement.

You shook your head, failing to suppress your grin as you shoved the key into the door, waiting to hear the obscene click. Opening the door, you smiled timidly at the state of your flat. "Well... this is my humble-ish abode... that you've seen a bit too much recently," you teased.

Lando laughed softly, following after you, hands still full. "What are you on about? I love your flat. It's so... you."

You turned to Lando with a raised brow, watching him put down all the trinkets you had left him on the shelf near the door. "Is that a diss I hear?"

The driver rolled his eyes, walking towards you with a knowing glint to his eyes. His arms stretched out, travelling to your waist before pulling you in. You could feel his breath graze past your skin as he held your gaze. Lando's voice was a mere whisper in your ears. "I mean I love you... so I love your cute little flat."

"Oh," you lamely said before blinking back to reality. "I mean not 'oh' like 'oh,' I mean like 'oh... I love you too?" You questioned, slowly dying on the inside at your stupidity.

Lando grinned at your pained expression. "Nice save," he murmured against your lips. "Now... where were we?"

"Hmm?" You idly queried, unable to take your eyes off of his lips. "Uh," you cleared your throat, "something about fucking the tease out of me?"

"Ah, yes," Lando agreed, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "You have been pretty awful today. First walking in with João..." He clicked his tongue, finger trailing the underside of the strap of your dress before pulling it down your shoulder. "Then this dress, fuck."

You let out a shaky breath, feeling his fingers skim past your neck as he walked around you to meet the zip you had been battling all day. Lando's mouth met the side of your ear while he pressed the cold metal of your zip down and against your back.

"And now your little theatrics. It's not very nice of you, sweetheart. I've waited so long... you're on my mind every second of every day. I think about you so much, I don't think it's healthy. But..."

Lando stopped himself, lips brushing against your burning skin.

"But?" You repeated, turning your body to face him.

"But... I don't care," He finished with a small nonchalant shrug and a balance of softness and cockiness drowning his voice.

You didn't waste a second, moving your hands to Lando's neck, pushing yourself forward as you pressed your lips to his.

You could feel his hands immediately wrap around your waist. Your skin pricked with a familiar burn, warming at the touch of Lando's fingers skimming your bare skin.

Even though a fire was whirling within you, your body still had managed to create waves and waves of goosebumps as the hairs on your skin stood straight. You could feel Lando's tongue dart out, nudging your mouth to open a bit more to explore every crevice.

A mix of a grunt and high-pitched moan slipped past Lando's lips making your thighs clench at the tingling rippling through your core. You were positively going to combust.

Lando was equally sure he was going to lose it. He had waited so long to feel your lips and the sheer happiness he felt right now... it couldn't even compare to his imagination. To feel his teeth graze your lips while his one hand roamed your bare back, ever slowly inching towards your ass... the other tangled in your soft hair... he was almost afraid to admit he daydreamed of this.

His pants, fuck, they were tight before but this was something else entirely. He was in a some sort of twisted pain as your hands moved from his neck and crept up the hem of his shirt, brushing his taut torso, remembering exactly where all his little moles were.

"Shit..." Lando sighed out, holding you tighter against him. His lips moved along your bare shoulder, meeting the nape of your neck to attack it with purple written love letters. "Get on the bed, baby," he managed to get out, half-focusing on the honey-drenched moans falling from your lips while he waddled you towards the bed.

You sat back on the mattress breathlessly, chest heaving up and down as you watched Lando eye you down with a lust-driven softness. A gentle smile sprawled across your face, making him gulp cautiously. Coyly, you stood up, barely a few centimetres away from him as you peeled off your dress as slowly as you good.

You could hear Lando's breath hitch before he sucked in a sharp intake of air, eyes fixed on your breasts. They looked lonely... as if they were waiting for his touch. His tongue rested on the side of his mouth, tilting his head while your dress skimmed past your thighs and off your legs.

Lando's head fell back. "Fuck... you are going to be death of me." He shook his head, inching back towards you.

The small laugh that had fallen from your lips made him smile. He watched as your fingers pinched the edge of his shirt, lifting it up at the same rate of his arms flying up. Removing his shirt, your hands danced towards his shorts but Lando's hand caught your wrist.

You flickered your eyes to Lando, eyebrows raised at the pained look on his face. "If I let you do it, I swear to God, I might cum right here."

Your eyes slightly widened at his words, mouth all of a sudden feeling dry. You raised your hands in defence, watching him try to take off his pants in amusement.

"Don't think I don't see that smug smile on your face, sweetheart," He murmured, blue eyes averting to you. A smug smile of his own formed on his face as his arms caged you in, your knees bucking at the feel of the mattress or Lando – you couldn't tell.

Lando's head dipped into the valley of your breasts, hot breath letting goosebumps litter your bare skin. "I missed these sweet tits of yours," he murmured, watching his own hand skim past your pebbled nipple, ears perking at the quiet gasp coming from your mouth.

You could feel the ghost of Lando's smile against your skin before his hand stretched to fondle the soft mound of tissue while his tongue wrapped around the other, circling the hard nipple with his warm saliva.

You let out a small sigh, hand immediately travelling to the mop of brown curls Lando sported as you revelled in his touch. You could tell what he was doing. Making up for lost time. Ensuring you knew how much he missed you by spending the uttermost time and care with your breasts alone.

His thumb and tongue moved in synchronised circles, paying attention to each nipple, savouring the way your body arched into his touch and the small sighs and whimpers of admission dancing into his ears.

Detaching his tongue from your nipple, Lando looked at the sight of the ample flesh of your tits filling his hands. Fuck... it drove him insane.

Your body quivered as Lando's lips trailed down the valley of your breasts, a line of purples following right after his wet kisses. "Lando," you hissed, "People are going to know."

A huff of amusement crawled from his throat. "I know."

Lando watched you roll your eyes while he came down to pussy. His hands glided across your thighs, gripping your plump skin as a wave of tingles bubbled within your core.

Planting a small kiss on the side of your thigh, he flickered his blue eyes to you. "Think I still need to get that brat out of you," he murmured before gently pulling at your labia.

He watched your folds clench around nothing as his hot breath grazed the surface of your pussy. Lando smiled knowingly. "You are simply drenched for me, sweetheart."

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his finger slide down your slick folds, going up to ever so slightly to gather your arousal and graze the sensitive bundle of nerves near the top. A gasp left your mouth, making him grin.

You feel his fingers move away from your heat, skimming your thighs while hearing the hitched breaths fall from Lando's mouth as if he was the one affected. You could see his eyes travel across your body, wondering where to start. He wanted everywhere.

His mop of curls on his head dipped down, warm lips pressed up against the valley of your breasts to your stomach. And as he reached your navel, he could hear your shallow breaths, the ghost of his smile tickling your skin.

Heat prickled every inch of your body and yet a shiver of what could only be explained as some sort of electric current ran through you. You felt a tap on your thigh, bringing you back to reality.

"Don't lose me now, baby," Lando murmured softly, hands gripping your hips to yank your body closer to him.

Before you could breathe, before you could imagine the mere consequences of the way Lando's breath felt against your core, his mouth dived down into your folds.

Your mouth fell open as your head found comfort in the mattress. His tongue grazed over your clit with a tantalisingly slow pace, letting your legs tremor in his grasp. You could feel his lips curve, smirk practically dripping off his face.

You opened your mouth, preparing a witty comeback only for a string of moans to come out as Lando traversed deeper into your burning core, taking on every crevice and fold.

A groan escaped Lando's lips, pulling away for a brief second. "I missed how good you taste, so fucking sweet," he sighed out, delirious.

Your toes curled at his words, hands reaching for his head as he returned back to your pussy, Lando's own hands moving to your inner thighs to expose you entirely to him. His tongue had found your clit once again, unleashing his torturous attack.

"Oh God," you cried out, hips bucking themselves further into his tongue as the signs of your upcoming climax approached. You didn't think you could last any longer, especially not when Lando slipped two fingers inside you, making you clench around around him.

"Fucking hell," Lando rasped against your clit, speeding up his pace. His fingers move in and out of you rapidly, tongue flat against your clit as you trembled in his hands.

The dazed look in your eyes, the sunken teeth, the clenching of your walls...

Lando eagerly pulled you closer if possible, hoisting a leg over his shoulder, sending an entirely different realm of pleasure across your body.

"Lando!" You sobbed, hands tightening their grip on his hair.

He moaned, maintaining his pace. "Come, baby. All for me, come on. Show me how good I make you feel."

You felt undone at his words, body convulsing as the big waves of your orgasm hit you hard. Your walls clenched and pulsed around his fingers.

Lando couldn't tell whether his heart was fluttering or whether his cock was throbbing, probably both, but he had once committed this ruined sight of you to his memory not too long ago, and God, he had been dying to see it again.

The strain in Lando's voice was impossible to miss. So was his aching cock standing straight against his stomach. "I need you... so bad," he murmured, pussy-drenched lips against your ear.

You couldn't help but shudder at his words. Only minutes had passed since your orgasm but fuck, you needed him as much as he needed you.

With a series of nods, you beckoned him over, bringing your lips to his for a brief minute. Your hands trailed over his chest, grazing the back of his neck before finding their place on his upper back.

A low sigh blew from Lando's lips, his eyes trailed to where your hips met before coming back up to meet yours. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in your touch before holding your gaze firmly. He called your name. "I love you. So fucking much. You're all I want... forever."

His confession made you warm all over. You could feel your eyes water slightly. With a tight smile, you brought your hand to caress his cheek, feeling him lean into your touch. "I love you too."

Those words were music to his ears. Without a second to waste, his hips moved, cock thrusting into you so deeply that you can't help but let out a small cry of pleasure, hand covering your mouth.

Lando wanted to fold. Right there and then. You felt so good around him. As though heaven had found him. But all he could do is moan your name, feeling you tightly clench around his cock.

His eyes flitted to your face when he heard your muffled moans. His arms stretched out to keep your hands away from your mouth and on his back. "Let me hear you, baby. Yell my name. Tell me how good you feel."

Your body jolted as his thrusts became deeper and somehow, you felt like you were only becoming more aroused. Your skin felt sticky, riddled with sweat as your slickness coated your thighs.

Lando groaned at the sight. You were making a mess of him, dripping all over his cock as your eyes became lost in a haze. His hand reached out, jutting your chin to make sure you were looking at him. "Keep looking at me. Look at what you do to me."

Lando's grip on your waist tightened, pulling you over so you straddled his cock, riding him into a new oblivion.

And you did look. You watched him fuck into you with a speed and depth you had missed so dearly. You watched him memorise you as though he was afraid to forget you. You watched him make love to you.

Your second orgasm began to build up as the obscene sounds of your skin slapping against one another filled the room. Your body shook at the feel of Lando's thumb against your clit, rubbing you as he entirely ruined you.

"Lando, I–" you mewled, unable to get the words out.

"I know," Lando responded, holding the same level of restrain and pleasure as his own climax built up. "Cum," he almost cried out, "please."

You could barely keep your eyes open as the tight coil in your stomach snapped. You trembled in his grasp, cumming all over his cock, hips almost unstoppable as they chased those waves.

The tight clench your orgasm brought around his cock sent him over. Lando fingers sunk into your skin. "Fuck, where, tell me where," he begged, impossibly close.

You quivered, still in the remaining moments of your orgasm. "Inside," you panted, "please, Lan." There's nothing more that I want than your cum."

Lando rasped, hips stilling at your words as his cum spilled into you, filling you in all the the right places. His grip on you loosened as he slowly pulled out of you.

You shivered at his fixated gaze of your mixed cum seeping out of your pussy. Lando fell into the bed, closing his eyes, muttering things under his breath to restrain himself. You held in your laughter as he left the bed, almost painfully, to grab a wet towel from the bathroom to clean you up.

You kissed his cheek gently, thanking him as he finished cleaning all the witness dripping your thighs. Putting aside the towel, you pulled the duvet over you and Lando, nestling up to his warm body.

You could feel the softness of your mattress and duvet conform around your body while Lando rested beside you, taking you in. You mended your brows at the sudden silence. "Penny for your thoughts?" You queried, poking his cheek before rubbing his face with the pad of your thumb.

Lando leaned into your touch, warm blue eyes grazing over your face. "I missed you," he murmured, pressing a kiss onto the side of your hand. "Every day without you felt miserable and now... I can't believe you're actually in front of me. "

Your eyes softened. "I'm here," you reassured, "forever."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

dbf! hotch who won't directly touch you but will use a toy on you as you're crying and begging for his touch 😩

So Mean, but So Good

Warnings: Smut! Age gap relationship (both adults), p in v sex, unprotected sex, sex toy, mean!hotch, degradation, rough sex, dumbification, brief biting, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, squirting, pet names, some overstimulation, Hotch is a little condescending in this one, slight praise, begging, teasing, scratching, aftercare, please let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 2.2k (my longest fic in so long haha)

Pairing: dbf!hotch x fem!reader

A/n: Yes 😩. I love this so much and I really got a bit carried away with this request haha 😅. Hope you still enjoy it anon!!

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13 @randomuserrs

Hotch: @14buddy22 @pastanoodles11 @htchnr

@hoe4hotchner I'll tag you in this one because we talked so much about it 🤭

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

This post is NSFW minors please DNI****

Aaron has you splayed out on his bed he's staring directly at your core. He's holding a vibrator to your clit and he has been for both of the orgasms you've had so far. It feels good, but he always feels so much better. You want his mouth and his fingers and you want them badly.

You're whining and whimpering because you feel good, but is it mostly because you just want him to touch you and he's refusing to give in to any of your pleas.

"Aaron, please touch me. I need it. Need you." You beg him and squirm. He chuckles from between your thighs and shakes his head. "No. I already told you I'm not going to touch you. Why is that so hard for you to understand, princess? You're so needy for me all the time that your toy doesn't cut it anymore, hm?" You whine again and throw your head back against his pillows with a pathetic whimper.

"You're so mean, Aaron!" He chuckles darkly this time. "I could make it worse. I could stop completely." Another whine and you look down at him. "No! No, please don't. But please, please touch me. Please? I'll be good for you. I just want you so so badly." You beg him again, tears just starting to form your eyes, and he smirks after sighing. "I don't know, sweetheart. I think it's fun watching you squirm and beg like this. Maybe a little more begging could convince me..." He smirks at you and he presses the vibrator against your clit more firmly now. You bite your lip and your hips buck involuntarily.

"Please, Aaron, please! I'll be a good girl for you, I promise! I just need you!" A tear slips down your cheek and you look down at him again. He squeezes your thigh with his strong hand that is unoccupied. "More. Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you." His eyes darken and he suppresses his urge to bite the inside of your thigh.

Your toes curl and your chest shakes with a small sob. A real sob.

"Aaron, I want you to do whatever you want to do to me! I want you to eat me out, I want you to finger me, I want you to use me, I want you to fuck me until I can only say your name, but then fuck me harder so I can't even say that. I want to be a wordless mess for you. Please just touch me!" That breaks Aaron and he bites down on the inside of your thigh, no longer controlling that urge from moments ago. He tosses the vibrator aside after turning it off and he pulls his shirt over his head, throwing that somewhere as well. He buries his face in your sopping wet pussy and laps at you with his warm, wet tongue.

Moans immediately begin to fall from your lips and your thighs tighten around his head. He's groaning into you and those vibrations, though not nearly as strong as your toy, feel infinitely better. It doesn't take long for him to pull your third orgasm out of you by sucking and licking your sensitive clit.

"Aaron! Mmmmm. Thank you, Aaron! Thank you!" Your eyes are closed and your head is thrown back. All you can think of is his face between your thighs and the blinding pleasure he's giving you.

Aaron doesn't even give you time to recover from your release before plunging two of his thick fingers into your cunt and thrusting them hard and fast. He keeps his tongue on your sensitive bundle of nerves and works hard to bring you to the edge again. You're writhing around and your hips buck involuntarily against his face from the slight overstimulation you're feeling that causes you to whine and squirm.

You can feel your next orgasm building fast and Aaron can too. He angles his fingers just right and before you know it, you're a moaning mess once again for him as you release spurts of wetness that Aaron laps at immediately. He hasn't even fucked you senseless yet, still hard in his slacks after getting home from work and calling you to come over, but you already can't conjure a single thought as you twitch and spasm.

You only live a few houses away from him and he sometimes wonders if you get loud enough to let everyone know how good he's taking you. He just hopes your parents never walk by his house when you're screaming his name at the top of your lungs.

Aaron's tongue darts between your folds and back to your clit a few times before giving your nub one last harsh suck and then he pulls his face from between your soaked thighs. When you finally manage to open your eyes again, you see him removing those slacks that must be incredibly uncomfortable at this point and you see how wet his face has become from your juices.

"Mm... Aaron..." You mumble and weakly reach a hand out in his direction. "I'm here, princess. Just let me make you feel good. Since that's what you begged me for, isn't it, sweetheart? You can take more, isn't that right, needy girl?" He rests his now naked body against yours and his voice is slightly condescending, but there's still a genuine tone underneath with the second question. You let out another whine and you nod your head dumbly.

He chuckles darkly again and presses his hips against yours. "Have I already fucked you dumb, princess? I've only had my fingers in you and you can't even speak." He grinds his hips against yours and keeps looking down at you beneath him. His cock rubs against your folds and your clit which causes your hips to jolt from the sensitivity.

Aaron smirks and he reaches down to grip his throbbing length in his large hand. He guides his tip through your folds now. "You're so pretty like this. All dumb for me. You're so sensitive now, but you still want more, don't you?" You nod dumbly one more time and whimper. "Normally I would make you use your words but you can't even form them, can you?" You shake your head this time and he chuckles before pushing his entire length into you.

He fills you completely and stretches you deliciously. It causes you to moan right into his ear as he groans into yours. Your fingers claw at his back and he's sure there will be scratches all over his skin soon enough. He loves being able to admire them in the mirror, remembering how he took you so nicely to cause you to mark him up like that.

He's buried deep inside of you now, but he hasn't started moving. It's not because he's letting you adjust, it's because he wants to tease you some more by not immediately setting his pace and taking you hard and fast. Which you don't realise until you have been waiting for a minute or two for him to begin thrusting , only for him to not do so. You whine and try to move your hips to signal that you want him to move. He grips one to keep you still.

"You know, I think I want you to beg me just a little more. I know you've lost your words, but why don't you try to find them to ask for what you want just one more time, princess. Hm?" You throw your head back into his pillow with whimper and a pout that makes Aaron smirk again. "Come on, just use your words one last time..." He's decided to make you find the words you don't have after originally making you think you wouldn't need to. He's sexually frustrating but he's also like a god in bed so you don't want to complain, not that you really could anyway. So instead you just squirm and whine again which causes him to grab your jaw to force you to look at him. "Don't be a brat and do what I said, princess." He's so mean sometimes.

You go through your mind in search of the few words you need and after a moment, you're finally able to find them. "Fuck me, Aaron!" You cry out like you had earlier and with that he begins slamming his hips into yours, pounding his entire cock into you over and over again relentlessly.

Your back arches and he takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you in that moment, making sure to keep your body pressed close to his. All you can do is gasp and moan as he completely ruins your pussy. The only sounds in the room are skin slapping and whatever vocal noises you and Aaron are making, along with Aaron speaking occasionally.

"Is this what you wanted, sweet girl?" Aaron practically growls into your ear and you try your best to nod your head, but it's hard because of the force he's using to pound into you. He's practically moving you up the bed with each thrust.

It's becoming hard to keep your eyes open and all you can do is just lie there and let him ensure you won't be walking for the next few days, which means you'll be staying with him even longer as you wouldn't dare to go back home and be asked why you're limping. He continues to stretch you and pound into you, somehow making you feel like he's getting deeper and deeper each time. He brings one hand up to hold the back of your head in order to make sure you won't hit your head on the bedframe.

Aaron's other hand travels down to your core to rub your clit and you tremble beneath him. "One more. Be a good girl and cum for me one more time, princess." He whispers into your ear and you feel your next orgasm rapidly approaching. It doesn't take much longer for your thighs to start shaking and for your back to arch your chest up into his. Your mind is fuzzy and you can't think. Your entire body is taken over with the pleasure he brings you.

This also pushes Aaron over the edge and you feel his previously calculated thrusts become sloppy as he loses his rhythm. He groans loudly into your ear and moans your name as he cums inside of you. You feel the warmth spreading through your cunt and you flutter around him with one more orgasm that makes his own last a little longer.

You both stay like this for a good while, attempting to catch your breath as you come down from your highs. Aaron's arms instinctively move around you again to keep you close and you try to do the same to him, but your arms are practically useless, as is the rest of your body at the moment. You'd love to play with his hair, but you can't feel your limbs or make them move.

Aaron peppers soft kisses to your neck and jaw before moving to your cheeks, forehead, and then finally landing one on your lips. His breathing has slowed quite a bit now, but he is still hazy from his intense release. Even then, he still has this want and need to make sure you're okay and to show you his love and affection.

"You're perfect, sweetheart." He mumbles into your neck before pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. "How are you feeling?" His voice is rough, but soft and low at the same time. He moves one hand to gently rub at your scalp as he waits for you to respond. "I feel good...just limp." You mumble back and he can't help the small chuckle that escapes him. He smiles down at you and kisses your temple. "Don't worry. I'll take care of you." He promises you.

He keeps his promise and cleans you up after pulling out, his release leaking from you when he does, and he showers you with all of his affection in the ways he always does. He gets you some cold water and something to snack on. He puts something on for you to watch together and he snuggles you constantly unless you need him to get you something because you physically can't walk right now and won't be able to for at least a day or two.

He rubs your arms, back, shoulders, and neck to help you stay relaxed and he gives you small pecks on your lips and all over your face. He loves you and he wants to keep you protected in his arms. He wants to hold you and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Yes, he loves to be rough with you and degrade you in bed; maybe being a little mean on occasion, but that's for your benefit and his and it's just a game for pleasure. Outside of those times, he just wants you to feel peace, comfort, safety, and love when being with him. Which you do. You always do and you're certain it will never change.

[bamfkeeper]

Kurt with a goatee kills me...please imagine him. PLEASE. 18+ under cut, MDNI

I can't get it out of my head, but him with a goatee is one of my favorite looks ever. He's just sooo hot, that blue devil knows it too. I mean look at that fucking grin 😩

Warnings: afab reader, a lot of teasing because look at him, oral sex, brief unprotected sex, fingering, using his tail, semi-exhibitionistic situation

WC: 1.2k (kinda short, will write more of this one in the future though ^^)

I want to imagine so many things with him. Watching him groom would be hot for no reason. Him combing it or styling it in the mirror, catching glances and shooting you that damn smile. "What are you looking at, schatz? You always stare at me when I do this." he hummed as his tail flicked.

"Dunno just...watching you mess with it." you reply with a soft shrug, trying to hide how attractive you find his goatee.

Or laying on him at any point and reaching up to play with it, he grabs your wrist lightly and tsks you. "Ah, ah...now I just finished styling, meine liebling, you will make it a mess if you play with it." he smiled down at you, cheeky and knowing. You know, that smile that his canines poke out and you can't help but squirm where you are.

Imagine feeling that hair rub against your skin as his tongue laps away at you, he nearly pulls you up off the bed, his face buried as hot breaths leave his nostrils while his tongue is completely occupied. He slides it up and down your wet slit and flicks your clit, your juices soak his goatee and he pulls back, strings of spit and arousal connecting him to you.

"Ah, liebe...you are drooling..." he chuckled, his finger swiping over your wet clit and gently pushing inside, his finger slowly pumping in and out of you while you write beneath him. His expert movements pressed upward, curling and finding that delicious spot inside you that made you moan louder.

"So schön, I will always remember these sounds you make for me..." he purred and leaned down, his glossy lips pressed into yours. You could taste yourself on him, his goatee slightly damp too. Oh god, it turned you on so badly you felt like you were in heat.

"Kurt, I need more than a finger, and you know it..." your body squirmed as he playfully continued to curl his finger inside you, gently pressing up on that sweet spot that made you nearly see stars.

"I know, I know, I am not too cruel to deny you your needs." he retracted his finger from you, watching how your pussy tightened from the absence and he sighed, his cock growing harder between his legs as he looked down at your beautiful body.

"Mein Engel...you are like a piece of art in a cathedral..." he placed kiss after kiss on your body, his hands rubbing your hips and sides, his tail delicately wrapping around your wrists and guiding your arms above your head. "I worship only one God...but perhaps I could spare some of that dedication to you." he winked. "The closest to a real angel I shall ever see."

You whined, his words were so tender but his gestures were so hot, you felt loved and turned on at the same time. "Please, I can't wait any longer..." you glanced down at his cock, erect as a bead of precum got too heavy and slowly drizzled out of him, leaking onto your belly.

His cock was beautiful, his head swollen and purple, the damn thing always made you arch your back and you wanted him in you every chance you got. Especially when he gave you that stupid smirk that made your pussy grow hot and wet.

You gasped when he rubbed his tip up and down your silky folds, your mind fogged as you whimpered. He grunted, biting his lip as he slid himself against you, slickening himself up a little bit so it wasn't such a stark penetration. "Ready?" he arched a brow, looking down at you as he positioned himself once more.

You were so needy at this point, you couldn't help but buck your hips towards him and his tip slid in. He grabbed your hips and pinned them to the mattress, smirking at you. "Naughty thing." he panted softly, "You have no patience, do you, dove?" he questioned with a false tinge of disappointment.

You pouted slightly, your bottom lip protruding a bit. He chuckled at that and rubbed your lip with the pad of his thumb, "Now, don't pout, dove. I will give you what you need. I know if I don't, you'll become a little Teufel, won't you?" he nipped your neck and smiled against your skin as you let out a loud moan when he slid the rest of his length inside you.

Or imagine him getting out of the shower, his entire body slick and wet, his hair soaked and dripping onto the mat below him when he steps out. His goatee gathering large water droplets all the same. They drip onto his chest and run down his body, you have to hold back when you see him drying off, he ruffles his hair with the towel and he smiles at you.

How soft it would be after he showers. He grooms and fixes himself up after drying, and he kisses you, since you know you like that first thing after he's all done. "Still love it?" he questions with a chuckle, watching you sigh happily. You nearly melt in his arms.

"Oh yes, still love it..." you whisper and lean in for another kiss so you could feel that facial hair against you once more.

He makes jokes about shaving it off, (he's kidding), just to see you whine and beg him not to. "Oh, my heart," he holds his chest like he were shot. "Would thou not love me, if I were but a hairless blue boy?" he feigns dramatically. He always makes you laugh, your panic dying down and you roll your eyes at him. "Tease."

He knows that a single look gets you weak in the knees. During meetings, he will glance at you and you feel yourself stiffen in your seat. Suddenly you have good posture, and he chuckles to himself. If he feels extra cheeky...he will do more than just glance and give you a smirk.

His tail snakes around your leg, the spade slithering between your legs and pressing your core. Your breath hitches, you desperately try to look like nothing is happening, trying to pay attention to whatever is being said, but this blue imp doesn't make it easy.

His tail slides up and down, caressing your cunt through your clothes before he manages to slide it under, his bare tail feels your wet folds and you can see him grin out of the corner of your eye. "Frecher Vogel." he whispers so only you can hear.

You have to bite your lip, the tip of his tail pokes inside your wet entrance, exploring you expertly even though he was practically blind in the moment. He moved his tail tip to your bud and teases it, your legs naturally spread more and you hook your feel around the back of each chair leg, needing to focus on something else to keep you from moaning out loud in front of everyone.

The feeling of your sensitive bud being played with send shocks through your body, you were shaking with anticipation as his tail rubbed your clit, trying your absolute best to stay still. The gentle movements of it were driving you crazy, and the fact that it was his tail made everything feel even more naughty. He sat still like nothing was happening beneath the table, that cheeky bastard.

Your cheeks were surely red by now, no amount of hiding or squirming could distract from that. You feigned you weren't feeling well, which is why you looked feverish. Though, a quick glance at Emma and the split second of eye contact had her smirking like a fox at you.

Damn telepaths.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover images: Immortal X-Men #7 (2022)

[jaemotion]

been a while — njm (teaser)

pairing ⇢ photographer!jaemin x model!reader

summary ⇢ avoiding Jaemin proved to be a difficult challenge because here you are, opening your doors for him when he comes knocking after you declined the invitation to his very first exhibit.

genre/au ⇢ smut, angst, fluff? former ??? or?

rating & word count ⇢ 18+ | 1k+

warnings ⇢ mentions of sex (full & detailed warnings will be in the full fic)

a/n: it has indeed been a while lmao 💀 anyways, happiest 24th to the love of my love. my jaem, my nana on gawd he looked too good during this live i just had to 😩

the incessant knocking forces you to open the door, ready to tell whoever's behind off but he’s carrying a furball in one arm and another in a small carrier bag.

it washed away your annoyance at once.

“hi, sorry i had to bring them with me”

“didn’t you come from the dorms?” you query, finding Jaemin's sudden appearance here suspicious. he knows you love his cats and could be bringing them here just to lure you.

you tried to ignore how good Jaemin looked, the tight black shirt hugging his frame but your eyes were pulled to the dangling bracelet on his wrist.

the one you bought for him months ago as a gift.

“yeah but you haven’t seen them in ages”

whose fault is that?

“pictures or videos would’ve been enough” you cut him off before he could reply, though your eyes are already set on one of the cats.

they're just too adorable for you to ignore.

jaemin finds it amusing how you’re doing your best to repel him and his babies when he knows your fondness for his precious pets.

“they might’ve missed you too” he turns his body slightly, showing another furball inside a cat backpack so you immediately take the cat on his arm into yours. he comes in, dropping off both bags on the floor before facing you.

“did you eat already?”

you're aware of his busy schedule today and besides-

“i ate kimbap in the car on the way here”

the mere mention of that specific snack sparks your late night memories with Jaemin. it's your go-to one during night drives with, of course, mainly fucking and then eating whatever you both are craving after while stargazing.

you knew that Jaemin notices you reminiscing those memories. evident with the small curl of the side of his lips as he takes one cat back in his arms.

“did you?” his voice snaps you and you nod. before the absolute awkwardness begins between you, the fluffy cat in his arms meows and reaches for you.

“awee come here~” you scoop the cat from Jaemin’s arms, ignoring the spark you feel when your skin touches one another.

“looks like Luke missed you a lot” he chuckles with that raspy voice of his as he unloads Luna and Lucy from their cat bags.

"he sure does" you parrot Jaemin's laugh, cooing at the furball in your arms.

"not as much as me though"

your smile drops but it didn't affect Jaemin at all. if not, it seems to encourage him to fulfill whatever he's here for tonight. he situates himself comfortably on your couch after settling the cats on the floor. you sat beside him with Luke not interested in leaving your arms. eventually, the cat joined his sisters after Jaemin set the TV into one of those dog channels.

"they really love it, no?" you muse, watching his cats fondly. you're still avoiding him but thankfully they've behaved so now he can focus on you.

part of why Jaemin's here was because he wanted to talk to you in person. you didn't respond when he sent an invitation for his exhibition and his messages after that. it's his first one so it means a lot to him and he wanted you to be there.

so Jaemin had to pay you a visit which he hasn't done in a while. maybe that was the reason. or maybe you were just very busy like he is. you were already dressed earlier when you welcomed him so it was a miracle that you even let him in.

the thing is you did. you went to see what it's like since Jaemin's been talking about it for a while. he hasn't really talked to you in months so you were apprehensive in accepting when you got the formal invitation. you've had reasons but you managed to take a peek which is a mistake cause one of his friends did see you.

he thankfully didn't know that you did and that's because you've bribed Chenle to not tell anyone else. you thought you succeeded but the prospect of Jaemin coming here after was something that passed through your mind.

you were even planning to meet up with Jeno tonight to catch up. with the both of you being models, schedules are tight though sometimes you see each other during photoshoots and after. you only did have time when Jaemin stopped talking to you.

“were you planning to leaving earlier?” he turns to you after you got back from your room, now changed in your nightwear.

“yeah to meet Jeno” you reply, wanting to see Jaemin’s reaction to you meeting his friend this late at night. he was eyeing you up and down but soon as he heard his friend's name, he looked away. even when he tried to hide it, the shock, confusion, and something else was there.

“he’s not at the dorms” he’s calm. too calm than he should be. maybe you seeing Jeno doesn’t really matter to him at all.

“then where?”

“rina’s”

“oh” you couldn’t stop the disappointment seeping into your tone.

“didn’t tell you or anything?” his tone leaves you no idea if he's mocking you or not.

“no”

“thought you knew already”

“well, that perfectly explains why you’re best friends doesn’t it?”

your walls broke no matter how hard you tried to act nonchalant about this. about Jeno bailing on you; about Jaemin coming here and him finding out. it should be expected that in your line of work, these instances happen. you often do the same with people you meet but you just didn't think Jaemin would be the one to give you the same treatment.

he scrambles right away after hearing your tone, following you when you turn your back at him and head towards your kitchen. you haven't told him to back off yet, not that he's worried since you opened your doors to him but he couldn't take any more risks.

"can we talk?" he starts, sounding unsure for the first time and it ignited your curiosity. he's naturally confident so you want to see how far he'll adjust just to have this talk with you.

"10 seconds" you challenge.

"what"

"do anything you want with me for 10 seconds"

e/n: i had work today so i couldn't finish this one on time 😭

[shadowdaddies]

Request ?! Bat boys sucking on readers nipples because they are sore during her cycle🥲😩😩🤌🤌

soo I'm not certain if you meant separate headcanons or all together so I went all the batboys at once😈 hope that's okay

Tender

Batboys x f!Reader

warnings: not explicit smut?, idk maybe. grey area..., okay ya it's smut but it cuts off before the sex

Squeezing your eyes shut, you curled inward on the mattress, tugging the sheets over you as the cramps washed over your body. Stomach churned, your cycle so painful it took the breath from your lungs as you laid in bed.

The door creaked open, Rhysand’s violet eyes studying you with a graceful caution as Azriel and Cassian forced their way around him. Cassian’s nose scrunched at your scent, Rhys cooing as the three Illyrians moved closer towards you.

“Your cycle?” Az questioned, a scarred hand brushing sweaty hair from your face as you looked up at him with a pitifully weak nod.

“Oh, what can we do sweetheart?” Cassian murmured, gruff voice low as he settled next to you on the bed. His weight dipped the mattress, a sharp pain shooting through your sore chest at the movement.

All eyes turned wide at your reaction, a cautious aura blanketing the room. “Did I hurt you?” Cassian eked out, his voice cracking with guilt while he studied you for injury.

“No, no,” you breathed. “I’m just... tender, is all,” you admitted, cheeks flushing a rosy red as your gaze dipped quickly to your breasts and back.

“Oh,” Rhys rumbled, his scent turning darker, muskier. Breathing grew heavier among the group, need rising painfully in your core at the sight of three powerful Illyrians, barely restrained from touching you.

“I- It helps, to massage them, usually,” you breathed, hardly above a whisper. You refused to look at any of them, sure of your own arousal wafting through the air. “If you all would go, I can take care of myself.”

Rhys and Cassian shuffled awkwardly toward the door, but Azriel’s voice cut through the air like a dagger. “Do you want to?”

You resisted the urge to moan at his husky tone, daring to meet the hazel eyes which bore into yours. “Want to what?”

A smirk turned up the corners of the shadowsinger’s lips, gaze turning predatory as he stalked toward you, Rhys and Cassian close behind. “Do you want us to touch you? To make you feel better?”

An involuntary gasp escaped you at the question, wide eyes searching each male in the room only to find desperate need and desire. “Yes, please,” you breathed, chest subconsciously arching toward them.

Azriel was first to reach you, gently grasping the straps of your nightgown as he tugged the silky fabric down to reveal your chest to all three males. They sucked in a collective breath, their scents thickening the air in a way that had your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Please, please touch me,” you pleaded with Azriel, gaze then flicking to Rhys and Cassian as you grew impossibly desperate. 

With a grunt, Cassian dove past Az, tongue flicking out against your left nipple as rough hands kneaded your breast. The pain and pleasure mingled with each other in a dance, gasps forced from your mouth, head tilted back in ecstasy at the sensations.

Yet, still you needed more, and begged for such from your High Lord. You swore you could feel approval ripple through the air, Rhys’s long nimble fingers toying with the bud of your right nipple, the feeling so different from Cassian your mind reeled to catch up.

Hips ground against the mattress, your arousal mixing with the blood from your cycle to create a pathetic wetness between your thighs. “Gods, I need more,” you half-moaned, half-cried as Rhys’s tongue flicked your nipple, Cassian’s canines brushing the other as he sucked the bud.

Dazed eyes found Azriel’s, the male standing proudly with arms crossed as you came undone in front of him. “You,” you growled, hand finding the strength to yank him toward you by the collar. “I need you.”

That cocky smirk only deepened, Azriel looking down at you with unconstrained pride as shadows wound up your limbs, sending goosebumps over your skin. “Oh believe me, love. We are nowhere near done with you.”

[sordidmusings]

Give (in) and Take (me) - (Beckman x Reader)

Art by shibama_TK9

A/N: *Hasn’t completed a smut in weeks, comes back throwing a niche character at you to spread simpin for him like a virus* plz love him he’s great and while he ain’t my main I’d have nooooooo complaints in partaking 😩 tryin to give the Beckman lovers some content because it is devastatingly scant and he’s quite the treat

Word Count: ~8.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, NSFW, there’s some plot at the front and back, bratty reader, brat-tamer Beckman, he does the Nanami hair grab 👌🏻, semi-public, standing, against the wall, man-handling, clothed sex, p in v, creampie, praise, degredation, lots of teasing on both sides, age gap? (briefly mentioned, ~30 and late 40s), Beckman is a lil mean but don't worry he's Whipped, this some filth filth 🥴 whoops

Now please come enjoy prodding the big gruff man (who just wants to treat you right) until he snaps

(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵)

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’ve had enough of the raucous jubilation in the bar, especially now that you noticed your awaited opening unfolding before you. The rest of the Red Hair Pirates were fully distracted in their jovial whirling, hooting, and playing, leaving a certain silver smoke cloud all by his lonesome. You’d been dancing through his whisps all night, enjoying how they’d wrap and curl around you as you went. It was in their nature to do so. Each brush of a hand got a shiver and a sigh and a trailing stare. Each floated conversation was leaned into, breathed in, savored. Each departure was followed with the turn and lean of his chest, pulled to follow from the sure grip on his thumping heart until his doubts rooted him down and resisted the tug.

You were plagued by your own doubts, mostly of what the “after” would look like, but you were certain of one thing: he was attracted. Along with his need to entwine with your presence, you’d noticed the tell-tale sign of his gaze drawn to lips, neck, breasts, hips, and thighs. You’d noticed the hunger growing his pupils so they could better suck in your image on each glance. You’d noticed how he had to keep flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, mouth dry from restrained need. Most importantly, you’d noticed the way he had to shift and shuffle while he watched you dance, fighting the need to pull you away for himself to join and trying to flush the heat from his body. Whatever it was that was holding him in his seat and keeping his hands and lips and tongue off of you, you were going to drag him right through it until he was fully in your grasp.

First thing’s first, you retook your spot on the stool next to him at the bar. Immediately the smoke tendrils embraced you; your drink was scooted back in front of you, his thigh slid sideways to seek the brush of yours, a lethargic smile took residence on his face to greet you. You responded with a coy smile of your own and then a hearty gulp of your drink. The steady burn and potent taste of liquorice cutting through the muddled mint and lemon centered you and heartened you for your plan of attack.

“Thanks, Becks, glad to have you as my cocktail guard dog,” you said with teasing humor. You gave his thigh a friendly pat that crossed the amicable boundary with a lingering hold and gentle squeeze, before you brought the hand back up to give you another sip of your drink. The taste of touch on his thick muscle had it twitch in delight. Your mouth watered at the feel, not quite sated with alcohol on your tongue when there should be skin.

“Any time, darlin’,” Beckman responded easily and honestly. “Though I don’t think there’s any here who would do much to it. Much more likely one of the fools will steal it to drink for themselves.”

You laughed at the statement, knowing how true it was. When the crew was drunk they got sticky fingers, and when it came to drinks they were the worst - none quite remembering whose was whose and caring even less to get it right. Knowing where you wanted to try and get this night to go, you’d kept yourself far behind them in intoxication. You kept yourself right in the sweet spot of inebriated enough for that coveted liquid courage but not so much that you were out of control of yourself. Besides, if you got your way you didn’t want any of the details to be foggy.

“Even so, it’s appreciated,” you reasserted, giving him a winning smile and stalling his heart. “Now can I ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course you can, darlin’,” he replied instantly. Another cheer rang out in the background, followed by the beginnings of a long and loud drinking song. Beckman used this as an excuse to lean into your space to better hear and see you. “What can I do for you?”

You centered yourself more forward towards the bar, just to force him to lean in even closer to chase you, and peeked at him from the corner of your eye. The look mixed with your mischievous smile had him ready and eager to agree to whatever you had in mind. Not that he’d let you see how easy it was for you to sway him.

“Well…” you trailed off, just to make him squirm, “I can think of lots of things you could do for me. I’m having trouble picking my favorite.”

Beckman’s brows rose at the blatant flirting. Sure, you’d both thrown some flirtatious comments at each other throughout your relationship, but they didn’t feel anything like this. They felt easy, friendly - like something to build rapport and have fun. This felt so much heavier - a gift offered to him that was pulling the possibility of closeness from cloudy dreams down to the ground with the weight of the warm cast of the bar lights, the dark desire in your eyes, and the sultry tone of your voice. He began to recount how many drinks he’d had to check if he was imagining the advances he’d long wished for. Maybe he should check for you too.

“Darlin’, how many drinks you got in you?” There was genuine concern in the question, mixing with a touch of incredulity. You scoffed at it all.

“Not enough to lose my sense, thank you very much,” you answered. To snub his misplaced worries, you downed the rest of your drink. “That was only the fifth of the night, we’ve been here hours, and you know it takes much more than that to take me down.”

“That it does,” Beckmann conceded. The bare affection in his voice and eyes while he said it had you flushing, finding care much more difficult to process than lust. “Now my task?”

Yet again, you took to keeping him in suspense. Instead of answering, you slowly drew your gaze over him, assessing him. He fought against the small shiver it put through him; he felt like you were staring straight through his clothes. He felt like he was getting the most important appraisal of his life and all he had to go on was the burning in your eyes and your cryptic smile. You were doing a better job of reading him; while his expression remained perfectly schooled, you were observant enough to see his tells. Just as when he watched you dance, he shifted in his seat, working through the flush of arousal poured on him from his nervousness and having your eyes glued to him. Between the curtains of his wavy silver hair, you saw his Adam's apple bob with a strong swallow. He started lightly drumming on the bartop with his fingers on the hand closest to you.

Using that to your advantage, you made your next move. Doing it slowly so he could layer each second with his anticipation, you trailed your fingertips across the knuckles of his fidgeting hand, halting the motion. You flicked your gaze up to check in on his eyes. They mostly held confusion, but so so much interest was also packed into his silver irises. Happy with the reaction, you proceeded to move your teasing touch further, traveling over the back of his hand and his wrist to play with the soft hair on his forearm in deliberate circles. Though he was nearly bursting with questions, Beckman kept his mouth shut and resolved to let you lead this at your own pace until you finally decided it was time to reveal your hand to him.

“I’ve decided,” you started, finally breaking the silence with an alluring whisper, “that I want more than one favor.” You stopped watching your fingers touch him to look at him through your lashes. “And I know where you can start.”

Beckman blew out a long breath, hoping to settle down his heart, which was still jumping and kicking. You’re not drunk, but this has to be the alcohol. You couldn’t be propositioning him. Him. Maybe he’s just a curiosity? Perhaps you were interested in trying out an experience with an older lover who’s had more years to learn his way around a woman? Maybe, even though you could have your choice of any of the patrons, you found him to be the easy target.

“And where is that?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.

“You can take me home.” You noticed the real shock in his gaze, and for the first time in the encounter a bit of panic seeped into you. Thinking quickly to soften the blow, you explained, “Don’t wanna walk home alone with even a little alcohol in me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Aye, darlin’, that I will.” The honesty in his words stoked your courage back into a steady burn even better than the one brought on by the hard drinks.

Using the hand that had been trailing over his forearm, you loosely held his wrist, slid smoothly from your seat, and began leading him out of the bar. Beckman followed you easily. You didn’t have to put any pressure behind your hold on him; he wouldn’t let you get more than a step ahead of him. Even with his close hover, you both ducked and weaved with practiced grace through the chaos of your crew and the rowdy celebration they’d whipped up with all the other patrons. By the time you’d reached the entrance, you’d ducked three swinging fists, five drunken “dances”, two frisbeed hats, one flung fork, and a pair of tossed shirts.

The door shutting behind you sealed away the cacophony of the crowd, melding it with the comforting ambience of late night bugsong and strangers distantly living their lives. The outside world felt pleasantly chill and calm, especially in contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. The slight bite to the air only made the small contact between the two of you feel that much sweeter in its skin-to-skin warmth. Both you and Beckman sucked in a deep breath of crisp evening air to savor the moment. 

Throwing a cheeky (and, to his worry, slightly plotting) smile his way, you began to head in the direction of the docks. You only made it about eight steps. The moment the alley between buildings opened on your right, you yanked Beckman into the shadows with you. He stumbled after you with barely a fight, continuing his emotional flavors of the night: confused, intrigued, and happy to be here. Once you fell past the full streams of light from the street lamps, you spun around to him and pounced. 

You began by rooting him in place, fisting your hands tight into his shirt by his waist and stepping so close that your chests and stomachs and hips and thighs touched. You leaned up to place a kiss right above the point in his v-neck, relishing the heat of his skin against your lips. You shivered at the feeling of a twitch of interest against your lower stomach. His hands quickly found your waist and gripped. He worried the flesh under his fingers, earning his first quiet moan from you. It only made his grip stiffen, warring with himself between his disbelief at your advances and the rabid need to pull you closer and make sure you never stopped.

Beckman began to use his hold on you to ease you back from him. You responded with a frustrated whine and greedy hands. Those hands massaged their way across the packed muscles of his sides and chest before twisting in the fabric over his large pecs and tugging him down to your height. Taking advantage of the untouched skin now within reach, you kissed and sucked your way over his collarbone and up his neck.

His plan of retreat crumbled under your advance, leaving him to paw his grip down to the meat of your hips and try not to succumb to the fierce instinct to grind his aching cock against you. Your head spun with your rushing blood and skipping breaths. The whirl was spurred on by finally getting to know the taste of his skin, the feeling of his coveting hands keeping you close, the sound of his stuttering breaths morphing into panting. Now you just needed to spur him from receiving into action.

“Beck, touch me,” you whispered against his ear. He shivered fully from your lips and breath ghosting over him and filling his skin with addictive tingles. Losing his concentration, Beckman guided your hips in one long, sturdy grind against his straining hardness. You nipped his earlobe in appreciation. “I want you to touch me.”

“You’re drunk,” he weakly protested.

“We both know I’m not,” you shot back. Switching your methods, you crawled your hands up his shoulders, his neck, and into his hair. You led him with sweet and teasing kisses against his cheek and jaw, playing with the way his head always tilted to follow your affections in a wanting daze.

“You should look for another man to share your body,” he tried again, this time managing to sound assertive through the breathiness of his voice.

“Do you really want another man touching me?” you bit back at him.

“No,” he instantly growled. The mere idea had always put a pang in his heart but feeling your touch and hearing the words from you made it more real, and he was no match for the spike of angry possessiveness that overtook him.

“Good,” you cooed coyly, lips back against his ear, “because I don’t want that either.” You took a long moment to tease your nails against his scalp and nip the skin next to his pulse. He succumbed to another torturous grind against you. Each press of him gave you a better idea of what he was hiding and had your mind running rampant trying to figure out how it would feel splitting you open.

“I want you,” you moaned, pushing all the genuine need into your voice that you could.

“Come on, pretty thing, you don’t mean that,” Beckman stubbornly argued. He’d sound much more convincing if he wasn’t moaning the words out with his strained rumble, turning the statement into a plea.

“I do though,” you whined back to him, right below his ear where you were working hard to leave another pretty mark. For all his propriety fueled hesitation, Beckman was still leaning down so you could reach his neck and tilting his stubbled jaw away, pleading for more of your attention. “I do mean it.”

Your own desperation and his unspoken pleas for your touch fueled your boldness. One of your hands left his tresses to wedge between your pressed hips and grab a hold of him. A groan shook through his ribs, only encouraging your hand to press and feel more. His cock twitched and jumped under your slow strokes and palming, begging for your touch when he wouldn’t. His cheek fell to your shoulder and his humid panting caressed your neck.

“Pretty girl, if you keep touching me like that,” his speech was interrupted by a poorly restrained moan, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my head.”

“Then don’t,” you encouraged, voice rushed and ravenous and pulling him to the depths of his urges in his new favorite siren song.

Having felt him in your palm, you became set on getting to feel him skin to skin. You wanted to feel the power of the radiant heat that poured from him so strongly you both felt like you were burning through your clothes. You wanted to see what’s been hidden from you, become privy to secrets that will let your fantasies forever hold more reality. You wanted to know he let you have this piece of him, let you take his body and take control of his pleasure. On top of all of that, you wanted to feel, see, and know the thick hardness that was going to stretch you wide open.

In your rush, you only gave yourself time to trail a few kisses down his chest on your way to your knees. Beckman leaned himself back on the wall of the bar, opening himself up to as much of your touch as you would give. He still attempted to keep his defense under the siege of temptation, taking to opening and closing his hands at his sides to keep them from manhandling you. He wasn’t strong enough, however, to push you away. Each touch of yours was teasing him with the heaven he’d been dreaming of finding under your hands and in your body. Now having had a taste of your touch, It’d take nothing short of a gun to the head for him to break from anything you were willing to give. Doesn’t mean he won’t try to steer it so you’re taken care of the way he wants you to be.

He looked down at you, hypnotized by the radiant image of you and your styled hair and your decorated lashes and your smudged lipstick actually kissing him, treating him with the desire he thought impossible. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness of the alley, blessedly letting him take in this image to hoard forever. 

As your knees hit the dirt path, it hit him - alley. You were getting yourself dirty to touch him, basically in public in your rush, stuck in a location with only hard ground and stone walls for comfort. The realization had his cock throb hard, getting an eager moan from you where you were kissing along his length while your fingers made their way under his sash to find the waistline of his trousers. Fuck, this was a dream. It was a dream, but not the one he wanted for you where he takes his time worshiping every inch of skin, treating you like royalty, going slow so when he makes you cum it shakes you from toes to fingertips to the crown of your head-

“Darlin’, you deserve better than some back alley fu-”

“What I deserve is you; now let me have you,” you grumbled back to him, nosing his sash up so you could leave kisses and nips right above the hem of his pants. You inched them lower and lower, following their descent with your hungry mouth and savoring every new speck of skin you could. You got past the ridge of his adonis belt when you realized he had nothing on underneath them, making your mouth water with ever more anticipation. You could tell from the tenseness in his muscles, the tremors in his thighs under your clawing grip, that he was at the end of his rope. Centering a kiss on his happy trail, you looked straight up into his eyes and ordered, “Now fuck me.”

You were just about to get his pants low enough to let his painfully hard cock out to greet with a kiss when an angry hand took hold of the hair at the back of your head. It clamped in a fist and turned, taking absolute control of you. White hot adrenaline poured through your body, bursting fresh with each hard pound of your heart and stuttering your every breath. That iron grip jerked back, forcing you to crane your head back with it and look up at the imposing bulk of Beckman looming over at you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growled dangerously, leering down at you with a growing scowl. Steadily he curled himself down until his nose bumped yours and you were sure you could see how the lighting and lust had turned his eyes from shining silver to dark stone. The light pulsing in your scalp was no match for the shadowed face and piercing eyes of Beckman taking over your every thought and dragging your heartbeat low to drum between your legs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like the slut you’re set on being.”

“I’ll happily be a slut if it's for you,” you breathed out before you could think, sounding nearly in a trance from his sudden dominant behavior.

The declaration had his cock jumping and his knees weak.

“Darlin’,” he moaned, voice stretched thin by his taut, straining need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He surged down, stealing your lips in a bruising kiss, using his hold on your hair to control every tilt and press. Right away, you opened to each other, exploring the flavor of each other’s tongues and indulging in the tingles brought on by sliding the slick muscles over each other. You shivered and moaned when he flicked the point of his tongue on the roof of your mouth and he swallowed the sound down greedily. Never breaking his claim on your lips, Beckman hauled you up to your feet. The action set a pleasant burn on your scalp as you chase the pull of his grip. Your hands went back to work on getting his cock free, but he snatched them up.

“No,” he rumbled against your lips. “You’re just going to take what I give you.”

“Beckman,” you whined back to him between your continued fervent kisses, “let me touch you.”

“Sluts don’t make demands,” he snapped in a bitter taunt. Using his height to his advantage, he pulled out of the reach of your lips. He was still able to lean down over you and keep distance, forcing you to keep your head craned back with his fist in your hair and his gaze holding you hostage. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I want you,” you moaned in complaint. Though your voice was warbly with want, your tone was way too petulant to be considered begging. Even so, it was testing his resolve.

“You’ll have me,” he answered gruffly. 

Before you could realize what was happening, you were flipped around and swapped, now facing the rough wall of the bar with Beckman right behind you. He had released your hair so he could trap each of your wrists to your sides. He kicked your feet to spread with heavy boots and settled eagerly against your ass. He anchored you against him by pulling on your wrists, keeping you trapped against his grinding hips. The height difference had him centered at the level of your tailbone. The feeling of having you against his cock was overwhelming, especially with the plush of your ass massaging at his sensitive balls. Quiet grunts accompanied each circle of his hips, always carried with the erotic sound of his heavy breaths.

You tilted forward and arched your hips up, seeking attention against your weeping entrance and swollen clit. The change had his dick nestle between your cheeks, the base of his cock and his tense balls giving you a small piece of the pleasure you were seeking. He stood just barely too tall for them to give any attention to your clit, causing you to shift and shimmy back into him in search of more. Despite the lack of direct stimulation, your body was still in a pleasant buzz; he felt large and heavy and hot against you and your mind was swimming in joy at how hard you made him. The open-mouthed groan you earned from him with your squirming shot enough pleasure through you to have your clit pulsing.

“On your toes, slut,” he ordered.

You listened without thinking about it and were rewarded with the new height lining him up much better to grind against everywhere you wanted him. Well - almost everywhere. Most of all you ached for him to massage you inside out, rub and dig into every slick plush space you could offer. Despite the burn already entering your calves, you tilted your ass up even higher to feel any extra speck of friction you could get from him.

Beckman’s grip on your hips was commanding, he owned your every sway and grind of your clothed cunt and ass against him. The skirt you were wearing was beginning to ride up with each thrust, exposing inch after inch of fresh skin to his hungry eyes. Both of you thanked your choice of garment as he used one hand to shove it up and over your perked ass to hang limply around your waist. It swayed and brushed your legs with each continued motion, hypnotizing Beckman for a moment. 

That moment was broken when he instead looked at your ass, smooshed high and round with each grind, your underwear cutting sinful lines across the muscle, making your skin pop around the tension in the most mouth-watering way. It had Beckman moaning from deep in his chest again and thanking whatever lucky stars he had that let him have you in front of him like this. The sight mixed with the new heat from being just that much closer to getting to your bare cunt had a flurry of possessiveness and need overcome him. He nearly bowed forward to the strength of it, but fought the call so he could keep watching your body writhe against him.

You had no doubt you were sopping wet, more than enough to make his slide in slick. Each grind of him against you had your soaked panties dragging with him, causing sharp friction that was just on the right side of too much. You wondered faintly if you were getting his pants wet too, wishing you could easily turn and see to find out. You wouldn’t have been disappointed; a steady dark spot had built on his crotch from a mix of your leaking pussy and his weeping cock. You had gotten him dripping pre-cum the moment you began kissing down his chest. It had only gotten worse with each touch, his body desperate and ready to be inside you.

Suddenly, one of his hands and his hips disappeared from you, leaving you feeling lost. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a whining moan at the loss, sounding fucked out and pathetic without either of you truly being touched yet. The small coherent part of yourself marveled at the number he had done on you.

“Don’t you worry, pretty thing,” Beckman grumbled, half placating and half condescending. The sound of shuffling fabric clued you in to his missing hand’s task. “I’ll give you just what you need.”

His large fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, guiding them over your ass until they fell down. Your slightly spread legs had them catch on your thighs and Beckman huffed at the inconvenience.

“Stay right there,” he rumbled in warning as he crouched down. He dragged the soaked cloth the rest of the way off, guiding you with gentle cues. The slide of his fingertips down your legs sent tingles across your skin, but the delicate hold he put on each ankle to ease them out of the garment had your heart thumping. In this process his touch switched from tyrannical to reverent, making your mind sing with hope. That song only hit a great crescendo when he peppered the backs of your thighs with sweet and slow kisses.

As he rose back up and shoved the ruined cloth in his pocket, Beckman broke you both out of his worshiping trance by giving a playful and slightly mean nip to your left hip. You let out a little yelp despite yourself and he chuckled at the reaction, finding it absurdly cute. You shivered again at the throaty sound, nerves too easily tweaked from your potent anticipation. It only got worse when his hips found yours again.

Both of you moaned at the feeling of finally meeting skin to skin, immediately addicted to the wet heat and heady throb of each other. You sent your hips high with renewed vigor, spurred on by the need to chase more of the feeling of his thick cock against you. You were right about him being thick and long; his grinds spread your folds wide, exposing your entrance and clit to the sweet friction, and he laid across the length of your pelvis. It let him see the leaking red head of his cock peeking out from between your cheeks, the filthy image making his eyes roll back and an involuntary moan of “fuck, darlin’” growl out of him.

Beckman hooked his right arm around your front, nestling it as close to the tops of your thighs as he could get. It let him use your hip bones for stability in his hold, saving you from your weight crushing the limb into your stomach. The anticipation of feeling your legs bounce against his arm while he fucks you had him salivating.

He curled his arm, pulling your lower back flush to his abs. It made him take your weight, the toes of your shoes just barely scuffing the ground when you pointed them. You’d seen his insane strength before, but feeling it used on you had your body lighting on fire along with your cheering mind. Beckman’s other hand slid from your hip down and in on your thigh, spreading and lifting your leg until he was holding the inside of your knee out to the side. It left your cunt exposed to him, each grind of his further mixing your arousal with the pre-cum spreading down his cock. 

“Hold that wall and keep your voice down,” Beckman instructed, “Unless you’re such a whore you need an audience.”

You let out a complaining moan at the harsh words but still writhed eagerly against him, unable to deny how they had you fluttering in anticipation. Your hands found purchase on the stone wall in front of you, giving you a sense of balance and security in your barely supported upper body. You were close to it so your arms were bent, allowing you strength and leverage. The force behind his grinds had you sure you’d need it.

Slowly and deliberately, Beckman slid his cock from root to tip between your slick folds, threatening you with his impressive length while he made sure he was properly coated. He only stalled the movement when his thick tip found its way down to your entrance. Unable to help himself, he ground a tight circle around it, groaning out a deep “fuck” at the feeling of your cunt trying its best to suck him in. You let out another keening moan, sounding vaguely like “please”, at the realization that his head was the perfect width to stretch you out right to the edge of your limits.

Angling his hips just right, Beckman followed the catch of your entrance to start forcing his way into you. You were right about the size of him; only his mushroomed tip was in and you already felt like your hips were being pressed wider. His achingly slow sink into you let you both feel every overwhelming bit of contact, every delicious rub of soaked skin on skin. Your mouth hung open, letting out appreciative moans, even though your attempts to hold them back left them clipped and jumbled.

Beckman had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the sensations flooding him. You felt so goddamn perfect wrapped around him. He felt somewhere in his being that you were made to be here with each other and force bliss from your pounding hearts and bodies. He finally fell to the call to curl as close to you as possible, his temple rested on yours, his stubble teasing your cheek, and stray gray hairs sweeping down to tickle your skin.

“So, so good, darlin’,” he praised breathlessly. He made it another inch into you, offering your cunt more firm flesh to clamp down on. “You feel better than a dream -nnngh- got the perfect pussy for me.”

An unrestrained moan tumbled past your lips at his praise, brain too empty and body too happy to care about anything anymore other than him and the feelings he brought out in you. The cheering and music from the bar was loud enough to lightly leak through the walls, so you wouldn’t have worried too much about attracting attention anyway. 

He hadn’t prepped you any, but the abundant arousal sitting in your body so long loosened you up and made sure there was more than enough lubrication for him, especially with the addition of his own. His torturously slow press into you helped your body make room for him too. In fact, your pussy was so eager to open for him he felt like your walls were trying to suck him in quicker as they quaked and trembled around him. It made it near impossible to resist the urge to shove as deep into you as he could go, needing the hot grip of you around his aching cock and the pleasure of your plush ass and thighs pressed tight against his hips.

When he finally got there, you were both shaking and gasping. Your head felt light with the amount of bliss swimming through you at finally having him like this, held tightly in you while you shared your bodies. It also helped that he had you feeling so deliciously full; the press of him was potent enough to spread through your sides and up through your chest. It was the biggest stretch you’d taken but his size was just perfect, like he was built just to fit you and you him. The weight of his thick cock rested down towards your stomach, primed to massage your every favorite nerve.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Beckman groaned, starting his first pull back out of you. He continued with his slow speed to make you feel every ridge and vein in detail. Your favorite was the rim of his head dragging across your swollen walls. He sat that head just within your entrance and paused. “Bein’ such a good little slut.”

Right at the end of his praise, he shoved forward to fully sheathe himself back in you. The force of the thrust pressed the air from your lungs, creating a breathy moan, and gave you a taste of pleasure that had you certain that no matter how long he fucked you, you’d always want more of this potent bliss. You could live like this, fucked the rest of your life, just so long as he never stopped taking and touching you. He continued the strong and steady pace, needing to savor every second in your cunt, memorize every twitch and flutter. It had you whining, mind fraying under the threat of how much more he could give you.

“Beckman,” you moaned in frustration. “Give me more, I -ahhh- I need it.”

A punishing thrust had you feel him in your throat and your eyes rolled back in time with your high pitched moan. That moan turned into a rough whine when he stayed sat fully inside you instead of continuing. To tease you further, he began tight circles against you, making his pulsing cock play with every inch of your cunt, earning him a tight clench from you. This tantalizing rub continued as he moved to nip at your ear lobe.

“What did I say about making demands,” he warned, rumbling the words right against your ear. The puffs of his breaths shot goose bumps up your neck. He tilted his head down to tease his teeth over the flesh and continued his maddening little circles against you. With one leg trapped in his grip and the other barely reaching the ground, you had almost no leverage to work yourself back against him. Your abs burned with the effort as you tried to use your grip on the wall to stabilize yourself and grind back, but his iron grip was much stronger than any of your attempts.

You sobbed out a few needy moans at his continued meticulous playing with your body. Though you wanted so much more right away, that steady press of him waking up every inch of your insides was starting to build a pit deeper in your stomach than the one you were used to. Your mouth watered at the thought of what a full body high it could bring you but it felt so far away and you wanted to be smothered in pleasure now.

“Beckman,” you whined out, catching the way it made his breath hitch over your skin. “More, harder.”

Nothing changed and you were stuck spread open and suspended and at the mercy of his whims. It was the most deliciously frustrating thing you’d ever experienced, being forced to take the slow treatment. It made your body and mind agonize over every little sensation, every pulse and throb, every inch of you he reached that you’d never felt before. It made your ears take in the obscene sound of the little motions of his cock pushing drop after drop of your arousal out of your entrance to drip down his balls and your thigh. You flushed at how graphic it sounded, ears, face, and neck burning, especially with your combined heavy breaths and mixed moans and groans.

“You’re gonna have to try much harder than that, pretty little thing,” he goaded. You could hear the taunting condescension in his voice and you cursed the fact that it made your pussy spasm around him. The twitch of his cock that it earned inside you swelled your desperation to feel more from him until it swallowed your pride whole.

“Please,” you gasped, near truly sobbing in need. “Pleeeeease, fuck me harder, Beck, fuck me faster, please, just -hhhah- just need more.”

Beckman sucked harshly on your neck and set about answering your pleas. He changed right to fucking you fast and hard, making you yelp at the immediate flood of sensation. Your thigh and hips jumped in his grasp as you tried to take the onslaught. Every nerve in your pussy burned in the most beautiful way, emptying your head of any thoughts other than Beckman working your body into a quick frenzy. His teeth, lips, and tongue were decorating the sensitive skin of your neck; his hands and arm were clamped, making you feel blessedly trapped; his torso hovered on the back of yours, giving you brushes of his hard working muscles in motion; and his cock - his perfect cock - was bullying you open over and over and lighting every quaking inch of you ablaze.

Through your panting breaths and scattered moans, you could hear the wet slap of his hips against you, each impact making a little more arousal gush out of you. Being spread as you were also let his heavy balls tap against your clit with each hard thrust, ensuring every wired part of your pussy was seen to. You could barely form words but you were sure he caught the slurred praises you sent his way from how he echoed them back and kept adding more and more heat, pressure, grind, suck, and drag on you at your breathless moaning.

Stuck on the start of the encounter, he kept repeating a favored phrase to you - “So good, darlin’, such a good fucking slut”.

“Your slut,” you panted, “only -hnngh- yours.”

The pledge of ownership had his eyes rolling back and his mouth more ravenous against your skin. He needed to keep you locked to him forever, be on your skin forever, brand you as his, and have you mark him as yours.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he rasped, “only mine.”

He dropped your suspended thigh in favor of sinking a bruising grip into your hip. Your thighs clapped together with a wet smack, forcing a yelp from you as it jolted your clit. He placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder and got right back to his tempo. The deep pressure he’d built with his deliberate grinding was now added to by every thrust, creating a shaking warning of the orgasm to come that sat from hip to hip and up to your ribs. It felt like he was fucking you just as deep, each drive of his cock seeming to replace the beating of your heart in your chest.

The new dancing on your toes had your calves, thighs, and abs working in sporadic clenches and twitches, the jerks and shifts causing pulses around your clit and into your trembling cunt. The new position made him feel all the wider as it let your labia relax around him and light up with delicious friction on each thrust in and pull out. The squeeze of your legs and muscles also put constant pressure on your clit, which Beckman would jostle with each forceful fuck into you. 

All of it was getting to be too much and you were happily drowning under the rising tide of that threatening orgasm. It was swimming through your body so thoroughly you were sure you could feel each strong thrust pull pleasure from your very bones. Every piece of you that lived between your hips felt blinding white hot and pulsing and alive and so so very good. 

The cherry on top of your euphoria were the pieces of the feeling you could hear echoed in Beckman. His voice was deep and groaning but also strained and fucked out as it whispered dark praises against your neck and shoulder. His breath was ragged and just as desperate as his touch, which was trying its best to permanently attach to your skin. His aching cock was just as responsive as your trembling pussy, dripping and twitching and jumping with each move and touch of your body.

Responding to the telling grip of your cunt clamping down constantly around him, Beckman slowed his pace slightly, focusing instead on the strength of each thrust and keeping his angle just right to drag you to your end. It accented the sound of each strong clap of his hips into yours and brought back clarity to the feeling of his thick cock spearing you. Your mouth hung open, panting and watering from the change of pace and unending pound and pull of him fucking your cunt into the shape of him.

“Beckman, Beckman, Beckman -ahh!- so cloooose,” you cried, voice thin and desperate. He cursed and moaned in response, the sound of you nearly making him lose himself and cum before you. He kept his pace pounding into you, each firm fuck lighting up your tightening walls and bouncing through your swollen folds and thighs to drum on your clit. Your head was swimming; despite your fast and canting breaths, you felt like you couldn't breathe, the air escaping you with each thrust beating a needy moan from your open mouth. The burn for oxygen only added to the tightly wound pleasure gripping you from throat to cunt, clawing tightest from your hips in, held steady between his sturdy hands. 

Your toes and fingers tingled numbly in anticipation and shook just like the rest of you. Instinct tilted your hips just a degree higher, letting the tip of his dick tap just so against your cervix, ramping the overwhelming build even higher than you thought possible. Your moans yelped out sharper and higher amid sobs of “don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeeeease”, making Beckman groan and curse in his own mind-numbing arousal and frantic fight not to cum first.

A few more thrusts blazing across your cunt and shaking deep in your gut had the tension finally burst. You felt it first in the shot of electricity from your clit down to your toes and up to your buzzing head, before the tight pulse of your muscles took over everything. You writhed and shook against Beckman as he held you like a lifeline, trying desperately to fuck you through every second of heaven you could feel instead of following you over the edge. Each jerk and clench of your body gave you more and more bliss, the squeeze of you so tight and sure that it felt like there was only room for Beckman’s large cock in your body. 

He couldn’t manage to pull even an inch out of your cunt, too weak to deny himself the bliss of feeling you cum, so he guided you through with shallow but heavy thrusts. Each tap on your cervix swelled you more and more until you weren’t sure if you had already cum or there was something else building on the other side of this endless screaming song in your nerves. Your answer came with the feeling of a snap that switched your cunt from long pulses into frantic milking down on Beckman’s jolting cock. Each squeeze was powerful enough to cause a full jerk and shudder of your hips, having you slip and grind in Beckman’s clawing hold on your hips.

“Fuck, darlin’, sweetheart, fu-uuuck, you’re too good, too much -ngah!- so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his forehead into the side of your neck, your only anchor in the torrent of sensation ripping through your body. After an eternity, your muscles and nerves began to relax, leaving your body feeling limp and heavy in the wake of your pleasure. You were positive nothing worked anymore except for your clit and cunt, both still drooling and twitching over Beckman’s shallow thrusts. You were thankful your closed legs kept the attention from overstimulating you fully. Beckam felt your body relax, getting an addicting sense of pride from fucking you into a limp puddle, and finally took to chasing his own pleasure.

“Need to see you,” he gasped, flipping you around and desperately pressing his twitching cock back into you. He shuddered at the relief, feeling ravenous and untethered every second he couldn’t be inside you. All his sanity was now held in the taste of your skin, the pleasure in your voice, and the sweet clench of your plush cunt. Pressing your foreheads together, he made it impossible to look anywhere but at each other. Even in the low light that managed to sneak between the buildings with you, Beckman’s silver eyes glowed while taking you in. The color looked sharper pressed thin by his lust-blown pupils and you were hypnotized as his gaze swallowed you whole. 

Seeing the needy scrunch of his brows and the way he switched back and forth between clenching his jaw and hanging his mouth open to moan freely sent fresh sparks straight down to your clit. Having your legs spread around him had his racing thrusts teetering you on the edge of overstimulation, but it was well worth the sight and feeling of him rabidly chasing down his pleasure in your cunt. He was mindless and rutting in his need, enjoying your sopping heat contrasting with your nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. The hug of your thighs around his waist kept him close and added to the wondrously tight clench of you that seemed to spread over his whole body. He was so, so close he just needed one little nudge.

“Beckman, please, need you -hahhn- need you to cum in me,” you begged, tone broken from all your moaning.

He was kicked right over the edge, barking out a deep “fuck” at the power of the orgasm shredding through him. He jerked his lips down to yours, holding you in an open mouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and groans. He shoved himself as close as he could get to you, trapping you near painfully tight against the stone wall with his pressing bulk, demanding lips, and throbbing cock. His dick jumped hard with each pump of hot sticky cum deep in your cunt. It warmed you inside out and mixed with the heady knowledge that you’d completely unraveled this imposing man to unexpectedly drag you into a milder orgasm of your own. Each heavy jerk of him helped guide you through your own bliss, bodies working in perfect synch to have every pump answered with a coaxing squeeze. It kept you both suspended in your mindless heaven until you’d wrung every bit of pleasure from each other that your bodies could possibly give. 

Beckman was certain that you’d sucked his very soul from him if the numb and clumsy feeling of his body was anything to go by. It wasn’t ready to listen to him, acting like it belonged to someone else and he supposed that was true; it was yours now. You’d held his heart a long time and his mind even longer, so it was only fitting that you owned his body too. 

You didn’t seem to be doing much better with being in charge of your body, eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering against the need to close. You were a vision - your foggy and affectionate gaze glued to him from under dark lashes, the flush tinting your sweat-damp skin, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, hair a wild crown around your head, decorating your face with stray strands. He studied and admired the image of you fucked-out and languid with eagerness and reverence. You were doing much the same, enjoying his mussed silver waves of soft locks, his gently shining eyes, the hints of red on the apples of his cheeks and his chest, the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

The sound of a drinking song spiking high in volume snuck through the wall and shattered your illusion of privacy. You were both suddenly back against the side of the bar instead of whatever pocket world you had carved out for just yourselves. Beckman continued to hold you steady as he slowly let your tired legs down, your skirt following after to hang back in place. Your legs shook under you like it was your first time standing and you laughed at their clumsiness. Beckman cracked a loving smile at you, stealing your breath and halting your chuckles. Again the melody within the bar seeped out to you clearly and you laughed even louder this time when you recognized one of Shanks’ favorite tunes. While he tucked himself away, Beckman raised a brow at your cackling until he recognized the song too and added his own gentle laughter to yours.

Looking him straight in the eyes, you fought to sing along properly through your bubbling giggles.

“I took that lass and smacked her ass

Said darlin you’re comin’ with me”

He took your hips and pulled you to him, guiding you in the closest to a swaying dance that your uncooperative legs would allow. He quietly joined you on the next lines, treating you to the deep and raspy parts of his voice that lived in his chest.

“Ain’t got a hall but we’ll use the wall

Just give me an hour or three”

“What do you say, darlin’?” Beckman asked with humor dancing in the light reflections in his eyes. There was a seriousness underlying his tone in his next question, however. “Willing to give me a few more hours?”

You gave him a sweet smile but turned it coy, your attitude sneaking back as your mind stabilized. “You’ve got one to convince me to keep you.”

Beckman huffed out a laugh at your bite coming back and leaned down to kiss your forehead affectionately. He took a moment to rest his cheek atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, delicately tinged with a touch of sweat and sex. It had him shiver and start to twitch back to life. Slowly, he trailed kisses from the top of your head to the tip of your ear. His warm breath made you shiver and begin to heat again as well.

“Sweet darlin’,” Beckman mumbled, lips tickling the rim of your ear, “I’ll have you back to begging for me in half the time. Gotta show you that I don’t just know how to fuck; I can worship.”

[southerngothicchic]

Oh, to be seduced by King!Steve 😩

18+

"Mmm, angel..." Steve breathes, against your lips, "aren't you glad you agreed to come over?"

You can hardly answer as he kisses you again. His body presses yours into his sheets, with his hand underneath your blouse, cupping your breast over your bra.

"We were supposed to be studying..." you say, which sounds more like a whine.

"Yeah, but isn't this better?" He asks, leaning closer pressing his nose into your cheek.

"Steve..."

He hums as his lips are on yours again. Your hands leave his shoulders and move to his hair. It's still perfectly coiffed, with a single curl falling onto his forehead.

"I forgot you're so innocent..." he begins, slightly pulling away. "Its cute, how you think I don't notice how you look at me. Just longing for something you never thought you'd have..."

Your eyes widen, internally panicking over him seeing right through you.

He leans in again, his plush lips teasing yours as he continues, " but you have me now, angel...I'm all yours."

He kisses you deeply, lowly moaning as he presses more of his body against yours. Whimpering, you reciprocate his kiss, just melting into it. Your lungs burn as you pull him closer, never wanting this to end.

"Did you dream about me kissing you like

this?" He finally asks, panting.

You nod, sheepishly.

"I bet you did more than just dream..." he grins. "I wanna hear all the filthy things you've imagined me doing to you, angel."

You gasp, losing the ability to speak as his lips kiss their way to your neck. He lightly nibbles on your skin, smiling as he glances up at you.

"Aww, are you too shy to tell me?"

Your cheeks are a shade of crimson as you shakily exhale.

"I don't think I-"

He then quickly raises his head and cuts you off with a kiss.

"Its ok. I'll start by telling you mine first, then we'll go from there," he comforts, nuzzling his nose against yours. "I've dreamed about burying my face between your thighs and tasting you for hours..."

A small gasp escapes your lips, as his hand slowly moves from under your shirt, to the waist of your jeans.

"Then making you scream from my fingers..." he adds, as his hand cups you through the denim. "Before fucking you properly, of course. That's what I've fantasized about the most, all the places I want to fuck you..."

You sigh his name, as he unbuttons your jeans.

"I mean, this is already the most obvious place, but there's bending you over my desk, in the shower, and one of my favorites- the backseat of my car..."

He kisses you as he slips his hand into your panties. You feel his lips curl into a smile while you whimper from the teasing glide of his finger.

"Maybe we can bring that particular fantasy to life after school tomorrow...what do you think, angel?"

[yandere-yearnings]

Okay but see I'm so petty I would ignore vio forever now until he apologized that man needs to get on his mf knees if he even wanted me to look his damn direction fr

the promised continuation of the vio angst🥰 i didn't screenshot all the asks requesting for it bc then this would just be a very long post of nonnies slowly cursing vio out more and more violently with each pic ahaha (which i love tbh😩💕) but know that i've read each and every single one🥺🩷 i wrote this one in his third-person limited so there's a bit more insight into his thoughts❗❗

(that being said, there isn't much grovelling and his asking for your forgiveness here which i'm really sorry abt. i did try to go that route originally to align w/ some of the requests i've gotten, but vio actually just isn't the type. at least at the point in the relationship being depicted!! gotta keep in mind he is super arrogant and has probably never apologised once in his life😔💔 tho, he is suffering in his own way, rest assured. the silent treatment kinda broke him haha)

warning that there is a bit of violence here and gaslighting (??), ig just typically what you'd expect to see in a yandere work,, this really ran away from me bc it's like 800 words😭

Three days had passed. Vio sat inside his trailer, feet up on the dressing table, more annoyed than he’d ever been in his entire life. Blue hair in his reflection, mussed from his constant ruffling, looking unkempt and barely like himself — and it was all your fault. His agency was paying you a salary in five figures and your only job was to take care of him, which inherently, you were doing, but you were also ignoring him and Vio couldn’t stand it.

His eyes flicked over almost instantly when you walked in, tracking every movement from your shutting the door to hanging your coat over the back of the closest chair. All Vio could see were the snowflakes in your lashes because that was all you’d let him, your gaze downcast, avoiding his. Pride made him bite his lips, because actually, he fucking missed the way you’d look at him. He missed your voice and he missed your pretty words, and it was all lumping in his throat so he couldn’t admit it although he wanted to.

Something weak sounded from him; a desperate grab for your attention that didn’t work. He kicked his script to the floor knowing you’d pick it up, then watched with a clenched jaw as you did exactly that, not even a fleeting glare in his direction. Somehow, Vio felt like he was running out of time, papers placed back neatly and your back already turning, it was the curl of worry in his gut that had his hand snapping to your wrist and tugging you back to him.

“You,” he gritted, frustrated at the pull back, at your resistance — no, your refusal of him. “Don’t fucking ignore me!”

Clearly, you weren’t listening, for all that Vio wrested you into his lap, your eyes wouldn’t even meet his through the mirror. Your bones solid against his palm, and he squeezed, hard enough to take you in, to let out the anger. Though, watching your face twist in pain, tendons in your neck constricting just to cut off the whimper, Vio didn’t even know who to be mad at anymore. 

All he wanted was for you to give in. 

He’d missed you so much, he would dream of you saying his name again. As you always would, and give him that love he was addicted to — yours, that tasted like kisses to open flesh. Raw and sincere to the point that Vio would rather stay splayed and bloodied instead of getting help. He didn’t feel like he could come back from this, or who he’d become because of you. If he was falling from grace, he’d hale you with him.

“Y/N…” This time, it came as a whisper, erratic mind lulled quick to the sensation of your pulse pressing firm against his fingers. Counting throbs, taking breaths for you, telling himself to be kinder, kinder. “Talk to me,” his forehead rested on your shoulder blade, “let’s not do this anymore, hm?”

Gentility got a rise out of you, it seemed, in the form of a gasp and the violent twists to free yourself that followed. “Don’t you dare,” your tone was accusatory, yet when Vio leaned away he saw the tell in your tears, “you’re not allowed to act fucking civil after what you did.”

His brow twitched. Irritation. He didn’t have a clue what you were talking about. Either way, acting was already his whole career — it might as well have been his entire damn life, and he wasn’t going to be reminded. If you weren’t a director and he wasn’t the star of your show, he didn’t need you telling him what he could and couldn’t do. His grip on you tightened.

“I didn’t do anything,” he hissed.

Outside it had begun to rain, heavy droplets melting the sleet from the windows. Steady patters the furthest thing from therapeutic in his current headspace, Vio almost missed your broken, “liar.”

Knocking his knee to white wood had the make-up brush holder tipping, contents rolling around, more noise buzzing in his head as he adjusted you. Finally, you were forced to focus on him, and Vio's eyes were unblinking, boring into yours. “You’re making baseless accusations.” 

“You told me no one would love someone like me.”

“I asked you who could,” Vio bit back instantly, then, his voice softened, “...and the answer is me.”

Purple dotted into red when he let you go, wiping at your wet face. Speckled like poison in a garden of roses — what he was to you, and what you were to him. Vio thought it was fitting, beauty in that you were both to die of each other. His incurable illness. His darling disease. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to that gaffer.

“Only I can. Only I am allowed. Remember that, and love me in turn.”

[hungharrington]

The NEED to tease stevie with your boobs though 😩😭 like anything, anywhere. Not wearing a bra on a hot summer day so he’ll see your nipples when they pebble in the breeze, driving home and randomly taking your shirt off to distract him, wearing tiny tiny bikini tops to swim in his pool, acting concerned and asking him if one’s bigger than the other and tbfh he’s not even listening. Just driving that boy crazy with your tits 😌

hehe thank u for the ask nonnie!! i’m dubbing this… menace!reader…. bcos that’s what u are, u little minx <3 afab!reader, MDNI this entire blog is 18+ but also no smut in this one!

“Are you trying to kill me?”

You pretend to consider his question thoughtfully, humming as you drop your chin into your palm. The car rumbles beneath you. You’re sure your grin is nothing short of a cheshire grin.

“Don’t know what you mean, Stevie.”

Steve manages a glare between his glances at the road, out the windshield. It’s quiet out on the road, a stretch of burning hot asphalt stretching out before you. Hawkins Pool is entirely too crowded today. Naturally, you and Steve have decided on heading further out to cool off beneath the climbing spring-time temperatures.

It also means you’re wearing barely anything to combat the heat.

“Shut up,” Steve scoffs. He takes his eyes off the road to look you up and down again. His eyes get stuck on your chest, staring at you tight tank-top that does little to cover the cherry red bikini beneath it. It looks like it pains him to drag his eyes back to the road.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

His hand reaches out, fingers curling around your thigh. He gives it a quick squeeze, chiding and eager all at once.

“Mmm,” You hum again, covering his hand with your own. You give it a little pat and then lean over to wind the window down, twisting the handle once, twice.

Wind rushes in, still cooler than the inside of the car which had been slowing heating sitting in Steve’s driveway all morning. The chill coats your skin, a flush of cool air sending a shiver over your body— you feel your nipples pebble in response.

It’s comical, watching Steve’s hair muss up as his gaze flicks rapidly between the road and the passenger seat. He sputters.

“That’s not— you are-” He cuts himself off with a throaty growl, eyes fixed on the road as he shifts across the car. His large hand moves from your thighs to clutches the knob and you watch as his bicep bulges gloriously, pumping the window handle to close it.

It closes much faster at his hand, closing with a hiss, than it did opening at yours. Muscles and all. You drool a little.

“—Unbelievable. You are unbelievable.” He finishes. The heat of his words is lost when he glances down at your tits once again. There’s this adorable pink in the apples of his cheeks.

Something in you gleans at how easy he is to rile up. You smile.

“Fine, no window.” You concede.

You slip your arm under the seatbelt and get a good grip on the fabric bunched around your waist. Steve manages a quiet What are you—? before it dissolves into an Oh my god as you pull the shirt off. It’s thin enough that it barely makes a difference in the heat but you make a show of it anyways.

“Whew,” You slip back beneath your seatbelt and fan yourself dramatically. “That’s much better.”

Steve’s hand on your thigh tightens. You hear how hard his head smack back against the headrest, even if it is smothered by his loud groan. You can’t tell if it’s in complaint or appreciation. Probably both.

“You can’t wait?” He whines, his fingers squeezing your flesh a little. “We’re like, 5 miles out. I can deal with you then, I promise.”

He steals a glimpse your way and can’t resist another look down at your chest. Keeping most of his focus on driving straight, a bit of it slips away as his hand moves to fiddle with the string of your bikini.

“This is a nice one.” He says, far too nice for how much you’ve been teasing him. Too bad you’re not feeling merciful.

“Thanks baby,” you murmur slyly. Your hand creeps up and dusts over his, heading for the knot at the back of your neck. It only takes one well targeted tug for the knot to release the strings and at the same time, the car swerves an inch, and Steve’s hand jumps up to grab them. It’s a miracle — or maybe he’s a well coordinated jock — but he manages to wrangle both of them and the car. A giggle pushes past your lips.

“Oh my God, I never thought I’d say this,” Steve says, releasing the strings to grasp both hands on the steering wheel very tightly. The bikini falls. Steve looks like he might be in pain, glancing out the drivers side window, his bottom lip trapped in his teeth. “But please put your boobs away.”

You giggle again, even as you gather the straps and re-tie it, not too keen on being exposed as it is. Regardless, it seems entirely worth it for Steve’s flushed face and his shifting hips. His swimming trunks hide… nothing. Finally, only when you’re shucked your shirt back on, tugging it down to cover your tummy, does Steve glance back at you.

His glorious pink face hadn’t faded but he has this grin that promises all sort of trouble, mixing with his fondness for you. “Y’know, I think you really are tryna kill me.”

“Death by boobs?”

“Hey,” Steve grins. “There are worse ways to go.”

[werediabla]

teaching katsuki how to dance bachata.

tw // nsfw, sexual tension.

author’s note: as a latina, i just couldn’t get the concept of teaching him how to dance bachata out of my head 😩 iykyk. (i dropped a link if you don’t know what it looks like).

if ares ever dropped his sword from the heavens and lost it to the coil of the mortal world, you’re certain you’re staring right at it. there’s no other metaphor to describe the way katsuki moves; sharp, slick, and decisive — with the one-track intention to tear everything that stands between him and victory asunder.

you’ve never even openly admitted that he reminds you of some mythical weapon meant to be wielded by nothing less than the hand of a war god (not if you want to avoid the following protest of “huuh?! what the fuck are ya talkin’ about?! i’m the only great explosion murder god around here, damn you!”) but it’s true.

his physical prowess leaks out of every pore even where it doesn’t count.

like now, as you try to teach him how to follow the sensuous beat of your favorite bachata song, but he continues to move like he’s cutting through a damn battlefield rather than the dance floor.

“you’re stiff!” you huff for the fifth time, pausing the music to adjust his stance. “loosen your hips, kats.”

“that’s exactly what i’m fuckin’ doin’—“

“—feel what i’m doing and try to follow my lead, yeah?” you intercept. to his credit, he pays rapt attention to the way you let his knee melt between yours, keeping you anchored chest to chest as you roll your hips with that little bounce that’s been pissing him off since he agreed to go through with this.

well—

pissing him off might not be the right word for it.

it’s more frustrating than anything else. downright distracting. absolutely unfair. stupidly — hot.

“this ain’t workin’.” he blurts out, brows furrowed into that severe frown you’ve grown tender to.

“it’s because you’re overthinking it,” you reassure softly, continuing to break him into rhythm with gentle nudges meant to guide him into a steady beat. he picks up on it almost instantly, but the fluid motion of your hips is something he just can’t seem to replicate no matter how hard he tries.

“just grind. it’s a natural instinct between couples, why do you think the genre is so popular?”

that seems to snap something into perspective because the next four-steps, katsuki works you against his thigh like he was born and bred for it. it cuts your breath short as the two of you pace around the terrace, watching your shadows flicker under a canopy of fairylights.

“like this?” he asks gruffly, one arm curled around your lower spine and the other keeping your hand trapped in his. you can smell the faint traces of smoke and nitroglycerin clinging to his skin like this — it reminds you of fireworks in summer festivals, when the air is heady and sweet.

“yes.” you murmur more airily than you meant to, squealing when he lifts you into an improvised spin and sets you down far too slowly to fit the choreography. you practically glide down his front, letting him feel every inch of your body on the way down until you come face to face with him again.

for a moment, neither of you say anything. you’re too lost in the stillness of his scarlet gaze to break the impasse between you.

he puts an end to it when his lips capture yours with an irritated growl, feeding you slurred complains that sound suspiciously like “damn brat.” and “you’re so annoyin’.”

[neptunescore]

I am here after reading the divorce prompt for Charlos because it made me sob. (I loved it even though it made me cry so bad)

Mu word is cuddles and the pairing is Charlos.

Love ya 🩷

Prompt word: Cuddles | Pairing: Charlos

It’s raining outside when Charles hears the familiar ring of his doorbell. He untangles himself from the blankets surrounding him; pulling himself off the worn-out rocking chair he’d been curled up on, joints cracking as he stretches out lazily and takes one last look at the floor length window in front him — a display of dark clouds and abrupt flashes of lightning.

The Ferrari driver makes his way towards the door. Who was out there at this hour anyway? It was literally the dead of night, not to mention how hard it was thundering outside. They should be happy that Charles was even awake right now.

Long fingers pull the sleeves of his sweatshirt down, a sudden chill settling in him now that he wasn’t covered up in the various different quilts he’d placed on top of himself. The doorbell rings again, shifting him into motion as he pushes his glasses up before finally grasping the cold handle.

“Cahlos.”

“Sharles.”

The other man is slouched over in the hallway, hair and clothes soaking wet, leaving no doubt he’d been stupid enough to walk the ten minute distance between their buildings without an umbrella or raincoat of any sort.

“Cahlos! Idiota! What are you doing, come inside right now!” Charles tugs at him hurriedly, “Go wait in the bathroom while I bring you a new set of clothes!”

“Sharl-“

“I swear to god if you say anything, but ‘yes, Charles” to me right now, I will tape your mouth closed and rid you of those clothes myself.”

“Kinky.”

“Cahlos!”

“Okay. Okay. Cálmate, I am going, I am going.”

“Good,” Charles huffs, hands on his hips as he watches Carlos walk towards the bathroom, only moving away when he sees his teammate turn the knob. The green-eyed man picks through the fresh laundry on the sofa next to him, fingers pinching and caressing different fabrics as he tries to find something soft and warm for his unexpected guest. A beige pair of sweats make the cut, and Charles stumbles over to the bathroom, knocking at the door and handing Carlos the clothes when a hand reaches out.

“Gracias,” A sliver of light escaping behind him as he steps out.

“You do not need to thank me, you buffoon! You would have frozen to death if I hadn’t given you anything!”

“Sharles,” large hands reaching out to grip his waist.

“Cahlos,” his own trailing down to settle over the ones touching him, “Why are you here?”

“I did it Sharles. I signed the contract.”

“Oh, mon amour,” and suddenly, Charles is just as quick as the lightning outside — dragging Carlos towards the spacious chair he had been residing on, spreading his legs as he hauls the other onto his lap. The driver cuddles him close, feels the shiver that racks up the doe-eyed man’s body.

Carlos’ burly fingers tangle themselves into Charles’ hair, hand tightening as he loses himself into the warmth he’s pressed up against.

“You'll do so well, Cahlos. You’ll bring that team back to the top, mon amour.”

POOKIE😩 I hoped u liked this pookie🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼, I was listening to 'What was I made for?' when writing this (I have no idea why😭) and it made me kinda emotional abt carlos going to williams😔 (which is what I'm referencing in this prompt by the way guys🫠) ANYWAY, tell me if you liked it or not!!!💗

As always, divider credits to @cafekitsune ♡

Rules and details☆°•~

[teymars]

Bbg what are we thinking ab how the sully men would be if reader was about thicker girlie (like me🥹) like I’m talking big thighs,hips, ASS ESPECIALLY 🤷🏽‍♀️, and a stomach? I feel like they’d be obsessed with her🤭💕

Ehhehgqgu I have gotchu girl 😩

Dictionary:

Muntxate- ‘female mate/wife’

Rutxe- ‘please’

FLUFF:

Neteyam- He would most definitely be obsessed with you, no doubt in my mind. That man would LIVE for the tender moments when eclipse is setting in and he has you all snuggled against him. His long arm would be curled around your back, cupping your waist and poking his fingers into your soft stomach. His tail would curl ever so gently around your plush upper thigh, as you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rumble of his purring. Neteyam would never feel more content than in that moment, with your perfect-self cushioned against him all evening.

Lo’ak- He most enjoys the early mornings when he can smush his face between your breasts, breathing in your warm scent as his wandering hands grab and squish any flesh within reach. He’ll tease you persistently by rubbing the thickness of your hips and thighs, before latching a large hand onto your ass with a death-grip. You may try to swat his hand away, but Lo’ak will just murmur a familiar complaint about how it’s comforting for him… you give in pretty easily, deep down you know he just loves holding you.

Jake- Now he is entirely used to the different types of human bodies, and is never afraid to admit his adoration for thicker women. He’ll happily spend his evenings by the fire pit in your shared hut- with you sat comfortably in his lap, as his huge hands roam boundlessly across all your curves. Jake will whisper sweet-nothings into your ear, littering your neck with wet kisses as he gracefully cups your tummy with one hand, rubbing circles into it with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful, my love.” He’d mumble as one hand escalates slowly up your side, while the other finds itself buried between the warmth of your pressed thighs.

SMUT UNDER THE CUT ‼️

Neteyam- He’d lick his lips, eyeing the way your ass recoils with each rough thrust of his hips. His ever-gentle hands contrasting his words and harsh pace, as they glide soothingly up and down your curvy waist. “Keep making those sweet noises for me, prove you’re sorry, ma muntxate. ffuckk..haah- if you’re gonna act like a bitch, I’ll fuck you like one.” Neteyam would growl from behind you, never ceasing the brutal intrusions of his cock. Eventually he would grab the plump of your ass, tracing the paths of your stretch-marks deliberately. “This is all mine, isn’t it, love?” The question would roll off his tongue with the added punctuation of his thrusts, as you nod your head weakly, a satisfied grin on both your faces.

Lo’ak- He would have you bent into a pretzel, listening intently to the smacking of his hips against the back of your thick thighs and ass. “Mamas, you’re so fucking good for me.. so soft.” The man would whisper against your twitching ear, as he sets a more leisurely pace, not wanting to finish before you. His four fingered hands would smooth consistently across your body, one bracing your calf against his shoulder while the other lovingly tickles up and down the roundness of your torso. In Lo’ak’s eyes, the two of you could never be close enough. He will continue to worship your body, far beyond the moment your walls tighten around his cock with a fluttering orgasm. “That’s it, gorgeous. Rutxe- cum for me.”

Jake- This man will press his fingers deep into the thickness of your hips, supporting your movements as you sink down onto his throbbing dick. He’ll murmur words of encouragement, as he hyper-fixates on the way your tits jump with each rotation of your body against his own. “Damn it, baby. I wish you could see how fucking sexy you look right now- fuckk..” He would confess as you begin to increase the speed of your movements, enveloping his cock at a fluid yet quick pace. Every one of his senses lights on fire as you ride him, practically giving Jake the most pleasurable show of his life. When he figures you are in control, his hands shift to grope your tantalising ass. This becomes his biggest mistake when the familiar sensations of his impending orgasm are triggered, his hips stuttering up into you as he lets go.

I honestly had so much fun writing this like oml, your interactions make my day! I hope you enjoy this lovely. 🥰

[luveline]

hihihi! request for zombie steve au! maybe someone at the college bullies reader into thinking she’s not good enough for steve?

just gotta say that I LOVE LOVE LOVE all your works & esp this au 😩 it just does something to me

hi thank you so much for your request! I didn't make it so severe as bullying I don't think, but tw for bullying just to be safe, and suggestive! tw mentioned weight loss <3 zombie!au steve 9k words

The dinner line is long and winding. You and Steve stand elbow to elbow, the smell of refried beans and homemade tortillas near hypnotising.

"I know the tortillas are gonna taste a little weird, I just don't care," you say, the hand you’ve curled around your boyfriend's forearm squeezing enthusiastically. 

"Imagine if they had cheese," he taunts. 

"Don't be evil, Steve." 

His laugh dissappears into the swelling sounds of a hundred conversations. It feels like high school, bodies packed into the same room like a bingo wheel, people bouncing off of one another frenetically as the night turns forward. There's a lot of happy energy in here tonight. You're contributing at least half. Not even Steve's unfortunate truths can get you down. Yeah, you miss cheese a lot, but after a full day in the pantry shift and close quarters to such gorgeous smells, you're ravenous. 

Your stomach gives a rumbling groan, and Steve's pressed so close to you that he can feel it. He wraps his arm around your shoulder to kiss the top of your head. 

His easy affection sates you for a while. You turn to watch the people already sitting with their meals, jealous but not too much, and find your happiness isn't grudging. You're happy to be here. You won't take this stroke of luck for granted, not again. 

You and Steve get your plates, refried beans, roasted greens seasoned with a vibrant red that smells spicy and decadent. There's definitely olive oil mixed in. You thrum with pleasure but wait patiently for steve to collect his own helpings, your cutlery, and finally, your drinks.

Robin sees you coming and waves you down unnecessarily. She's sitting with a dark-haired girl called Vanessa, and another girl you're unsure of. Vanessa had been part of your rescue squad, the team of people who'd fought to bring you back to The College. You'd show her some gratitude if she deigned to look at you. 

No matter how snooty you find her, Robin likes her. You try to like her too. 

"Hey," you say, putting your place setting down in front of Robin to encourage Steve to her side. 

He might downplay it but you know how much he loves her, and how much he'd missed her when they were separated. She's an extremely important part of his life. You wish he'd spend more time with her outside of scavenging and supply runs, but Steve is stuck to you like glue. It's awful and amazing. 

"Hi, killer," Robin says. 

You scrunch up your nose. "We're still using that?" 

"You were impressive!" she emphasises. 

Steve puts his drink down before his plate. She's quick to grab it, taking a generous swig as he grumbles and grouches. 

"Do you mind?" he asks. 

"I don't. Tell your girlfriend you think she was impressive!" 

"She knows exactly how I feel about her."

You smile at him. You know more than enough. He's a sweetheart through and through, and though the incident Robin's referencing hadn't been one he loved, he agrees; you'd managed to cut down six zombies all by yourself when they'd split off from a herd that managed to infiltrate community defences, and Steve had thought you were a rockstar. He'd grabbed you, covered in blood and sweat, and asked you why you couldn't just stay inside, and then he'd hugged you for too long, and said later, "My girl's a fucking weapon." Like a nerd. 

It's not complicated. Steve had been in danger. You'd wanted to save him, and you'd tried. Turns out he'd be the one to save you… for the hundredth time. But your efforts impressed him. 

Impressed everyone, according to Robin. 

"Hey, Vanessa," you say warmly. 

Vanessa gives you a strange smile in return. Despite mutual friends, Vanessa hasn't warmed to you. She'd been one of the only people who'd volunteered for your rescue squad but you're starting to think that hadn't been because she liked you, exactly. She just couldn't really say no. 

"Hey," she says. "How are you?" 

Civil you can do easily. You and Steve had been civil for weeks. 

"I'm good! Yeah, we heard there were gonna be real tortillas tonight and thought we'd get here early, but everybody had the same idea, I guess." 

She laughs politely. "We did." 

You wouldn't villainise Vanessa for disliking you. You barely like yourself. And, in your opinion, you'd gotten pretty damn lucky that Steve likes you as much as he does, though a small voice whispers that it'd been a grudging sort of love, like a flower squeezing its way through two panels of sidewalk. A weed that isn't supposed to be there. You worry often and in droves that Steve will come to his senses. He's gonna wake up one day, look at your sleeping face, and realise it isn't enough. 

When you'd first joined The College community, you'd thought for sure that was it. Steve was gonna trample your heart once and for all. He never did, of course. The opposite — he'd doubled down. Told you he loved you for the first time, and a second time, too. 

And now, miles trekked to get you back, his calf a blistering star of heat where it kisses your own beneath the table, your doubts fade away. 

Vanessa doesn't have to like you. That's not the way the world works. With Steve at your side, the rejection barely stings. 

You rub your shoe gently against his ankle. He looks up at you, a crazy amount of tortilla in his mouth, and he looks so silly you laugh hard and suddenly. 

He covers his mouth. 

"I thought you were looking somewhere else," he defends. 

"Pig," Robin says, still sipping at his cup of water. 

You rub his ankle again. A joke waits at the tip of your tongue, You're lucky I love you. It would feel good to say, but it's not your thing. You've never been outwardly romantic. 

His cheeks pink a little under the fluorescents. 

For Steve, you can be romantic. 

"You're lucky I love you," you say. 

There's too much emphasis on 'love', not enough on 'lucky', and the joke refuses to land. Your voice is softer than silk. It's all too sweet. 

"More than lucky," Steve says, grinning at you.

You try to put your glass of water on his tray. He puts its straight back on your own. 

"Robin's gonna go get me another one," he says. 

"I need one for myself," she says, unhappy. 

"You have two hands." 

"Will you get me a refill?" Vanessa asks. 

Christopher, another of Steve's fast friends, slams his tray down next to yours happily. Jonathan is right after him, and then the table's filling up with people: Jonathan's younger brother sits beside him, and the younger brother's friends follow. They're all glued together, you swear. You recognise Dustin in the throng, his chestnut brown curls crushed under a blue hat bragging the Claypole Farmer's Market, wherever that is. 

"Steve's getting drinks?" Chris asks.

"For me too, please," Jonathan adds. "And Will, if you don't mind." 

"I actually do," Steve says. 

"And us!" Dustin says, smirking. "Thank you, oh gracious one."

Steve looks at you for a second, slack-jawed. Can you believe this shit? He stands up, grumbling, and forces his hand between Robin's upper arm and chest to drag her with him. 

"Come on, Rob, I can't carry them by myself." 

"Steve, please, I'm tired," she moans, her words all lifted and croaky. 

"How'm I supposed to carry them by myself? Am I a fucking squid?" 

"I'll help," you say, happy to do it, anything for him and at any time. 

He puts his hand out to you, a universal gesture for Sit the fuck down. "Buckley will be more than capable." His smile softens. "Thank you." 

You pout at him very gently in a kissy face to watch him light up. It's cheesy and rom-com, and it works like a charm. By the time he gets Robin on her feet the tips of his ears are completely blushed, a stark red against the mousy browns and blondes of his hair. 

"Hey, Y/N," Chris says, mouth full of tortilla. Boys are all the same. 

"Hey," Jonathan echoes, and at least his hand is in front of his mouth, "how are you feeling? They let you back in the kitchen yet?" 

"They did. Hopper really didn't like that I broke the lock down rules, but at the same time, I think he understands that I'm a grown up." 

Lock down rules being, once a door is shut, it stays shut. Do not give a herd the opportunity to worm its way inside. 

But you'd made sure the coast was completely clear, and after Maybelle and Pauline, your fellow kitchen staff, had vouched for that, he'd let you off the hook, and back to work. You hadn't realised how punishing not working could be, especially when Steve had stayed on shift, his time split between scrounging outside of the community and fence duty. There's nothing to stop you from spending the day thinking about what-ifs, which is veritable torture. 

"You missed the kitchen? Did you make these?" Chris asks. 

You turn to your food and tear off some of the warm tortilla, sighing with pleasure. "No, I'm just kitchen pantry, you know? I'm sorta like an accountant. Like Dora in the armoury, or–" You nod at Vanessa with a smile. "Vanessa. You're in charge of the toiletries and stuff, right, with Cooper and Dean, and those guys?" 

She clears her throat. "It's more than 'toiletries and stuff,'" she corrects with a stilted laugh. "It's everything that isn't food. Medicine for the medic, the nursery supplies, the batteries. It's important." 

"No, of course! I didn't mean to imply anything else. I can't imagine." 

You're sure her smile this time is genuine. You and Vanessa can't seem to mesh because she's a little more serious than you are and your easygoing tone rubs her the wrong way, but you think your explanation makes it up. 

She opens her mouth to speak when Dustin leans over the table, projecting his voice down the line. "Y/N! Are you coming to cards club tonight?" 

"I don't know, babe," you say, startled at his question. "I thought so. If Steve isn't too tired then yeah, absolutely." 

"You can come without Steve," Jonathan says. 

"I know," you say, softly so you know he's grateful for the reassurance. 

"You're the only one who can beat Will at Yahtzee. You have wicked luck," says Mike, their pale, dark-haired friend, who usually rivals Dustin for hostility. You're glad he seems to like you. 

"Yahtzee isn't luck based," says Will. 

The entire group groans at the ignition of a familiar argument. 

"Robin, if you fucking nudge me again I'm gonna make sure this goes all over you," comes Steve's voice. 

You turn in your seat to watch their procession of glasses, at least six between them with not a tray in sight. Robin looks confident, Steve terrified. You jump to your seat to rescue him, taking his third glass from the nestling group so he can pick up his pace. 

"Thank you," he says, dipping his head down for a kiss. 

You're surprised but never not wanting to be kissed by him, your chin lifting on automatic to reciprocate. You chase him when he pulls away, turning one kiss into two, his lips the tiniest bit chapped against yours. It's a comforting pressure. 

You ease away. "Are we going to card club tonight?" 

"If you want to, of course we are." 

"You aren't tired?" 

"You're saying I look ugly." 

He glares at you, faux-offended.Your laugh is peeling, infectious to your own ears. 

"No!" you deny. 

"Right." He tries to be deadpan, sighing in defeat when he can't keep up the illusion. "Shit, I almost had it. S'too bad I'm a sucker for you when you smile like that." 

— 

Later that night, you and Steve are sitting around the very same tables that have been wiped down with a watery lysol, and you have an amazing three game Yahtzee streak going where nobody can beat you.

Steve's ears are ringing with the clattering sound of dice in the shaker, and he's freezing. It's a great night. He shrugged out of his jacket to lay it over your shoulders, and has to periodically readjust it to stop it from falling to the floor, your arms moving enthusiastically with each new shake. 

Steve winces as Dustin makes a fatal mistake. He’s used his two sixes to mark a 12 in the sixes column, holding out for a yacht.

"Dude, the chances of getting Yahtzee are like, one in a thousand," Steve says.

"One in thirteen hundred," you correct, already scooping up Dustin's die to take your turn. 

"One in seven thousand and seven hundred for each number," Mike says. 

"Ew," Steve says, face slumped into his palm, elbow aching where it's pushed into the table. "You fucking nerds infected my girl." 

"It's in the rule book," you say, shaking the circular dice container with your hand on top. You throw them out on the table and assess your given numbers with a frown. 

You have three threes and two ones. You keep the threes and shake the other two dice again. Yahtzee had felt complicated when Steve first learned how to play, and now it feels maddening. It's definitely luck based, in his humble opinion, and that has nothing to do with his never winning a game, he swears. 

"Does the chance of rolling a Yacht get higher if you keep the dice?" he asks, gesturing to your three threes.

"Yeah," you mumble, throwing your second shuffle out onto the table. "Yeah, but it's pretty negligible, handsome. Goes from point one to point two."

"It isn't negligible," Will denies. "It's probability, not luck, and it isn't point one, it's zero point zero eight, and it can be as high as zero point five. That's one in two hundred."

"That math isn't right," Dustin says. 

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't." 

You throw out your last shuffle and everyone leans in to see what you rolled. Your three threes are kept to one side, and your new rolls clatter to a halt in front of Steve. 

"Holy shit," he says. 

You rolled two threes. 

"Yahtzee!" you cheer, pumping your little fist adorably. Little in that it's smaller than his, and not very little in reality. "Alright, who's next?" 

"The game isn't over," Dustin says, peeved. 

You peer down his scorecard. He could win, theoretically, if he were to score multiple yachts, or if he'd been careful with his aces, ones, etc. 

"Nah, it is," Steve says. "Take it like a champ, Henderson." 

Dustin refuses to give up, playing until the end. You score a solid 319 to his less impressive 178. 

Steve robs your hand before you can agree to a rematch, forcing you to unfurl your tensed fist. He loves doing this — he presses the tips of his thumbs into the sides of one of your fingers and pushes down. It must hurt a teeny tiny bit but you never say a word, only giggle at his touch and lean toward him like you might tell him a secret. He would lament how much time he wasted being an asshole to you if he had the wherewithal. As it is, he's enchanted with you, and he isn't casual about it, pushing all of your anxiety down to your fingertips. He brings them to his mouth and kisses them each in turn. 

You pull your hand away. He thinks you're standing up to leave the table, but you're moving closer to him and straightening your back. He can picture the ache between your shoulder blades as it is between his own, the weird raw feeling, a tightness. 

"Want a neck massage?" he asks as you place your hand against his cheek. 

You brush your thumb over his stubble. "Do you want a neck massage?" you ask, unperturbed by his sudden question. His jacket threatens to slide onto the floor. 

"Are you offering?" 

"Not in cards club." You look over his shoulder. "We could play poker."

"The buy-in's too expensive." 

"What?" You frame his face with your hand. He's not sure you know you're doing it. "We can spare it, isn't that why we brought it?" 

Buy-in tonight is a bar of soap. Half the time everybody goes home with what they brought anyways, so you're obviously not worried. 

You squeeze his cheek and laugh. "You'd be cute if you were chubby." 

He grabs your hand, face warped by an irreplaceable joy, a delight to have you and be with you, a sparkling kind of lightness to know you're safe and happy here. He kisses your cheek, and says, smushed up against your skin, "You're cute." 

"Thank you." 

He hums. "So. Poker?" 

—

You have a small sink in your room with a hot and cold faucet, though no matter which one you choose, the water comes out cold. It chills your face as you scrub. When your face is reasonably wet, you lather the bar of honey soap Steve insists on keeping at the side of the sink between your fingers before dropping it imprecisely into your boyfriend's waiting palm. He laughs under his breath at the clumsy manoeuvre. 

You listen to him do the same as you had as you soap your face. You give special attention to your nose, your eyebrows, and your ears. Steve laughs again as you work a small towel behind them. 

"What's funny?" 

"Nothing." He holds his hand out for the towel, patting down his face with less ardency. He isn't less clean for it. "You have suds under your nose. Tiny moustache." 

He reaches for it with the towel, lifting your face with the back of his hand under your chin. His eyes are their forever warm brown, fixed on your top lip with a dedication that makes your baseline fondness for him surge. 

"I was pretty bad at poker, huh?" you ask. 

"No?" He dries a lingering stretch of dampness painting your cheek before dropping the towel behind the faucets. "You didn't win. Doesn't mean you were bad." 

"Vanessa said I should stick to Yahtzee," you tell him. You pause, wanting his input, and worried you're feeling offended by something that isn't inherently offensive. 

"Vanessa should stick to lawn darts," he says, chucking you under the chin. 

He starts to pull his pants down like it's no big deal. It isn't, not after so many months together, you've seen him do worse in worse states than this, but it feels forbidden anyhow to watch him climb into bed. 

"Could you pass me my sweatpants?" he asks, face turned into the pillow, his shoulders deflating.

"You're decompressing without me." 

"Am not." He pushes his hand under the pillow, shoulder blade shifting under his shirt noticeably. "Hurry and decompress with me."

You throw his sweatpants at his calves and he does a sort of vertical dance to put them on, one leg then the other, lifting his hips and dropping heavily back into the sheets when he's done. He looks at home. His relaxation catches you off guard, a pleasure to see even if it isn't strictly new. He feels safe here with you. 

"She's good at those darts," you say. 

"And shit at poker," Steve says agreeably. He lifts his head off of the pillow. "Are you coming in or are you gonna sleep standing up tonight?"  

You shimmy out of your stiff jeans and try not to feel the huge weight of his eyes on your skin. It's an impossible task, and you fail immediately. 

"Stop looking at me." 

"M'not." 

You glare at him, find him absolutely looking at you. Your glare fades when you realise how loving his gaze is, how it doesn't waver for a second. He pushes the sheets down on your side of the bed and waves his arm for you to get in. 

You pull on your pyjama pants and take off your bra, climbing into bed beside him. He wraps his arm around you quickly, or rather under you, his bicep crushed by your shoulders. Chills prickle against your skin as he cups the flesh just shy of your breast. If Steve wanted to touch you like that, he could. You want him just as much as you don't, content to cuddle with him, content to kiss like teenagers with nowhere to go tomorrow, content to do worse. He spreads his fingers over your torso, pinky nudging the underside. You'd let Steve touch wherever he liked, and he'd enjoy doing it, you think. That's a gift in itself such casual intimacy. 

"Vanessa, is she…" Steve's minty fresh breath pushes over your face like a small gale. "She's not picking on you, is she?" 

You like to be honest with Steve, and you want to be honest now — I don't know. But you hate thinking he'd have to look after you more than he does already. 

"No," you say, "we just aren't a good fit."

"Like a puzzle?" Steve asks sceptically.

"Guess my pieces are a little warped after spending so much time with you." 

He laughs like you're the funniest girl he's ever met, a big breathy sound with the punch of his voice behind it. "Guess they are," he says, hand climbing higher over your chest. "Is that a bad thing?" 

"Never," you say lightly. 

He smiles at you. You forget Vanessa's out of place comments, her weak smiles, her for-show friendliness in front of Steve. She doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, and letting her dictate your thoughts in gorgeous, glowing moments like this would be a waste. 

"Love you," you whisper. 

Steve nestles into the space under your jaw. He doesn't fit but he does, of course he does, he's your everything. If that's where he wants to sleep tonight, so be it. You turn into his grasp to take the pressure off of his arm and return his gentle hugging, forcing his face closer so you can breathe in the smell of his hair. 

"Love you," Steve says. He kisses your neck chastely. "Turn the light off?" 

You reach back blindly and switch off the lamp. Everything will be okay as long as you have your boy. Right? 

—

Vanessa gets worse. She makes neutral comments with enough friendliness to make you wonder if she's truly being cruel? Am I just looking for a fight? What do I want? 

Maybe it's Vanessa's clear preference for Steve. You could be jealous. You aren't sure what jealousy feels like in relationships until she's touching him when she doesn't need to be and smiling at him like he hung the moon. She doesn't go overboard, though. She keeps her hands mostly to herself. She goes as far as to tell Steve that she thinks you're beautiful. 

You don't know how to explain your reservations to him if he can't already see it. If she'd really thought you were beautiful, surely that's something she could say face to face, rather than the unhappy little nod she gives you whenever you cross paths? Despite evidence suggesting it, you don't think Vanessa's trying to make a move on Steve. 

She's a bit of a bitch, but that's not a crime. Unfortunate? Yes. Illegal? No. Immoral? You aren't sure. 

It's her most obvious dig yet that manages to grab Steve's attention a second time since the poker incident.

"I couldn't let my eyebrows grow out like yours," she says, voice bubbly with a faked awe, "I think it's super cool of you."

"Vanessa," Robin says, eyes on her plate, an inquisitive twist to her voice that you've come to know as her sarcasm, "we're in the apocalypse." 

Steve, who'd seemed torn between speaking up and genuinely confused about the comment Vanessa'd made, chokes on his food beside you, soup dribbling down both corners of his mouth as he laughs. You wipe the corners of his mouth with your long sleeves.

"Jeez, you're like my baby," you say. Your voice is occluded by Jonathan's silvery giggles. 

Steve swallows roughly, "I resent that."

He still lifts his chin so you'll rub the bead that's escaped down his throat. 

Vanessa ends up laughing too, says, "I think I'm just crazy tired," punctuated with a high-pitched laugh. 

"Honestly, me too," you say, because maybe she is, and maybe she needs just a little smidge more benefit of the doubt. 

"I've been keeping her up," Steve says smugly. 

"He still making you read that King book? The Gunslinger?" Jonathan asks. "Will wants it whenever you're done." 

"Every night," you say. 

You're pretending it's a chore because that's what you and Steve always used to do. These days room for sincerity is much larger, but it's fun to give him a hard time when, at the end of the day, you'll crawl into bed together and tuck his face into your neck, flipping to the dog-eared page of your worn paperback to read in dulcet tones until he's a dozing weight warming your skin.

Steve looks for your hand under the table and lets your small group of friends laugh at him. Chris makes a whipping sound through the corner of his mouth. It's surprisingly accurate, and it makes you laugh worse, leaning your weight into Steve's arm for support in an action so familiar it's entirely thoughtless. 

"It's not that funny," he murmurs, breath tickling your forehead. 

"M'not laughing," you say. 

You are most definitely laughing. It's a good moment, even if Vanessa's comment sticks around underneath to nibble at your heart. 

He doesn't let your hand go for a really long time. Not when you're taking the plates up to the dirty dishes trolley, or on the walk back to Little Hawkins' with everybody in high spirits. He struggles to unlock your door one handed and he's still insisting when you try to tug away from him. 

"Let me make the bed." 

"We're getting back in 'n like, ten minutes." 

"You're tired?" you ask. 

"No. I just wanna lay down with you." 

He says it simply. Concise, with neither affection nor anything less. It's damn near factual. Steve just wants to lay down with you, out of everything in the world he could do. He could be haunting Robin's room, stealing snacks from under her bed and claiming them as bribes for not tattling on her to Hopper. He could be with Dustin in the new rec room —aptly labelled Nerd Club, when put to a vote— arguing on how to spend the valuable alloted half hour of TV time. 

He could stay with you and insist on other things. Reading. Self-defence. A walk around the community. Sex. An early night. A cold shower. 

But he's content to lay with you, to share one another's space without asking for anything else. 

Though you won't rule everything out. His kisses lately are a lot more than you're used to. 

"Let my hand go, you fiend!" you declare, overcome with a rush of affection for him. "I'm gonna make the bed and we're gonna lay down and then after that we're gonna go bother Robin." 

"You know, I'm not sure I like this you and Robin thing." 

You tug your fingers from his. It's like trying to escape a sticky fly trap. 

"You mean us being friends?" you ask.

You throw all of your throws and pillows onto the ground and grab your thick quilt, shaking it out over your mattress as Steve groans. 

"Exactly!" 

"I thought you wanted me to have friends?" 

"Of course I do, you word-twisting douche." 

"Nice, nice. Dustin or Mike?" 

"I stole that one from Will, thank you very much." 

"See! You have upwards of four friends, Steve, and I'm not allowed to have any?" 

He grabs you from behind. You drop the quilt with a sigh, going limp as a fish in his arms. He staggers backward under your dead weight but manages to keep you up, breath tickling the inside of your ear as he says, "No, you're not. Just me." He kisses your ear.

"I tried that and everyone got mad at me." 

"No, they didn't." 

They really didn't. You cover his arm with your fingers, rub your fingertips over the hill of his arm. His arm hair is soft. 

"Steve." 

"What?" he asks, his hands crawling down to cover your stomach.

"Don't squeeze me." 

"You're very squeezable." 

"I was way more squeezable before, remember." 

You'd lost some weight from the start of the apocalypse to now. Steve hates it. You're perfect, he'd said once, no matter what. But still, he laments your lost weight for what it represents — times where you and he had struggled to survive. 

"I'm working on that," he promises. 

You turn your face, shifting in the circle of his arms to meet his eyes. He has gorgeous eyes. You'd admitted that to yourself a long time ago but each time you really stare into them it takes a moment for it to settle. He is a pretty, pretty boy.

He's looking at you with a soft smile. Then, for a split second, you swear his eyes rove up to your brows. It's more than likely your imagination.  

"Let me finish making this bed," you say, turning back to the discarded pile of pillows and blankets. 

"You want your jammies?" 

You snort happily. "Yeah, sweetheart. Lay 'em out for me, please." 

—

For the last week or two, Steve has noticed a change in you. You've changed a lot since you met him (for the second time). You've gone from prickly and distant and somewhat distracted to determined, vigilant. You may not come on scrounging missions outside but you're brave, and you've survived more than he ever wanted you to have to go through. 

This change is distinctive. It's like you've reverted to how you acted when you were more friend than girlfriend; you're self conscious. 

He really hates it. 

He can't work out what he did, or what happened, but it sucks. He sucks. 

"There has be be something you want," he says. 

You're standing with him by the south fence. He and his team are about to head out for the shopping mall for as many blankets as they can carry. 

"I just want you to be careful," you say. 

You look tired. It's early in the morning, and you'd woken up earlier still. Your hair is freshly washed from a cold shower. 

You're still not comfortable showering without him, but of course the other girls aren't comfortable with him sitting in there when they're naked. You've had to schedule your showers for the dawn hour. 

"I'm gonna be careful for free," he says, pulling at a wet strand of your hair. He scratches lightly around your ear before hooking his fingers underneath it, his thumb drawing from your cheek to your lips. "Pick something you want and I'll find it. You know, Robs said we might be able to pass by a real small cherry garden on the way home. Do you–" He should know this. Why doesn't he know this? "Do you like cherries?" 

Thankfully, you laugh at his question and let your face fall into his hand. He thumbs your ear lobe gently. 

"I don't want anything at all. 'Cept for you to be extremely careful," you say. 

He pulls you in for a hug, smashes a messy kiss to your head, and tries to pull away because he's cool and the guys are watching. 

You're less quick. You rub your cheek against his chest. 

"Please, Steve," you whisper. 

He frowns. There's something you're not telling him. He wishes you would, but clearly you don't think you can. He's gonna try to do whatever it is he needs to do to get you there.

Steve takes your face into both hands. 

"I will be super careful, dummy. That's my middle name, I'm Steve Careful Harrington," he says. 

"I thought your middle name was Danger?" 

He kisses you. "No? Who told you that?" 

Your laugh is pretty enough to keep him smiling for most of the hike to the mall, until Robin says, mid sentence, "–Jeez, you're pathetic." 

Pathetic for you is something he doesn't necessarily mind being, but pathetic in general he cannot abide. He spends the rest of the hike stepping on the sides of Robin's shoes as she retells the plot of Murder on the Orient Express. Steve had seen the movie once but he's never read the original novel. Lucky him, Robin had an Agatha Christie phase when she was twelve, and she knows all the best parts. 

Hike is a strange word considering all of their walking is through steep roads. They move past rundown cars, streets and streets of abandoned houses scraped clean. There's an elementary school with a rusted playground in front. Vegetation has already started to spread through the packed wood chip flooring, and one of the swings has a broken chain. Steve hadn't realised how quickly human things fell into disrepair when attacked by the elements and left maintenance. 

The mall is a better example. Smashed glass lays around the entrance in tiny pieces like a huge back of upturned sugar, and bluegrass eats its way between paving stones. The team consists of eight people, including Steve, Robin, Christopher, and one of the College's co-leaders, a mister Jeremy Livingstone. They make their way carefully through the glass and grass in a wave of crunching footsteps to the front of the mall, where Steve wedges the flat blade of his knife between the automatic doors and works them open. When there's enough room for a second hand, Chris slides in beside him, and they work the doors open. Steve's biceps are burning by the time they're inside the mall. 

"Alright, guys," Jeremy says. "There's a bedding store toward the back of the mall. We'll go there first, and then we'll try to work through the list of requests. Blankets and sheets are our second priority. Staying safe and alive is first. Only grab what you know you can carry, you can bring back whatever you want, just… don't be greedy. Alright?"

They head out for the bedding store at the back.

"How much stuff can we carry?" Robin asks him. "I have weak arms. I'm a weakling." 

"Isn't there uh, a fancy storage place? We could drag a suitcase back." 

"For two hours?" 

"Is it two hours? Livingstone! You want me and Robin to grab some suitcases?" 

Everybody fills a suitcase with sheets and blankets in plastic wrap. The brand new stuff feels like a luxury, and Steve dibs a double mattress bedspread made of Egyptian cotton, knowing that'll make you smile. Now he's got your mattress up on those crates from behind the cafeteria, your room has really come together. Blankets and trinkets and sweet glassware. You have a small shelf of books, your clothes, your pens and pencils. 

Steve'll bring you anything you want, only you don't seem to want anything at all. 

He'll just… have to bring you some of everything. 

—

Your tears taste salty. You feel gross for licking a tear off of your top lip but nobody's around to see you do it; Steve might not be home until dark. You have time to get this upset out of your system. 

You'd been asked by Maybelle to swing by Armoury and Amenities, an unofficial name for the building where the community keeps the bulk of its collective resources, for a new propane tank. You'd gone inside, said hi to Cooper, said hi to Vanessa, explained why you needed the propane, and left. 

Or, you'd tried to leave. The propane tank was heavy, and the front door had been difficult to open one handed. You'd swung it open, quickly put your hand back on the tank to stop yourself from dropping it, and watched in frustration as the door slammed closed before you could worm your way out.

"She's the one who got, like, taken?" came Cooper's voice, pretty much as soon as the door stopped bouncing. His voice echoed from the next room.

"Sure, taken." 

You'd stilled instantly. 

"What, you think she wanted to go?" 

Vanessa sighed. "No, I don't think so. She didn't try very hard to come back, s'all I'm saying." 

"Chris says Harrington's infatuated with her. Like he's under a spell," Cooper said, chuckling.

"It's gotta be some kind of magic, she's… Well, God knows he'd have his pick if he came back to reality. You have the catalogue? I wanna note the propane before I forget." 

And that had been that. 

You don't understand why Steve loves you, sometimes. You know he does. It isn't up for questioning. Love with Steve is a lot of things — long talks in the mornings about anything and everything, his fingers tucking your shirt into your jeans. It's him pulling your hood over your eyes whenever he's behind you and laughing when you grumble. It's hiding in places you shouldn't be, hand in hand. It's miles of Indiana highway. It's heart-racing anxiety that one of you might not make it to the end. Love with Steve is a devotion: he takes care of you. He's taken care of you ever since you met. 

You haven't stopped to wonder if you deserve it in a long time. 

I don't, you think, half tears and all heartbreak. You don't deserve it. You don't deserve Steve. He's too good, the kind of good that starts life in the marrow of bones. He's sweet and soft-handed with a softer heart. He looks like a dream, and it shouldn't matter but it does. His voice is the only one you like waking up to, his lips hovering by the shell of your ear. 

Time to get up, dummy. Rise and shine, angel. Baby, come on. We slept in, loser, and you need to get dressed. Hey, are you listening to me? I miss you, wake up. 

"Y/N?" Steve asks, trying the handle. 

You flinch hard, and your heart jumps with you. A flip flop somersault feeling in your chest that plummets to your stomach. You scratch madly at your cheeks with two woollen sleeves and stand up as he opens the door. 

"Hey," Steve says, and he's safe, he's alive and well and home again. 

He stands in the doorway with a bulging rucksack on his back, windbreaker zipped tight to his neck, hair a windblown mess. His nose is red from the cold and his cheeks are ice-bitten, though the colour is coming back to his skin slowly. 

You don't feel as though you deserve him but you can't help yourself from springing into his chest, arms around his waist before he can blink. Before he can see the wet mess of your face, and your tear swollen eyes. 

"Hey," he says again, leaning a great deal of his weight over your shoulders. He sniffs your hair. "Hey  dummy. Told you I'd get home fine, huh?" 

You try not to breathe too loudly against his chest. The fabric of his coat is stiff and cold, a contrast to your heated skin. 

"Hey," he says, for a third time. This time it's all powdered sugar soft. Concern and exhaustion wrapped together. "I know, I'm sorry it took longer than usual. It's my fault, I wanted to get you something 'n' I made us all late coming home, I know you worry."

You don't answer again. You don't know how to explain it to him. You can barely understand it yourself. You cling to him and his solid mass until he gives in, his mouth pressed to your temple, his arms tightening behind your head. He shields you from the world for a handful of long, stolen minutes. There's nothing but his hugs, no sound to battle the plastic sounds of his windbreaker or the blood rushing between your ears. 

"I didn't mean to worry you," he murmurs.

You don't trust your voice to come out whole. 

He freezes under your touch. A slow hardening. His hands pause where they'd been rubbing short, featherlight lines. 

"I'm sorry," you say, enthusing your tone with some self-deprecating cheer.  "You're tired, I'm sorry. You wanna sit down." 

"I really do." He laughs. 

You peel away from him, the two of you sheepish and awkward and it's so unlike you, unlike him. You think you've made a fool of yourself as he takes off his rucksack, laying it carefully on the floor by the bed as you turn to your shared dresser and rummage through the top drawer for some clean clothes for him to take when he showers. 

You've freaked him out, and he thinks you're a weirdo, and he's gonna realise you don't deserve him and you never could. You're bad at nearly everything, and you're a total slob, and you should've tried harder to get back to him, and it's all your fault. Misery grips you and drags you down hard. It spirals, surface level comments from a shallow, jealous girl, they twist and twist until you feel wrung out and useless. And now Steve's home, and you're–

"Are you mad at me?" Steve asks. 

You wince and face him, his sweatpants pressed to your chest. "What?" 

"You're not talking to me, and you only ever used to do that when you were mad." 

You pass him his sweatpants, clear your throat. "Stevie, I'm not mad at you." 

"Then what's up?" He unzips his windbreaker, keeping his eyes on you. "I know it's something." 

You force yourself to keep a mild smile. You can't think of a lie — you don't want to lie. 

Steve frowns as your face crumples, a large palm leaping to the curve of your neck. 

"What's wrong?" he asks. 

You can't align this Steve with the one you knew in Hawkins. He's so different. Or maybe he isn't different at all, and you're lucky to see the depth of his feelings, the expanse of his goodness and his heart and his secret smile, corners pulled up and eyebrows pushed down just so. It says, You're okay, because we're gonna do this together. The world will keep spinning for us as long as we want it to.

"I had a bad day," you say. 

"Are you sure? I've seen you on some bad days, baby. This doesn't feel like that, you know? And I get that I don't always know what to say, but I promise I wanna know. Whatever it is that's been making you all grumpy." 

His smile glows, his eyebrows rising. His teasing tone toward the end of his reassurance is a lightness you cling to. 

Lately, everything has felt so heavy. 

"I'm worried I don't…" Even attempting to say it has your throat aching. You cover his hand with yours. "Steve, I– I feel bad lately. I feel like I'm bad." 

He shakes his head, strands of his brown hair unsticking to dance in front of his eyes. "You're not bad." 

"I don't deserve you." 

He stares. 

"Being with you now, having you look after me, I didn't deserve you when I met you." A tear gathers in the line of your lashes. "I don't deserve you now. I'm just me, I'm useless, and you don't have to be with me and I've," —you take in a shuddering breath, and step away from Steve's hand— "been trying to work out why you're still with me and it doesn't make sense. Why do you stay with me?" 

"That's a stupid question," he says. 

You try to swallow a lump. It stays right there in your throat. 

"I got a policy against stupid questions, remember?" 

"Steve…" 

He cuts you off, tangling his fingers with yours, and easing you close until his breath is warming your lips and you can see the honey-browns that circle his pupils. They feel bigger the longer you look at them. 

"How can you ask me that?" he says gently. "You know how much I love you… Right?" 

You nod and knuckle a tear off of your cheek. "I know," you say, and you're crying now, little bubbling sobs that wobble your shoulders. 

"Listen, if I haven't been showing it I'm sorry, and I'll prove it to you. I don't want you to question it."

"It's not you," you say, pressing your forehead to his collar, craving his comfort so much that you don't care if you don't deserve it. 

"Everybody knows that line is a lie," he says.

"I'm not lying. Everybody knows I'm the part that doesn't fit." 

"Who's everybody?" 

You try to backtrack and pull away, but Steve won't let you this time. "I'm just having a bad day," you say, "and you've had a long one–" 

"Stop it." Steve looks at you seriously. He takes your face into both hands, like he always does when he's worried. "I don't care if I crawled home with two broken arms, loser. I gotta know what's wrong. All of it. And you need to tell me." 

He thumbs at your damp cheeks. 

"Okay," you mumble, embarrassed and relieved at once. "I'll tell you."

You insist that he take his shoes off and stretch out in bed even though he's got dirty jeans on, and he doesn't wanna get your nest of throw blankets dirty, so he peels out of them and sits in his boxers at the top of the bed. You slide in next to him, and he works his arm over your shoulder, and you cry like a baby when he calls you honey under his breath. 

—

"And these are for you, too," Steve says, pulling a slightly smushed box of cherries from the bottom of his rucksack. 

You look beautiful. Afternoon sunlight drips in from a crack in the curtains, kissing up and down your smiling cheeks. Your eyes are still puffy, but your smile hasn't moved all morning. 

"You didn't get anything for yourself?" you ask, though any outrage for him you harbour is hidden by your awe. "I don't remember the last time we got fresh fruit, and you didn't even put them at the top of the bag." 

"You're such a whiner. Just try one." 

Your fingers play delicately over the punnet of cherries. The cherry garden had had a lot of supplies left to 'borrow', and after a sickly half an hour of him and Robin staining their teeth, he'd managed to grab a perfect box's worth for you. Perfect before they got squished, that is. 

"You should have the first one," you say.

"No," he says, and shoves the box at your calf. "They're for you. If you like them, I want you to eat all of them and throw up like a godzilla." 

"Not sure you're remembering that movie right," you murmur, plucking one of the cherries out of the box. 

You bite into the cherry and your eyes screw up. "Oh wow, that's sour. I don't…" You finish chewing, and Steve is rocketed to cloud nine when you go in for a second cherry, and then a third. 

Last night had been tough. Steve spent a long time talking you down from what'd been sewn into your head, and he'd pulled the truth from you in strings. Vanessa had been cruel to you on more than one occasion now, which Steve had known but not to the full extent, and her last comment had been too much. Steve, unapologetically, hates her. 

But Vanessa isn't the sole problem. 

You're having a really hard time. All of this has been so much for you. It is, in Robin's words, the fucking apocalypse, and between nearly starving to death and all the shitty things that have happened to you, he isn't surprised to find you're fragile. And he doesn't say fragile, meaning weak. He doesn't know a lot about the world but he knows the human brain and body isn't built for this. You're his girl, and you're hurting, and while he knows objectively this isn't his fault, he vows to do a better job at protecting you. 

He won't fail you again. He can't. 

He watches cherry juice escape out of the corner of your mouth. 

"You're cute," he says. "Where's the disposable? Pass it over." 

"You are not taking a photo of me right now, baby." 

"You look beautiful." 

"When will we ever get the photos developed, anyway?" you say, laughing, kissing juice off of your fingertips. 

He leaps for the camera and tussles you when you fight back. You laugh and lose, weak with giggles as he holds you away, his fingers pressing into the soft plush of your waist. 

"Jonathan does all of that stuff," Steve says knowingly. 

He gives you a little shove. You cover your face with your hands, words muffled, "Thought the camera was for me?" 

"We're sharers. We share things. Look, if you don't smile for me I'm gonna take a picture of you in your underwear." 

You throw your hands over your lap and he snaps a photo of your shy face. 

"Shithead fucking pervert," you say. 

Steve knows he's off the hook when you laugh. 

He's gonna give Vanessa the coldest shoulder anyone has ever given, and if she were a guy Steve would defend your honour in a more physical manner. He'd suggested a verbal defence last night but you'd begged him to never, ever bring any of it up to Vanessa or your friends. It startled him —you have nothing to be ashamed of— but he'd agreed. Whatever's gonna make you happy is, perhaps cornily, what he wants to do.

Right now, making you happy is gifts on the floor of your tiny shared bedroom, pantsless but, fascinatingly, with socks. He points the camera at your ankles.

You grab the new blanket he'd given you and drape it over your legs. "Pervert," you reiterate. 

He puts down the camera. 

"Not my fault they made you perfect." 

"Who's they?" 

Steve shrugs, and can't keep the smirk off of his face as he says, "They made every damn inch of you perfect, especially but not limited to your pretty eyebrows." 

Your smile settles into something more timid. You push your hill of gifts aside, careful not to spill your cherries, and walk the short distance on knees to wrap your arms around his neck. Your face fits into the curve of his neck exactly the way it always will. His hand cups your lower back. 

"Love you, Harrington," you say. 

"How much? 'Nough to let me have some of the cherries?" 

You shake your head gently, the tip of your nose bumping his Adam's apple. "No…" you say apprehensively. 

"No? You don't wanna share with me?" 

"No." Your mumbling is adorable. Steve wants to eat you alive, or at the very least kiss you until you turn to jelly in his arms. 

If he starts now, he can be done by dinner. 

"Five seconds to change your mind. After that I'm taking all of them by force. Five, four, three…" 

You shriek, and even your shrieking  is a sound he wants to hear. You drop away from him and grab the cherries, cornering yourself too fast as you stagger to your feet and hide by the desk. Shoulders against the cabinet, you grab up one of your rare books like a shield, and you glare at him over the cover. 

"You said they were for me!" you say, real panic in your voice. You know from experience Steve will tickle you until you can't breathe.

"They are for you! I love you," he says, words dripping with a false sincerity (though he loves you, undeniably). "I'm just trying to help you, sweetheart. You don't want my help?" 

"You keep your help away from me, beast." 

It doesn't take him nearly as long as he'd thought to melt you. He tickles you, and he steals a handful of your precious cherries, and when he kisses you dizzy it leaves red-pink splotches over the column of your neck, his smile temporarily printed into your skin. 

—

ty for reading <3 I hope you enjoyed, and if you did pls consider reblogging <3<3

[ourlittleuluru]

Midnight Whispers

~Landscape mode pics and rambles, slight spoilers ahead?~

Sadly this one is riddled with faked vignette by the devs 😭😭😭 there goes the immersion (and also MC's arm being cut off because of the near-clipping plane of the cameraaaaaa)

I can't even with this pouty bb 😭😭😭😭 why are you so asdfghjkl cute???!

More pics under the cut to reduce the post length 🤣 because when I say this post is long... it is... LOOOONG

I know he's trying to look angry and serious but! HE CUTE! Look at this man sulking 🥺🥺🥺💕

The way he purses his lips just before he regains his composure to push MC back 🥴 and then that eyebrow raise????? Man am I feeling things... 😳

H E L P I'm in danger 😭 this expression with the smirk is just sending me!

AND IT'S THE RETURN OF THE EVIL VIGNETTE!! NAUR GO AWAY 😭😩😩😩😩 I wanna see Xavier in his full gloryyyyy

More baby sulking 🥺🤲 like i just wanna hold him. He so precious. AND THE NOSE BOOP??? MC how are you still able to tease him back??? ToT I admire your nerves of steel. I would have CRUMBLED and curled into a ball on that sofa if I were you!

The surpised look on his face! and the blush!!! and then he softens up at it like!!!! ASDLKJGLF

AND THEN HIS MOST PRECIOUS OF SMILES!!! MUST PROTECC

His shocked face when he hears MC's reply was hilarious 🤣🤣 ngl, new reaction image. If only you knew how much I HAD TO SPEND FOR YOU TO COME HOME??? 😩

Finally, the way he's like "NOPE" 💞💞💦

[corroded-hellfire]

i can’t stop thinking about as you wish 😩💘 what would eddie have thought of reader on their very first meeting? did he instantly start to have feelings or was it more so when he realised how much the boys liked her and how she treated eddie? my brain is rotting in the best way

big love to you xxxxxx

I am so glad you asked this because I have often thought about these two meeting! I hope you enjoy 💕

Words: 2.7k

[As You Wish masterlist]

This was it. 126 Thorn Court. The address that your sister scrawled on the paper in the indecipherable scribbling that she calls handwriting. A friend of a friend needed a steady babysitter, so your sister sent it through the grapevine the other way that her little sister has always been great with kids. 

You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of information from your sister, who in turn said she hadn’t gotten much from her friend either. All you knew was the address that was held in your hand, the name that was written beneath it—Brittany Munson—and that the kids were two boys, four and six years old. The whole time leading up to this moment you hadn’t been nervous, but sitting here parked in front of the house in your used gold car, the job interview nerves are kicking in. 

Taking a deep breath, you push the car door open and climb out. As you make your way up to the front door, a strange wave of nerves comes over you. It’s almost a pleasant tingle, like first date nerves, making you let out a confused chuckle. Smoothing your hands down your body, you take one last look down at your outfit of a flowy black skirt and a white t-shirt tucked into it. Assessing that it looks fine, you raise your hand and knock on the blue door. The faint sound of little feet running around meets your ears before a heavier gate approaches the door. When it swings open, you’re not prepared for the sight before you.

A man who can only be described as beautiful stands there, dark curls cascading down to his shoulders, and the prettiest brown eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s tall with a thin frame. Skinny, but toned muscles peeking from underneath his Metallica tee. Had you been asked before what your type was, you wouldn’t have had an answer; your crushes had always been on varied types of guys. But suddenly, you’re realizing this man is exactly your type. Who could possibly be more attractive than him?

You’re so busy taking him in that you don’t realize that he’s doing the same to you. It could’ve been five seconds or five hours, when a little boy comes running over and attaches himself to the man’s leg. This breaks the both of you out of your trance, though neither of you realized the other was in one too. 

“Hi,” the man says, his pretty pink lips curving into a smile. A smile that nearly knocks the breath from you.

“Hi. I’m um, I’m here for…” you start, but are cut off by the little boy.

“You’re pretty!”

“Oh,” you say with a chuckle. “Well, thank you. You’re a handsome little boy, yourself.” He grins proudly, looking from you to his dad. 

“Babysitter, yeah?” the man asks. 

“Yes! That’s me.” You hold your hand out and introduce yourself. His hand slides into yours, rough calluses brushing against your soft skin. The warmth of his hand envelops yours and you’re pretty sure an electric spark travels up your arm at the contact. 

“I’m Eddie. This is Luke.” Eddie, your brain repeats.

“Hi!” Luke says, grinning up at you. 

“Hi,” you say, giving him a smile in return.

“Go get your brother, please,” Eddie tells his son. Luke nods and runs off somewhere in the house. “Please, come in. We’re really glad you could come by and meet us and the kids.” 

“Oh, of course,” you say, stepping inside the house. Eddie closes the door behind you, and you take the opportunity to look around. Directly to your right is the living room of the one-story house. The couch and loveseat look plush and comfy, both facing a dark wood entertainment center that holds a television. The walls are deep navy blue with a few paintings and photo frames scattered along the surfaces. Eddie steps up beside you and you’re once again struck by his beauty.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing towards the couch. “I’ll just go get my wife and we’ll be right back.”

Ugh. Right. He had a wife. And they have kids. That’s why you’re here, after all. But it doesn’t stop you from watching Eddie’s ass as he heads down the hallway. Stop it, you try and scold yourself. This man might be your new boss. He’s probably happily married and content with his life. He doesn’t need some teenager—even if you’d only be one for two more weeks—coming in and fawning all over him. 

As you take a seat on the couch, Luke comes running into the room, a smile identical to his father’s plastered on his lips. In fact, Luke is pretty much a shrunken version of Eddie. Except for the eyes, you notice. Luke has bright blue eyes that he must get from his mother. Another boy follows in behind Luke, a little taller and with hair a few shades lighter brown than his little brother’s. He has the same warm brown eyes as his father, but his hair only has a slight curl. 

“This is Ryan,” Luke says, poking his brother in the arm. “He’s shy sometimes.”

“That’s okay,” you tell Ryan. “I can be shy sometimes, too. Especially when I meet someone new.” 

“Told you she was pretty,” Luke says to his brother, making you giggle.

A beautiful blonde woman walks into the room, Eddie right behind her. The first thought as your eyes land on her is that she could be an actress with how pretty she is. Her heart shaped face is accentuated by long blonde hair that has a bit of a wave to it. Luke’s blue eyes are identical to hers, the mother’s framed by dark lashes and immaculate makeup. She’s a good number of inches shorter than Eddie, with a small frame and curves that any woman would kill for. Watching her as she takes a seat on the loveseat, you subconsciously start to fidget in your seat, fingers tugging on the hem of your skirt. 

“So,” the woman says, crossing one leg over the other. Her gaze settles on you and it’s eerily absent of any warmth. Eddie sits next to her, perched on the edge of his seat. He rests his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, hands clasped together. “You’re a babysitter?” the wife asks.

“Um,” Eddie says before you can say anything. “This is Brittany, my wife.” She flashes you a tight lipped, strained smile and you introduce yourself.

“And uh, yes, I’m a babysitter. I’ve been watching kids since I was fourteen,” you say.

“Which was what, two years ago?” Brittany asks, tilting her head. You can tell it wasn’t meant to be mean, it just seems to be the way she speaks. 

“No,” you say, shifting in your seat. “I’ll be twenty in a couple of weeks.”

“Are you in school?” Eddie asks, a friendly smile on his face.

“I am,” you say. 

“What’re you studying?” he asks.

“Undeclared,” you say, wrinkling up your nose. “Just doing general courses still because I can’t decide what I want to major in.”

“Well, we’ll need you Monday through Friday after school,” Brittany says, jarring both you and Eddie out of the conversation you were having.

“O-Okay,” you say, nodding your head. “All my classes are early, so that’s not a problem.”

“Would you be okay with picking them up from school?” Eddie asks, leaning back on the couch. Ryan walks over and climbs in his father’s lap. Eddie grins and tugs the little boy closer to his chest, letting him get comfortable. 

“Of course,” you answer. 

“I go to preschool,” Luke tells you, proudly. He plops himself down on the couch next to you, his little legs swinging over the ledge. 

“Luke, hush, the adults are talking,” Brittany says. Luke’s face falls and he slinks down in his seat. No wonder Ryan hasn’t opened his mouth, you think to yourself. 

Brittany continues to ask you questions, Eddie popping in every now and then to ask some himself. It’s nothing you didn’t expect–you would be thorough with someone who would potentially be spending so much time with your children as well. Though, there are a few questions from Brittany that have you wondering what they have to do with the job. Do you have a boyfriend? How often do you drink? Are you a sorority girl? You notice Eddie seems to be a little perplexed by the questions as well, confusion furrowing his brow every once in a while. 

“Well,” Brittany says, slapping her palms down on her thighs. “We’re in a bind and you seem competent. Can you start on Monday?” 

“Yeah, I can.” Her abruptness is a little alerting, but you’re keying into that this is just the way she is.

“Do you want to spend some time with the boys first?” Eddie asks, shifting Ryan in his lap.

“I would love to,” you say. “Is it okay if I play a game with you, Ryan?”

The little boy peeks up at his dad who gives him an encouraging nod. He slowly slides out of Eddie’s lap and begins to fidget with his fingers.

“What’s your favorite game?” you ask. 

“Trouble,” Ryan says, voice quiet. 

“Yeah? That’s one of my favorites too. Do you like that game too, Luke?” You turn to the younger boy to be met with a bright smile.

“Yes!”

“Perfect! Should we go play?”

“Yeah,” Luke stands up and takes your hand. “I’ll show you where it is.”

He leads you down the hall to a closet that’s situated between two bedrooms; the kids’ rooms, you assume. Luke is hardly able to reach the doorknob, never mind the game that’s on one of the top shelves. You grab the box, pulling it down, and once you turn around you see that Ryan has followed you down the hallway as well.

“Where should we play, Ryan?” you ask him. 

“The kitchen table?” Ryan asks, voice still soft.

“That sounds good to me.”

“Kitchen is this way!” Luke calls, running down the hall. Ryan walks with you as you follow the four-year-old. Luke’s already sitting at the green kitchen table, ready and raring to go, when you step into the room. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Eddie asks, coming into the kitchen behind you.

“Oh no, I’m okay, thanks,” you reply. 

Brittany comes into the kitchen and Luke looks between the two of his parents.

“Daddy! Mom! D’ya wanna play?” Luke asks. 

“Can’t, baby. I’m busy,” Brittany says. She grabs a bottle of water and shuffles out of the kitchen. Luke juts out his lower lip and turns to his father.

“Sure,” Eddie says, smile lighting up his face. Luke instantly mirrors him, a gleeful look about him as he begins to take pieces out of the game box.

You sit across the table from Eddie, in between the two boys. It’s decided you’ll be the red pieces as Luke explains the rules of the game—which you already know, but let him discuss anyway. 

Ryan goes first, and the game play begins around the table. Despite him being the most excited, Luke seems to have the worst luck as he can’t get his pieces free from home. He becomes more and more frustrated as the game goes on, eventually thick angry tears tumble out of his eyes. 

“Hey,” you say with a frown. “What’s going on?”

Luke rubs at his eye, nodding at the game board. “Can’t move.”                                                                                                                

“Aw, Luke. It can be super frustrating when things aren’t going our way, I know. Do you want to take a quick break so you can calm down? We won’t skip your turn.” Luke nods, his curls bobbing up and down with his head. “Sometimes it helps if I wash my face and take a few deep breaths. But not at the same time or you’ll get water up your nose!”

Luke giggles and a smile curls on your lips. 

“M’kay,” Luke says as he slides out of his chair. When you face forward again in your seat, Eddie’s looking at you with a small smile playing over his handsome features. 

“W-Was that okay?” you ask, suddenly nervous you overstepped in some way.

“That was great,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a potential tantrum thwarted off so quickly.”

His praise makes you blush, ducking your head down shyly. A look at the game board has you remembering that Ryan is winning—and sitting right next to you.

“And you, little mister,” you say, grinning over at the boy. “How’d you get so good at this game? They teach you this in school?”

Ryan’s smile warms your heart, feeling like you’re finally breaking through to him. 

“Noooo,” he says. “I’m just good at it.”

“Yes, you are!”

“Ryan’s my little hard worker,” Eddie says, moving some hair out of his son’s eyes. “He puts his mind to something, and he does it better than anyone.”

“I believe that,” you say. 

Luke jogs back into the room, hopping back on his chair.

“Feeling better?” you ask, and he gives you two thumbs up. 

Ryan ends up winning the game, but Luke comes in second, beating you and Eddie. It may have been because the two of you let him, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. By the time you’re getting ready to leave, Ryan is talking up a storm, telling you about his teacher and his friends and every little thing his mind can think of. 

“Can I give you a hug?” Ryan asks when it’s time for you to go. You try to blame the sudden pressure of tears behind your eyes on hormones, but you’re pretty sure it’s not even that time of month. 

“Of course,” you say, bending down. Ryan throws his arms around your neck, and you squeeze him in return. Luke is right behind him, wanting his own chance to give you a hug goodbye. “I’ll see you guys on Monday, okay?” 

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Eddie offers. You hadn’t seen Brittany since she left the kitchen earlier—and that’s fine by you. She’s clearly your least favorite person in the family. Eddie had written down all the information you’d need and given it to you, so you were officially ready for your first day on Monday. 

“They’re really great kids,” you tell Eddie.

“Thanks,” he says and the proud look in his eyes has you practically swooning. It really isn’t fair how attractive this man is. How attractive your boss is, you realize. “Is there anything else you need before Monday?”

You shake your head as Eddie reaches for the doorknob. “Don’t think so.”

“Well, if you think of anything, you’ve got my number,” Eddie says, gesturing to the piece of paper in your hand. He has yours as well, stuck on the fridge with a magnet. 

“I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” you say.

“Yeah.” Eddie slips his hands into his pockets as he leans against the open door. “You know, I’m really glad we found you. We needed a babysitter, and I was kinda resigned to having to settle for someone. But you seem perfect. F-For the job.”

Cheeks warming, you give him a bashful smile. “Thank you,” you say.

“I should be thanking you. I have to admit I’ll have more peace of mind knowing you’re watching the boys.”

“I promise you they’re in good hands,” you say, reluctantly turning for the door. “I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Munson.” 

Eddie’s silently glad that you’ve turned away at that moment, so you don’t catch the hitch in his breath. There’s no way he can deal with you calling him that all the time.

“Call me Eddie,” he says, forcing his tone to be casual. 

“Okay. See you on Monday, Eddie.”

“See you Monday, sweetheart.”

Keeping your composure until you get into your car is harder than it should be. But once you’re buckled in and you see that Eddie had closed the front door behind you, you let out a squeal and throw your head back against the headrest. 

“Holy shit,” you say to yourself. “He called me sweetheart. This man is going to be the death of me.”