#every other prompt will be disconnected from this

[froms8nsashes]

Gym Class

"Ridley! Psst... Ridley,"

Grian and Taurtis had been trying to get her attention the entire time because Sam was too much of a pussy to try and talk to her himself. So he was a coward as usual.

Ridley just paid no mind to them. Actually, she wanted nothing to do with them after last week. She had been avoiding all three of them, trying to forget what Sam said.

Ridley, wait! I... killed someone

Her eyes widened and she jumped at the sound of a whistle, she was the only one standing in front of the gym teacher. Looking around hesitantly she noticed that Ellen was standing with her.

"We have dodgeball today." The clairvoyant said, smiling slightly. Their eye was bandaged once again.

She noticed Sam was standing on the other side, then realized that Taurtis and Grian were on her team. Mentally kicking herself she caught a ball that one of her teammates threw at her, whipping her head in their direction Taurtis shrunk back. Her gaze was intense, burning into his soul. He shared a weary look with Grian.

"Are you upset because of last week?" Ellen asked.

"How do you even know that?"

"Intuition."

"Well, it's not like I need to care. He's just some geek criminal. A loser. He's practically beneath me, if he went as far as to- " She stopped herself, glancing at Ellen. The ball was squished in her hands, her nails digging into the plastic.

"Oh- did you tell him you liked him and he turned you down?" Ellen's eyes lit up.

"What? No! Besides, I would have been the one to turn him down!"

Ridley threw the ball at someone who had caught her eye, whipping it across the gym full force. She wasn't angry. She couldn't be angry. Sam wasn't her problem. He was just some stupid boy who transferred to her school. She didn't need to care.

Picking up a ball from the ground she couldn't help but notice him standing there awkwardly, watching students throw balls at each other. He was obviously avoiding getting hit and that just seemed to make her even angrier. Stepping up very close to the line dividing the gym she stared at him.

What the hell was she doing? Sam could only stare at her with wide brown eyes, his ears standing on end making him appear taller than he already is. She beckoned him over, motioning with her fingers. His feet were moving on their own accord and he was standing just on the other side of the line in front of her.

"Who the fuck did you kill?!" She asked in hushed tone, the ball looked like it was going to deflate.

"What?" Sam choked on his own spit.

"You heard me."

"Why do you want to know?!"

"How dangerous are you?!"

"It was my ex girlfriend, but it was an accident!"

The rest of class was mostly a blur, but Sam ended up at the infirmary with a bloody, possibly broken nose. Taurtis and Grian were with him, sitting next to him as he tilted his head up, holding a tissue over his nose. His voice was nasally and barely audible.

"Do you think she's pissed at me?"

"Dude, we had to pull her off of you. She was screaming about pressing charges or contacting the authorities." Taurtis' voice was quiet.

"What did you say to her?" Grian asked.

"I told her what happened..."

[cevansbrat0007]

The Anatomy of an Orgasm

Summary: You make the mistake of faking an orgasm while in bed with Ari...

Warnings: Light Angst, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Smut, Oral Sex (fem rec), Fake Orgasms, Stubborn Reader, Hurt Feelings, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Prompt courtesy of @writer84. Takes place early in Ari and Bird's relationship. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

When you think back to the early days of your relationship, one thing that always surprises you is just how perceptive this man could be sometimes – especially when it came to you. Even now, that man continues to watch you like a hawk, taking in your every movement. 

And listening to your every word.

You know it’s because he’s trying to anticipate your needs. Every day he wakes up, Ari Levinson strives to be the man you need him to be. Your safety and security are of paramount importance to him. He’s the type of man to take on your worries as his own. The type of man to help you master your fears. Over time he’s become more than just your champion. He’s also your biggest cheerleader. 

Which is why there’s this expectation that now exists between the two of you – one forged by trust, as well as honest and open communication. And while this is something that seems to come easy to your bounty hunter, sometimes it proves to be a little more challenging for you. 

It’s hard not to bottle everything up. It’s natural for you to simply stuff things down and wait until everything exploded later.

Because up until this point, you’d never had someone with whom you could share the weight of your world – even though Ari continues to show you that nothing is too much for his broad shoulders to carry. 

Tonight you’re lying in bed on your back, your legs draped over Ari’s muscled shoulders. His handsome face is currently buried between your thighs while he makes a meal out of your pussy. Your spine arches when you feel him suck your swollen clit between his lips, applying just pressure to have your eyes rolling back in your head. 

Or at least it would…if you could get yourself to relax enough to actually enjoy it.

“Taste so good, baby.” Your man rasps once he releases you, taking a moment to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss along the curve of your inner thigh.

“Uh huh.” You mumble, throwing your arm over your eyes as he gets back to his dessert. 

Ari nuzzles your dripping cunt with the tip of his nose, growling when he’s rewarded with a soft whine from you. And you can’t stop your hips from bucking when he slowly spears two thick fingers inside you, pumping them in and out in time with his wicked tongue. 

Any other time you would’ve been well on your way to your second orgasm, if not coasting along to your third. But every time you try to give over the pleasure, your traitorous mind keeps deciding to wander...

Sales at the bookstore were down this month. And the latest series, featuring a brand new, up-and-coming author, hadn’t performed anywhere near as well as you’d initially thought it would. Which was surprising to say the least – especially since the woman had spent the last month being featured on virtually every single morning daytime talk show that promised her an audience. 

And then there was all the shit you had on backorder. Items that were effectively stuck in limbo until the day they finally arrived on your doorstep. Hopefully sometime before next year.

You remind yourself to moan when Ari picks up his pace, your hips writhing beneath him as you try to hide the fact you’re becoming increasingly distracted. But try as you might, the disconnect between your mind and your body only continues to grow. 

A sharp cry escapes your throat when you feel his fingers curl, delicately stroking that special place inside you that normally made sparks dance behind your eyes. 

“That’s it, little Bird.” Ari grunts, his eager tongue lashing against your clit. “Be a good girl and cum for me. Wanna taste it.”

Yeah, there was no way you were gonna get there tonight. Not like this. 

“Give it to me, baby.” He orders again. “Right fuckin’ now.” 

At a loss for what else to do, you bear down, desperately clenching around him in what you hope is a believable performance. “Oh god, Beast!” You repeat the action again and again, making sure to accompany it with several breathy little sighs.

“Wow.” You breathe once Ari finally releases his grip on your hips. Now that you’re free, you quickly scoot away and begin searching for your discarded panties, which wasn’t typical behavior for you. You were more the type that preferred to bask in bliss.

But not tonight. Because you’d just faked an orgasm with this gorgeous man.

Right now you felt sweaty and awkward, and you needed space to breathe. You refuse to even look in Ari’s direction as you hastily begin to redress, lest he see right through you. 

"That was great." You mumble lamely.

“What are you–where are you goin’?” A pang of guilt hits you when you note the confusion in his tone. 

“Huh?” You slip his t-shirt over your head. He wouldn’t mind that you were leaving him half-naked, since he was wearing his boxer briefs. “I’m just gonna…go clean up. Maybe work off some of this excess energy.”

That last sentence has you inwardly face palming. What a stupid thing to say to a man like Ari Levinson. 

“Hey, come back here a second…” You watch out of the corner of your eye as he sits up in bed. At times like this you were reminded that the man in your bed was also a detective, which meant he came equipped with a sixth sense for bullshit. 

Mainly yours.

“Stay here and relax.” You tell him, making your way towards the door. “I just…know I won’t be able to sleep knowing I left behind a sink full of dirty dishes.” 

“C’mere first.”

Shaking your head, you head for the stairs. At that moment, even the underlying authority in his voice wasn’t enough to make you obey. You always seemed to find a sense of calm when you cleaned. Fingers crossed that it worked tonight.

You’re gifted with a whopping ten minutes to yourself before you hear your man lumbering down the stairs. Rinsing a plate under hot water, you hope that he’s only stopping in for a glass of water and not because he wants to talk. 

Grimacing, you move on to the next soiled piece of dishware, scrubbing vigorously. Your back remains turned, just as it had upstairs. Perhaps if you avoided eye contact he would simply grab his beverage and go on his merry way. 

“Bird.” 

Your beloved pet name rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest. However, you refuse to look at him, seemingly content to focus on the task at hand. 

“Clean glasses are in the cupboard.” 

“Hey.“ You startle when you feel two large, warm hands settle on your hips, followed by the soft skim of lips along the curve of your ear. “Stop.” 

“But I’m not done.” You mumble, blinking back tears for some stupid reason you can’t quite name. “Everything needs to be dried and put away. I haven’t swept or wiped anything down. And it’s been a couple days since I mopped.”

“Baby, your kitchen is always spotless. Now I’m askin’ you to dry your hands and come talk to me.”

“I’m not sure we have anything to talk about.” You hedge, wishing he’d just leave you be – even as you dutifully move to do as he requests.

“Yeah?” Ari gives you a comforting squeeze, willing you to relax against his bare chest. “Well, you could start by explainin’ just what what the hell happened back in bed.”

“Nothing happened.”

“My entire goddamned point.” Comes his gruff response. “That wasn’t you back there, baby.”

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Squirming out of his embrace, you attempt to put some distance between you and him using your kitchen island as a buffer.

Ari sighs, tipping back his head to briefly stare at the ceiling. His big body remains tense as he struggles to get you to open up and tell him the truth. “Was I too rough with you? Are you…are you sore?”

That familiar pang of guilt returns full-force now, because of course your sweet Beast would be the kind of man to blame himself for the issues you’d experienced in the bedroom. It was just who he was. 

“No.” You swiftly respond before wrapping your arms around your middle. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly. I–I was focused on the kitchen. But I swear I’ll make it up to you.” And now you feel even worse for having abandoned him with a hard-on.

“Why are you fuckin’ lying to me?”

“I-I’m not.”

Your teeth begin to worry your bottom lip as you watch his demeanor change. His clouded blue eyes narrow as his nostrils flare, followed by that signature tick in his jaw. 

“Tell me you didn’t just fake it with me earlier. Look my in the eyes and fuckin’ tell me you gave something real back in that bed and I’ll leave it alone.”

You immediately avert your gaze. Because you honestly didn’t have it in your heart to keep lying to this man. He deserved better. And frankly, so did you. 

“Eyes on me, Bird.” He orders, demanding your full attention. “Open up that pretty mouth and start talkin’.” Sometimes this man had the patience of a saint. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally admit, wincing as the words come pouring out. “You weren’t supposed to–” You clamp your mouth shut and force yourself to pivot. “I didn’t think you’d be able to tell.”

Ari is quiet for a moment as confusion and disappointment radiate from his much larger form. 

“Why’d you do it?” 

“I’m sorry.” Unsure of what to do with all your nervous energy, you remove the tie from your hair to run your fingers through your curls. “I–I’ve never done it before. And I shouldn’t have done it tonight. I…” You glance down at your bare toes, wishing that the ground would simply open up and swallow you whole where you stood.

“Eyes.” Ari demands, making you jump slightly. “Damn it, baby. We’re gonna have a hell of a time making this shit work if you go mute every time there’s an issue.”

“It has nothing to do with you!” You manage to stop yourself just short of screaming. “I already said I was sorry, okay? Like, what more do you want from me?”

“And I want you to tell me when you suddenly decided to fake your pleasure with me!” He snarls, his brawny arms crossing his chest. “You claim you’ve never done it before. So what the hell made tonight so special?”

Yeah, he was fucking pissed. And what’s worse is that he had every reason to be. Because you’d hurt him. 

“Unless you’re lying to me. Again.” He continues when you refuse to answer. 

“I’m not.” You sniffle, dragging a weary hand across your face. “What you and I have – swear to God, Beast – it’s amazing. Explosive. Sometimes it feels like it’s too much to handle.” When all you receive is a grunt for your trouble, you take that as permission to keep going. 

“And tonight was no exception, it’s just…” You pause long enough to steady your breathing. “It felt like my body and my brain were totally disconnected. And no matter how hard I tried to relax and let myself feel good, I just couldn’t.”

Ari continues to stare you down as that tick in his jaw continues to work overtime.

“I’ve faked it before, with the others. Th–they didn’t know.” Neither Mason, nor the only other man you’d ever been with had seemed to notice whenever you’d been less than honest with them in bed.

“So you didn't think that I'd know. Jesus Christ.” He hisses, bracing himself on the edge of the counter. “Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I ain’t them.” He levels you with a hard look. “I know you, know your body. I’ve memorized what you look like when you cum, the little noises you make, the way your gorgeous body bends and your pretty toes curl.”

Your eyes flutter closed as he speaks, which is why you fail to notice when he begins to round the corner – like a predator stalking his prey.

“I know what you taste like on my tongue. Know what it feels like to have that greedy pussy gush around me while your heels dig into my back. Even when you tap out, you best be sure that she always wants more.”

When you open your eyes it’s to see Ari looming over you. But you’re not intimidated, because deep down you know he would never hurt you, even though you’d just hurt him. However, you’re surprised when he reaches up to cup your face with both hands.

“I know these things…” Your bounty hunter rasps, his voice sounding almost hoarse. “Because I know you. I know my woman.” A lone tear falls, slowly gliding its way down your check before Ari dashes it away with his thumb.

“It wasn’t you, Beast.” You rush to reassure him, even as you move to bury your face in the wall of his sculpted chest. “I’ve just been so worried about the store – it’s been a slow month. And I’m still waiting on an order from two months ago. And tonight it was like no matter how much I tried to forget and refocus…I just couldn’t.”

“Hmph.” He grunts, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Why do you think I’m always on your stubborn little ass to talk to me?”

“I know.” Your words come out muffled. 

“If you’re not in the mood, or there’s too much going on in the beautiful brain, I want you to fuckin’ talk to me about it.” Without warning, he lifts you with impressive ease to set you on the counter. 

“I know.” Another tear escapes, but Ari is quick to wipe it away. “But I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me how?” He scoffs, briefly resting his forehead against your own.

“If you want sex and I don’t or I can’t, then –” 

“Then I’ll handle that shit like a man.” Ari swiftly interrupts. “Baby, it’s like you breathe in my general direction and I’m fuckin’ hard. But if the moment’s not working for you, either because you’re tired or you got worries, I want you to fuckin’ talk to me. Don’t fake an orgasm to try and soothe my ego.”

Wordlessly you nod as you go to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer. You feel yourself relax when he pulls you into his warm embrace. It was the first time you’d been able to do so all evening. 

“It won’t happen again. Just…please don’t leave tonight.” Your voice sounds so small and fragile it takes you by surprise. 

“Aw, I ain’t goin’ anywhere, pretty Bird.” One of his hands begins to rub soothing circles along your lower back. Later, you would learn that that thought had never even crossed his mind. “Consider this water under a fuckin’ bridge.” 

You continue holding each other for a while longer, content to bask in the comforting silence. If there was never any doubt as to why you were coming to care so deeply for this man, those thoughts had all been dashed tonight.

In fact, if you weren’t careful, you just might be tempted to fall in love with this man. 

“C’mon back upstairs.” Ari murmurs a little while later, but not before capturing your lips with a gentle kiss. “Let’s get you into a shower, I’ll even help you wash your hair.” 

At his urging, you'd shown him how to do a quick co-wash a couple weeks ago, and now he was hooked. Not that you were complaining.

“Okay.” You nod, unable to stop yourself from melting.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk about the shop. Maybe brainstorm some ideas about how to fix things, or at least cushion the blow.” Again you nod, feeling more at peace with the world than you had the last several days. 

Reaching for your hand, you lace your fingers through his and allow yourself to be led back up the stairs, leaving the dishes and the rest of your chores undone. You had more important things to see to, right now. 

And, perhaps, a little more apologizing to do.

END

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[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[xinganhao]

✏️ biology major!vernon x reader.

sometimes, you have to romanticize your lab experiences to survive them; enter vernon ✶ part of my svt university milestone event

⤿ friendship, fluff, lab romance, biology talk i'm not 100% sure about (lol) so shoutout to openstax™ for the aid. more content under the cut. ♡⸝⸝ prompt from anon!

ANAPHY1 › Assignments › Module 2: Written Assignment

Module 2: Structural Organization of the Human Body

Due Thursday by 11:59 PM Points 17 Submitting a confession Attempts 0 Allowed Attempts 1

By the end of this, you will be able to:

Describe the structure of the human body in terms of six levels of organization.

Name at least five of the eleven organ systems of the human body, identifying a function for each.

Confess to your lab partner.

Organ Systems of the Human Body

Integumentary System

Encloses internal body structures; site of many sensory receptors.

i.e. Vernon felt goosebumps when your hand first brushed against his. It had made him feel like a fumbling teenager, because it wasn't even skin on skin contact. It was somewhere into maybe your third or fourth experiment together, when the two of you were a little more comfortable in closing the negligible distance between you. There had been your lab gloves in the way, and yet. And yet. Being that close to you had sent electricity sparking through his skin. He chalked it up to the triboelectric effect, some sort of static fluke.

Skeletal System

Supports the body; enables movement with muscular system.

i.e. There's a certain type of cold that Vernon feels to his very bones. Sometimes, the heater in the lab is broken and it leaves everybody shivering throughout the class. Every so often, he thinks about loaning you his hoodie. Briefly, he imagines how it would look on you. He's a little bit taller, bigger. The clothing might dwarf your frame, but at least it will keep you warm. He doesn't want to be weird, though. Doesn't want to overstep the boundaries of acquaintances-slash-lab partners. He can only hope that your joints aren't the type to buck in the chill as he forces himself to focus on anything but you.

Nervous System

Detects and processes sensory information; activates bodily responses.

i.e. He can turn off his brain when he's around you. This is not to say that he leaves you struggling with lab work. But during the waits in between experiments where the two of you are waiting for results? The conversation comes easy, naturally. What's your favorite movie? Have you heard Charli XCX's new album? Sometimes, he'll say something and only think about it much, much later, when he's in some other class that you're not in. He doesn't quite understand why there's such a significant lag, this weird disconnect between who he usually is and who he is around you.

Respiratory System

Removes carbon dioxide from the body; delivers oxygen to blood.

i.e. All the air has been knocked out of him when he sees you, for the first time, outside of class. He's used to the sight of you in a lab gown. Your hair pulled back, your eyes hidden behind goggles. Then, one afternoon, he spots you across the hall while he's rushing to his Qualitative and Quantitative Genetics class. He nearly misses the way you give him a small smile, the way you raise a hand in a wave. He forces himself to wave back, if only to hide the way he feels like his lungs have been emptied out.

Cardiovascular System

Delivers oxygen and nutrients to tissues; equalizes temperatures in the body.

i.e. Vernon is a man of science, through and through. It's why he took up Biology in the first place. And so he realizes there's only so much he can ignore, when his heart speeds up every Tuesday/Thursday morning. When his heart all but drops when you say that you won't be in for the day. He can be in denial all he wants, can blame all these stupid reactions on the dumbest of things. The fact of the matter remains: His body— most especially his heart— doesn't lie. So when it comes to finally owning up to his feelings, why should he lie to you?

bonus <𝟑 the one with a little bit of romance.

[drabblesandimagines]

Cramped

Inspired by @creativepromptsforwriting prompt 1080! "I can't stop thinking about kissing you." "And what are you going to do about that?" Leon Kennedy x gn reader

“I can’t do this.” Leon mutters under his breath, but you hear it as clear as day from your position.

How could you not, seeing as you’re currently only an inch away from his chest, his head nearly resting atop your own?

You’ve been trapped in this tiny storage cupboard for at least 20 minutes now, waiting for Hunnigan to give the all-clear that all 27 heat signals had dispersed from outside your current location. You would describe yourself as a relatively decent shot, Leon more so, but the numbers weren’t in your favour.

“Claustrophobic?” You whisper back, cautious that your voice may carry. You wish you could shift your left foot ever so slightly, currently standing awkwardly over a bucket that was sat at the bottom at the cupboard when you entered.

“No.” He has his hands braced either side of you against the opposite wall, seemingly caging you in more than the cupboard is. Your arms awkwardly hung by your side, painfully aware of how if you moved even slightly forward you’d be pressing your front into his chest, fingers ghosting against his hips.

“I can’t do this.” Leon says again. “Missions - with you.”

“Oh, come on,” you wish you could step back so you could give him a proper withering stare. “You can’t blame me every time something goes wrong. The intel definitely said only five guards were on site at any one time.”

“No. I mean, I…” He’d rub the bridge of his nose if he could bring his arm forward to do it without hitting you in the process. “I can’t concentrate.” You scoff, immediately defensive. “And how is that my fault?” “Because I can’t stop thinking about kissing you!” Silence. “Oh.” “Yes, oh.” He mocks, frustrated. He's meant to be better than this. Hell, he usually is when the two of you are paired up. Leon’s flirty, sure, but he knows to be professional when it’s a matter of life and death, and trapped in a cupboard with a number of hostiles outside is definitely a time when he should be at his most focused. But ever since the two of you retreated in here, all he can think about is how close you are, how good you smell, the warmth of your body pressed up against his, how he could place his fingers under your chin, tilt your head up… “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“Sorry?” He looks down at you in disbelief, sure he’s misheard. “I said,” you lift your hand and trail your fingers up his chest before you rest it just above his pounding heart and meet those soft blue eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”

He doesn’t need a third invitation, dropping his hands from the wall. One arm wraps around your waist, bringing you needlessly forward that final inch, your left thigh finding its way between his in lieu of anywhere else to go. His other hands grabs the back of your head and tilts it up to meet his lips, stealing your breath with a deep, frantic kiss... Hunnigan smiles to herself as she leans back in her chair at HQ, your voices falling silent on the comms in what she suspects is the result of other activity – Leon had left the channel open when you'd been forced to find cover. It’s only when she hears Kennedy let out a muffled moan that she taps to disconnect the audio, her suspicions now well and truly confirmed. The computer screen in front of her shows a blueprint of the factory, where two red dots reside in the small storage cupboard she’d directed them to after she’d ‘alerted’ them to the unwelcome company. She still needs to work out how to explain the sudden disappearance of 27 hostiles, but it’s worth it so she won’t be forced to watch the two of you dance awkwardly around each other in the office anymore.

--- This is probably the closest to a drabble I've ever gotten despite my blog name, ha! Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

PS: Thanks to @porcelainseashore for helping me clarify the ending <3

[veryberryjelly]

request ; @diorrfairy; can i get 25. kissing hip bones i repeat kissing hip bones with art donaldson !!

art donaldson x reader

prompts ; ' kissing hip bones i repeat kissing hip bones '

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✦ 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 !

while there were many benefits to dating a tennis player, attending functions was not one of them.

a lot of people would love to get dressed up, go to a fancy event with their partner and spend the night drinking, but both yourself and art would much rather just stay home and order in.

you enjoyed each others company more than others.

but unfortunately neither of you could get out of it tonight.

which was why you were finishing off curling your hair in the bathroom while art tied up his shoes sat on the bed.

" we could say i got hurt during practice "

the entire time the two of you had been getting ready, art had been offering up excuses you could give to the organiser to get out of it and every time you had the same sort of answer.

a soft laugh fell from your lips as you set the curler down on the counter, switching it off at the socket.

" baby, there is no way we can get out of it. " you relented, waking through to the bedroom, your bare feet padding against the carpet. " but we only have to be there for an hour or two and then we can come home "

art lifted his eyes when you came to stand infront of him and for a moment he was glad that they had been invited to this event.

you looked absolutely ethereal.

your dress complimented your skin beautifully, the thin material allowing him to see every curve of your body.

when he lifted his hands to slide up your thighs, ruffling the material slightly, he realised how soft it was beneath his fingertips.

his hands slid up from your thighs to your hips, pulling you those few steps closer to him, his head tilted back and his gorgeous blue and brown eye staring up at you with something you recognised as 'complete and utter adoration' as he so eloquently put it.

" you look absolutely stunning, baby " he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse from the amount of restraint he was having to put to use to prevent himself from pulling this dress off of you.

" is the promise of getting to take this off later enough to get you out the door ?" you questioned, your hands sliding up into his mess of strawberry curls.

he didnt seem to hear you, his lips moving to press light kisses against the silky fabric, his lips moving from your stomach and down to your pelvis.

you were so entranced with the sight of him so addicted to the feeling of the fabric against his skin, that you didnt notice his hands lifting your dress from the floor and up your thighs.

" art " you prompted, trying to pull him out of his euphoric state as he tried to pull your dress up over your ass.

that was when you had to step back and let the fabric fall down to the floor again, causing him to snap out of his daze.

you sat down on the floor infront of him and began to slide your feet into your heels while you spoke.

" 2 hours, and then we can come home and i'll even keep the dress on for a little while if you want " you bargained. seeing how he reacted to you in the dress, you thought the promise of some private time with you in the outfit might get him out the door.

" fine, 2 hours " he said, standing from the bed and offering his hands out to pull you from the floor after you had put your shoes on.

---

as you promised, after two hours at the event, you and art said your goodbyes and headed to the car, arts hands already all over you as you walked to the car.

you managed to keep him off of you until you got back to your place, but the minute the door was shut, he had his hands pawing at the fabric of your dress, pulling it up to bunch at your waist so he could grasp at you properly.

his hands went to your ass, your arms looped around his neck and your lips only disconnected for air every few seconds.

a small yelp fell from your lips when your feet were lifted from the ground and your legs wrapped around art's torso, holding on tightly as he brought you both to the bedroom, setting you down on the mattress with a small bounce.

he knelt down to undo your shoes and drop them onto the floor, his lips pressing to your ankles, then your shins.

he continued up your body, pulling your dress up as he went.

when he reached your thighs you lifted your ass slightly to help him move the fabric but you watched in amusement as his head pulled out from under the dress.

he didnt hesitate to push the silky material up over your hips so it bunched up just above your belly button.

his eyes flamed as he presses a feather light kiss to your stomach, following down the same path as he had previously by pressing a light kiss to your pelvis.

he moved to the left, his lips trailing a path towards your hip bone as he pulled down the fabric of your panties, doing the same to each side.

once your panties joined your shoes in the pile forming on the floor, you were absolutely done for

[nonbinary-potatoes]

Prompt: call 15/10/24 @rosekillermicrofic

Word count: 376

Barty tapped the phone he'd been given, dumming his fingers against the plastic. There was a police officer sat opposite him, arms folded and looking unimpressed. The phone in question was a standard office telephone that could only achieve one function - sending or receiving a call.

"You get one phone call. If they fail to pick up on the second attempt, you have to remain in custody until the next working day, which is Monday. The call will be recorded for the safety of yourself and others and you have the right to remain silent if you please" the officer recited with an air of boredom, like he wanted to be here less than Barty did.

Barty tapped the numbers in with ease. He'd remembered them from the first moment he'd seen them written on a napkin in some illegal rave venue.

"Pick up pick up, pick up," he muttered under his breath, praying to all that was holy that his call would be answered. The dial tone was loud in his ear.

"Hello?" That beautiful voice, the same one he got to hear almost every day now.

"Hey gorgeous," Barty drawled Into the receiver, hoping that Evan wouldn't be too mad at him.

"Bat...? Who's phone are you calling me from?" Evan sounded anxious even though the connection bounced a bit and left a robotic tint over his words.

"Ummmm," Barty squinted at the name tag on the officers uniform. "That would be sargent Bradley-Harvey's phone," Barty said sheepishly, waiting nervously for his boyfriends reaction.

"Did you get nicked?" Evan didn't even sound that surprised. Was the bar that low?

"Something like that, could you please come and pick me up from Manchester city centre police station?" Barty had to put on a sweet voice for that one. He was a rather long way from home.

"What the fuck are you doing in Manchester Bee?" Evan sighed and there was the sound of ome sort of shuffle and a clink of keys "you know what? Dont answer that. I'll be there in a couple hours max" he sighed in exasperation and the line disconnected.

"So..?" the officer prompted, holding open a notepad and a pen.

Barty grinned smugly. "My boyfriend's coming to pick me up"

[dakotalun]

Tile Floor | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Eddie couldn't wait to take you after his set, so why not the bathroom?

warnings: pet names (good girl, baby), dom!eddie, fingering, degradation (whore)

word count: 554

a/n: just a little blurb I wrote a bit ago

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Your back hits the cold tile wall of the bathroom as Eddie’s body collides with yours. His hands are all over you, touching and memorizing every curve of it. From the neck to the hips, everything this man can touch; he is.

Eddie just finished a set at the Hideout and watching you bounce up and down in that short little skirt has him on edge. The way it would lift just enough for him to see your pretty little panties, he had to do everything in his power not to pop a boner while singing.

You moan as his hand reaches up to wrap around your throat as the other goes between your thighs.

“Don’t have time to treat you properly, baby,” His fingers swiftly pull your underwear to the side and he plunges a finger inside your silky walls, “But I’ve gotta show my love for this little outfit somehow.”

Eddie crashes his lips into yours to try and stiffle the moans and whimpers floating from your mouth. His finger expertly moves in and out of you before he feels you’re ready for another. You are too caught up in the pleasure he’s giving you to notice the door handle jiggle from the outside.

Eddie disconnects your lips only for a moment to yell at the person on the other side of the door, “A little busy here! Give me a minute!” He turns back to you, “You gotta cum for me baby, I have to get back up there.” 

This prompts him to speed up the pace he had set before, making you wail out, a high pitched scream leaving your lips. Eddie’s grip on your throat tightens, a warning. Be quiet. You quickly suck your bottom lip between your teeth to stop anything else from slipping past them.

Eddie is looking at your fucked out face and can’t help himself so he bends down to suck a hickey into the side of your neck, marking you as his. He’s always loved seeing you all marked up with his bites and bruises, which means that everyone who even dared look at you knew you belonged to him.

“Be a good girl for me and I promise I’ll give you every part of me after this.”

“I know you can do it. Cum on my fingers baby.”

“Yeah, you like this don’t you. Getting fucked by my fingers in this filthy bathroom where anyone could hear you? You’re my dirty little whore, huh?”

“I can feel you clench around my fingers, come on. Cum for me. Cum.”

The way he’s talking into your ear pushes you over the edge, your body convulsing as you lose all function of your legs. Eddie’s body being the only thing holding you up.

“Good girl, there you go. Gonna clean you up then we gotta go. Gareth is already pissed at me.” Eddie sets you down slowly, making sure you can stand before he wets a paper towel and cleans the mess from between your thighs, “Next time it’ll be my cum dripping from you.”

He kisses your forehead then unlocks the door and leads you out of the small room. There’s a line of about 4 people waiting to use the bathroom and each one had a different look on their faces seeing you exit.

@ali-r3n @dixontardis @witchwolflea @micheledawn1975 @daydreaming-mood @idfwfeelings @adaydreamaway08 @preciousbumplingbee @rustboxstarr @plk-18 @teary-eyed-egg @needylilgal022 @exploding-bonbon @gagasbee @eddiemunsonsguitarpic @aol19 @thatwitchyoucouldntburn @meanlilbean @sonnyahngel @corrodedcass @pigwidgeonxo @marsmunson86 @lottie-90 @figmentofquinn @sareim123122 @eddies-puppet @gvf23 @kennedy-brooke @rocklees-wife @emma77645 @cherris-n-peaches @breehumbles @joequinn-love @anyoddthoughts @aysheashea @eddiesskittle @uncxmfxrtablex @cherrymedicine13 @mrsjellymunson @shotgunhallelujah @bambipowerblueaddition @hexqueensupreme @josephquinnsfreckles @harrysgothicbitch @paleidiot @smurfflynn @lilyungpeanut @selena-rocker27

[ilovetopgunsstuff]

overdue

joe burrow x reader

prompt: joe cancels last minute on you because he got caught up at work, and he makes sure you know how he feels about you when he gets home.

warnings- smut and fluff

a/n- promise i will be answering some of my requests soon. this is prolly ass because i wrote it kinda fast but i love it thx bye

Joe was a busy guy. It was always something. He had practice, or a meeting, or a conference call, or something. Of course you couldn’t blame him. He was pretty busy during the season, but was practically glued to you when he didn’t have anything to do.

The last few weeks, though, Joe was sooo caught up with work. When he got home for the night, it was so late that you were usually already asleep. If you weren’t, you knew he was too exhausted to do much anyway. He’d give you a kiss, head to the shower, and pass out next to you shortly after. He’d always apologize, but you knew he really couldn’t control it. So despite your frustration and loneliness, you said nothing.

Today would be different, he pulled some strings to get home around 8 so y’all could have dinner, watch something on TV, and enjoy each others company. It had felt so long since you did something like this, so it felt like a special occasion. Tonight, you were cooking his favorite meal. You grilled chicken, made potatoes, and sautéed asparagus. It was about 7:30, and you would be done right when he got home. Your phone rang, and seeing his name on the screen, you perked up.

“Hey!,” you said cheerfully into the phone.

“Hey…” His voice was soft and already apologetic. You knew the news before he even told you.

“You’re not gonna make it home?” you sighed into the phone. Your voice was almost a whisper. You wanted to cry. How was it every day that this happened? Was he doing it on purpose, trying to send a hint? Was something else going on than work? Tears already brimmed in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry. Something came up way last minute. I can’t make it, baby. I’ll be home late.”

“Okay.” Your voice cracked, and you knew he heard it. That’s all you could say. The silence on the line was so loud. What else did you have to say? You sat with your phone to your ear, the excitement in your posture leaving you. Your shoulders slouched and you could hear his breath still on the other line. Self-consciousness swallowed you. Was this a sign that it wasn’t working? Was it only a matter of time? “Well I guess I’ll see you later tonight.” Your voice was quiet.

“Yeah.”

Without any goodbyes or anything, the line disconnected. You weren’t sure who it really was that hung up. You were just in a haze. You finished dinner silently, eating alone standing at the counter. You made sure to still make Joe’s plate, though. You put the perfect amount of everything he liked on his plate, making sure no foods were touching like he liked it.

Maybe it would give him a small surprise when he got home, as he didn’t know you were cooking it. He could eat it when he got home and you were inevitably sleeping. It wouldn’t be as good as eating it with him, but hopefully he’d still like it.

You packed up the food to put on the fridge in a silent, melancholy state. You placed his plate on the oven for him to find when he got home. It was in the shower that you cried, shoulders wracking with heavy sobs of loneliness and fear of losing him. You were so frustrated. You couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still upset. You sunk into the soft sheets of the bed after putting on pajamas, slightly cold without his body next to you. Hot tears slid down your face silently as you dozed off.

Joe’s POV:

As silently as I could, I unlocked the door. I dropped my bags on the floor and the clock on the kitchen wall said it was 1 AM. I stretched and rubbed my eyes, exhausted from work and weighed down with guilt. Of course I couldn’t control being busy, but i shouldn’t have promised her that I would’ve been home if I wasn’t completely sure. I did, though, cause hearing her pretty excited voice on the phone after telling her I’d come home brought me to life, but hearing it get quiet after I called it off earlier made my chest hurt. It was dark in the house except for one light on in the kitchen. It was the light on top of the oven. There was something there.

I walked closer to the oven and my heart dropped to my stomach.

Fuck.

There, on top of the oven, was my absolute favorite meal, made by her. You could tell she plated it with care, the food not touching exactly how I liked it. My stomach hurt and so did my chest. Guilt surged through me painfully. There was a note too, and it made me want to quit my job entirely.

I’m sorry you couldn’t make it home. This is for you if you’re hungry. I love you so much. We’ll find the time.

Her pretty cursive carved my heart out with its sweetness. You wished she would just yell at you, tell you off for taking on too much and upsetting her. But she never would, cause she’s an angel, and supports me through whatever I do. How will I ever make this up to her?

Regular POV:

Joe crept up the stairs, trying not to wake you up. You had an ear for him though, and roused when the door creaked open.

“Oh hey,” you mumbled at him. “How was work?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he murmured. He stripped down to his boxers, and crawled into bed. He dragged you under him and engulfed you with his arms. “I’m so so sorry,” he said into your hair.

This sudden intimacy and affection was unexpected, and your eyes immediately watered with tears. “I’m sorry, Joe. I know your so tired and I don’t want you to feel bad.” You voice cracked to a whisper as you started to cry.

“Hey..” he said gently as he flipped you on top of him to look at you. You sat on his lap, tears streaming down your face in the moonlight from the window.

“I just miss you,” you breathed, crumpling onto him as he held you. Your body shook slightly with quiet sobs as he held you.

“I know, angel.” He rubbed your back and whispered on your ear. “I miss you so much. You know I love you more than anything don’t you? Huh?”

He grabbed your face, holding it gently with both hands as he looked at you. Your watery puppy eyes looked up at him, and his heart tugged. He wanted you to know that you really were his priority.

“I have been a very bad boyfriend. I’m so so sorry,” his blue eyes looked earnestly into yours as his blond hair messily fell in his eyes. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing this for no reason. I know we can get through this. I’m working like this because I want you to be able to have whatever the fuck you want every time you want it. You deserve it. I know it’s so hard. I’m really trying for us. And I want you to know it’s all because of you. “

It felt like you were melting into him.

“This is for you, and you only. If for one second I thought I’d lose you over this, I’d leave in a heartbeat. You have been a saint about this whole thing. Please just give me a little more time. Don’t give up on me. I love you so so much.”

Your hiccuping sighs were all that was left as you stared up at him. “I would never give up on you. I love you.” You relaxed fully on to him, cherishing what he feels like to touch and smell and experience.

It didn’t matter where you were, or what time it was, or what was happening around you. He was the only thing you could focus on or care about.

He pulled you in and kissed you gently. Running his hands across your middle, seemingly trying to memorize everything. He went under your shirt and cupped your breasts, lowering his kissing to your neck. He removed his hands from your shirt and placed them on your hips, which he firmly gripped as you lazily grinded on him. Small whimpers escaped his mouth as you did this, encouraging you in your lovesick state.

Joe gently unbuttoned your pajama shirt, the silk material sliding down your body slowly when he undid the last one. He caressed you gently, in no rush to savor you.

“So beautiful,” he whispered into the cool air of your bedroom.

You couldn’t respond as you focused in on his gentle touches. You were so honed in on how lightly he caressed you, afraid that if you didn’t savor it, you’d miss them. Small, quiet moans escaped your lips in ecstasy. You sat up to drag his boxers down his soft skin to where they didn’t limit your contact with him at all. You sat up, shorts still on, and ran your hand across his length, honing in on his tip. You massaged him, and his head lolled back onto the pillows.

“Yes,” he whispered.

The slowness of both of your actions was torturous and incredible at the same time. Endless touches and whispers disappearing into a night that was only your own. You slid down your shorts, anxious to finally have him. Joe looked angelic, soft tan skin glowing in the twilight. The blue of his needy eyes was nearly palpable. His roaming hands never stopped for a second. You lowered your self onto him slowly, a gasp being released by the both of you when you finally reached his hilt.

He pulled you into him, wrapping both arms tightly around you on top of him. He thrusted up into you, allowing you to remember every inch. Neither of you spoke, though you doubted either had the ability at the moment to form words. Your breathy moans filled the room, pleasure mixing together as you clung to him and he clung to you. The air was thick with need. For eachother, for touch, for everything.

Everything seemed to morph together despite the slow pace. It had been so long since Joe could show you how much he loved you, and god were you overdue. Finally, his thorough thrusts quickened slightly as he came. Your nails left trails down his back as you reached your high. All you both could do was cling on to each other, repeated “I love you’s” said into the air.

The work was worth it for him, so worth it.

[lemoncrushh]

The 2016 Blurbs

These are the rest of my writings from 2016. Each blurb is less than 1k words, so I decided to just combine them into one post.

Some of these are angsty, some fluffy, and some just plain silly. There is only one with sexual content and it's in Harry's POV. Please take these for what they are. I do not consider these anywhere close to my best writing lol (though I have always been proud of the Pumpkins & Princesses one).

We're Not Fine based on a prompt, sad, 642 words

You sniffed as you stared up at your ceiling, waiting for Harry to call you back.

For weeks you'd felt like you were drifting apart. You didn't see him as often as you used to, your conversations were cut short, and even his texts seemed vague and uninterested. You'd experienced this kind of behavior before. Eventually the guy would stop communicating with you altogether and you knew it was over. You hoped to hell this wasn't going to happen with Harry.

I think we should talk

That was the text you'd sent him earlier that day.

Okay, he'd texted back. What do you wanna talk about?

Us

He'd waited a while to respond, making you anxious.

I'll call you later. We can talk then.

You'd blown it. You knew it deep down in your soul. You backtracked in your mind trying to recall every little detail, every thing you might have done to make him not want you anymore. Maybe you didn't show him enough that you cared. Or maybe you smothered him. Maybe he wanted space and you hadn't given him enough.

As another tear fell from your eye, you heard your phone ring.

"Hi," you said when you answered it.

"Hey." He didn't really sound excited to talk to you. Just from that one word you got the idea that he wasn't in the mood and wanted to get this, whatever this was, over with.

"What are you doing?" you choked, deciding to make small talk to prolong the inevitable.

"Nothing really. Just ate dinner."

"Oh." You swallowed hard, trying to think of something else to say. "You've been pretty busy, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "And I'll be busy for a while."

You cringed like you'd just been slapped. That was a brush off if you'd ever heard one. You shut your eyes and wiped the tears from your cheeks. Then taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly.

"I miss you," you finally admitted.

Silence. Harry's line was quiet until you heard him sigh. He wasn't going to say it back. The truth hit you in the chest. You began to sob softly.

"We're fine, Harry," you muttered. "Please tell me we're fine."

"We're not fine."

Shit.

"What happened?" you asked.

"Nothing happened," he said, enunciating the word. "It's not one thing."

You took a shaky breath. "What did I do? Tell me."

"Baby..." Harry sighed.

You wanted to scream at him, but you felt like your throat was closing up.

"You didn't do anything," he added.

"Is...is there someone else?" You bit your lip, afraid to hear the answer.

"No."

"Great," you mumbled sarcastically. "Just great."

You almost wished there was someone else. At least you'd have something and someone to blame other than yourself.

"What do you mean?" Harry inquired.

"I'm just...I'm not good enough for you."

"Baby, no. Please don't think that."

"Stop calling me baby!" you finally managed to yell.

Harry was quiet again for a minute. "I'm trying to tell you it's not your fault. Or anything you did. We've just grown apart."

You tried to hold back the tears that were welling in your eyes, but it was getting more and more difficult.

"Haven't you noticed it too?" Harry added softly. "I know you have."

"I'd hoped I was wrong," you admitted.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Yeah...me too."

"I still care a lot about you."

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at the ceiling. "Sure."

"I mean it," said Harry. "But...you don't have to believe me."

You laid in silence again until you decided it was time.

"I guess this is it, then. Goodbye, Harry."

"Bye, [Y/N]. I really am sorry."

"Yeah."

Before you could change your mind, you pressed the button to disconnect the call. Dropping the phone next to you, you finally let yourself cry.

Bad Dream sad + fluffy, 859 words

The house was dark. You could barely see two feet in front of you, let alone find your way to the wall to reach the light switch.

"Harry?" you called out, but you got no reply.

You tiptoed slowly until you reached the staircase. Feeling along the wall, you finally found the switch, but no light shown when you flipped it. You cursed under your breath, your heart racing with anxiety. You hated being alone in the dark.

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, you felt for the banister, pulling yourself up the first step, then the second and third. It seemed as though the staircase was never ending, but finally you reached the top. This time you knew you had to find some source of light. But as you turned and faced the right side of the landing, you heard a sound.

"Harry?" you called out once more, only this time your voice sounded different - strained and unfamiliar.

Taking a step forward, you heard the sound again. Curiosity and adrenaline fueling you, you began to walk faster, no longer afraid of the darkness. Reaching a door at the end of the hall, your hand found the knob and turned it slowly. You felt like your heart was in your throat, beating so loudly you could barely breathe. Easing the door open however, the sight you saw made your heart drop to the floor.

"Wh-wha-what?" you stammered, unable to get a full sentence out.

You couldn't see the girl he was with, a faceless woman, but it didn't matter. It was another woman nonetheless.

"H-Harry?" you choked.

Turning his body to face you, he gave you a look of contempt.

"Oh. Hey," he said with no feeling whatsoever. His tone was cold as stone. You thought you might throw up.

"What are you doing?" you asked stupidly, knowing exactly the answer to your question.

Harry chuckled, his bare chest shaking. He raised a brow as his hand slid down the back of the faceless woman that clung to him.

"Exactly what it looks like," he replied, not trying to deny a thing. You almost wished he would so you could call him on it.

You felt the bile rise to your throat, swallowing hard to push it down. Your hands balled into fists at your sides, your body shaking with a mixture of sobs and anger.

"You asshole!" you shouted before turning around and running for the stairs.

You half expected him to run after you, but he didn't. Although tears obstructed your vision, you managed to find the staircase. Your body continued to shake as you heard yourself cry out his name.

"Harrryyyyyy!!!"

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your arm, shaking you.

"Baby..." you heard someone say faintly. It sounded really far away. You blinked your eyes open, trying to focus. Where were you?

"Baby, you were dreaming," the voice said louder.

"Harry?" you turned over, grasping at his chest. "Oh my god, Harry!"

Wrapping his arms around you as you cried, he kissed the top of your head.

"Oh love, it's okay," he cooed. "You had a nightmare."

"Please don't leave me," you whined, your body still shaking as you buried your head in his chest.

"What? What are you talking about?"

You continued to sob, thinking about the horrible dream. It had felt so real. How could anything so awful feel so real?

"Please..." you repeated. "I love you so much."

"Oh, baby," Harry murmured, "Look at me."

Swallowing hard, you lifted your head. His handsome face shown only concern, no sign of the hateful look he'd given you in your nightmare. But the memory still shook you to the core.

"I love you, too," he said as he stared into your eyes. "Now what's this all about?"

"I don't know," you sniffed. "I just had the most horrible dream."

"Obviously," he narrowed his eyes, sliding his hands under your ears. He gently wiped away the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. "Wanna talk about it?"

You shook your head vigorously. "No. It's too unbearable to repeat."

The idea that someone you were madly in love with and who was supposed to love you back could act the complete opposite was the last thing you wanted to experience. Even if it had been just a bad dream, there was no way you think about it again.

Harry nodded, placing a soft kiss on your nose. "Okay. We don't have to relive it."

He kissed your lips then, making you sigh, slowly beginning to feel relaxed.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked. "Water?"

"I just want you to hold me," you muttered.

The corners of his mouth curled up into his signature smile as you felt him pull you closer. "You got it."

Resting your head on his chest, you breathed in his scent, a beautiful calm coming over you. You kissed his skin softly, bringing your hand next to your head.

"It's okay," Harry said again, his fingers raking up your back.

His breath tickled your hair as you listened to his heartbeat, soothing you until you fell into a deep slumber.

What If It Stinks? based on a prompt, super corny, 562 words

You pushed the door to your apartment open with your elbow, juggling bags of groceries. You'd just spent two glorious weeks away with Harry, so you'd stopped at the store on the way home, knowing your refrigerator and cabinets needed restocking. After running a couple errands of his own, Harry was going to meet you at your place for dinner.

Placing the bags on the counter, you began to unload your groceries. Halfway through the second bag, you heard a knock on the door, alerting you of Harry's arrival.

"Hey, don't I know you?" you teased, rising on your tiptoes to kiss him.

"I think I've seen you somewhere," he smirked. "Was just a couple hours ago, right?"

Pulling him inside, you shut the door behind him.

"You're just in time to help me put all this away," you said.

"Oh, fun," he remarked sarcastically, following you into the kitchen.

You handed him a bag for him to get started on while you continued unloading the contents of your bag.

"Um...babe?" you heard Harry ask.

You turned to see him standing with the fridge door open, his head dipped to look inside.

"Yeah?" you inquired.

Harry crinkled his nose. "Did you clean this out before you left?"

"Before we left for our trip? I think so. Why?"

Coming to stand next to him, you watched him lift his hand and point. "What's that?"

You felt your stomach churn when you looked at the container. "Oh no," you grimaced.

"What is it?" Harry repeated as you grabbed the aluminum foil covered baking dish and pulled it out, setting it on the counter.

"Salmon," you groaned.

"That's been in there for two weeks?"

You nodded, feeling the color rise to your cheeks. "Damn."

Harry made a noise behind you like he was gagging.

"I guess I forgot," you admitted shyly.

Cringing, you slowly began to lift the aluminum foil before stopping and looking back at Harry. He already had his hands covering his mouth and nose.

"What if it stinks?" you asked.

"Don't worry, it will," he replied, his voice muffled.

You cursed under your breath again as Harry grabbed one of the grocery bags and held it open for you.

"Toss it in here," he told you.

Lifting the foil once more, you ripped it off the dish like a Band Aid. Then as you held your breath, you emptied the soiled fish into the bag.

"Ewwww!" you exclaimed, practically dancing on your tip toes as your flailed your arms.

"That's foul," Harry added, tying the bag closed and dropping it into your trash can. "We can't leave this in here."

"I guess I should take it to the dumpster," you said.

"I'll do it."

You watched as Harry grabbed your trash and headed out the door, a look of disgust on his face. Still completely embarrassed and annoyed with yourself, you got to work scrubbing the baking dish, using more dish soap than would normally be required.

Once it was clean, you started putting the rest of your groceries away, though the stench still lingered in the air. You called yourself every stupid name in the book before Harry returned.

"Ugh," he sounded as she shut the door. "That was awful."

"I'm so sorry," you muttered.

"No worries," he said. "But let's fumigate this place and go out to eat instead."

I Swear I'm Not Scared based on a prompt, fluffy, 649 words

Harry's face seemed to glow in the moonlight as you stood next to him, your fingers intertwined. Although he looked out at the ocean, you couldn't seem to peel your eyes away from him.

You'd been dating for a while, but lately you'd started getting the feeling that things were moving forward, that they were getting serious. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest every time he looked at you. Something was different in his eyes, and you'd begun to wonder if he might be getting to close to saying those three words.

Catching you staring at him out of the corner of his eye, he turned and grinned at you.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice deep and calm.

You shook your head. "Nothing."

"That's your response every time I ask you," he joked. "I reckon you need to come up with something else."

You felt yourself blush, grateful that the night kept it from being obvious. You shrugged, trying to play it off.

"Just like being here with you," you said.

Sliding his hands on your waist, Harry pulled you closer.

"Me too," he whispered before lowering his mouth onto yours.

Just like every kiss before, your stomach flipped and you felt a warm sensation all over. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him back hungrily, a spark igniting every time your tongue met his.

When you finally broke from the kiss, Harry's gaze burned into yours, his eyelids heavy.

"[Y/N]," he murmured, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Yes?" you asked breathlessly.

"I..."

Oh God, was he going to say it? You practically held your breath as you waited for him to finish his sentence. You watched him swallow hard before taking a deep breath of his own and letting it out slowly.

"I hope you're feeling what I'm feeling," he finally spoke.

"What are you feeling, Harry?" you blinked.

Harry chuckled nervously, his hands running up your back. The ocean breeze whipped his hair and you lifted a hand to tuck a strand behind his ear.

"I feel myself falling for you, [Y/N]," he admitted softly.

Staring into his eyes, his expression was completely serious now. You knew he was waiting for you to speak, but you weren't sure what to say exactly. You lowered your gaze to the cross laying on his chest, focusing on it before you heard him clear his throat.

"Don't get quiet on me, baby," he said. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Um..." you stammered, your body suddenly shaking. Harry noticed, rubbing your arms when you dropped them.

"You feel it too, don't you?" he inquired softly.

You weren't sure why you were trembling so. It wasn't like you hadn't been thinking the same thing. Of course felt it too. But you'd felt it before, and had gone through enough heartbreak.

"Falling on love is so frightening," you finally muttered, looking down at your hands.

"It can be," Harry stated, sliding his hand under your ear, making you lift your head to look up at him. "But I've been feeling this for a while now. And...I swear, I'm not scared."

Your face lit up at his words. "Really?

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

You bit your lip, gripping the hem of his shirt in your fists. You felt your body relax as you allowed your chest to press against him. His hands cupped your face as he gazed into your eyes.

"Fall with me, love," he pleaded. "I'll catch you."

Sliding your hands up his chest again, you nodded. He pulled you into a deep kiss, his fingers tangled in your hair. You tasted the salt air on his tongue as the tide rolled in, tickling the sand across your toes. It was the perfect moment, the perfect kiss.

When you finally let him go to look at his face, you knew.

"Okay," you whispered.

Cheated angsty + sad (obviously), i believe the prompt was "what a shocker, you have an excuse", 751 words

"You were with someone else that night, weren't you?" you choked.

Harry had seemed distant to you for a while now, and you'd suspected that there had been another woman. One particular evening you had tried calling and texting him, receiving no reply. Even the next day when you'd finally gotten a hold of him, his words were short as though he was trying to hide something. You'd decided to brush it off, giving him the benefit of the doubt, especially after he'd told you he just wasn't feeling well and wanted to be alone and catch up on some sleep.

Harry glared at you for a moment before looking at the ground. You knew then that your suspicions had been correct. Still, his next words were harsh and felt like a knife twisting in your heart.

"Yeah," he muttered, "I cheated."

You stood frozen, unable to move. You wondered how you were still breathing. Harry's confession crushed you to the bone. Surely this wasn't happening. It had to be a dream.

You tried to move your lips, to make out a word or two, but you couldn't seem to get out anything past a "wha."

"I'm sorry," Harry finally added. "I didn't mean to."

You raised your eyebrows, finally finding your voice.

"Didn't mean to?"

"Yeah," he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Why do people always say that?" you threw up your arms. "Nobody means to cheat. They don't go out thinking 'I'm gonna find some girl to screw, I really feel like cheating tonight.' It doesn't happen like that, Harry."

He stared at you, swallowing hard. "You're right," he nodded. "I'm sorry."

You wanted to tell him to shut up, to scream at him, to tell him to go to hell. But you remained silent for what seemed like eons, watching him pull his hands out of his pockets, run his fingers through his hair, scratch his face, and shove his hands back in his pockets again. He was nervous. As he should be.

"Who is she?" you finally whispered. When he opened his mouth, you lifted a hand. "No. Never mind. I don't wanna know."

Grabbing your bag and swinging it over your shoulder, you mumbled a curse word under your breath as you turned for the door.

"Wait!" Harry called after you. "Where are you going?"

Swinging the door open, you didn't bother to look back.

"Where the fuck do you think I'm going? I'm out of here."

You walked outside toward your car that you'd parked out front. You hadn't realized Harry had followed you until you opened the car door and tossed your bag inside.

"At least hear me out," he said, making you jump.

"Hear you out?" you asked incredulously, turning to face him.

Harry nodded. "Let me explain what hap-"

"Oh what a shocker," you threw up your hands. "You have an excuse."

Harry stared at you again, his mouth a tight line.

"Let's hear it then," you rolled your eyes. "Do tell!"

He dropped his shoulders, his eyes on the ground again. You swallowed back the tears that had begun to rise in your throat, just wanting to get this over with. When Harry stayed silent, you spoke again.

"I'm waiting."

He lifted his head to look at you then, a pathetic plea for sympathy on his face.

"Let's see if I can help you," you began. "You were drunk, she was all over you, giving you attention and you liked it. You succumbed to her advances, even though you were thinking about me the whole time. You regretted it afterwards, wanting so bad to call me and hear my voice, but you felt guilty and afraid."

Harry gazed past you, no longer able to make eye contact.

"Something like that," he muttered.

"Give me a break," you rolled your eyes again.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Stop!" you shook your head. "Just...stop."

You turned and climbed into the car.

"Baby, I-"

"Bye, Harry," you interrupted, no longer interested anything else that fell from his lips. "Don't call me."

Slamming the door, you turned the key in the ignition. As you drove away, you watched him in your rearview mirror, standing in his front yard. You weren't sure how long he stood there after you turned the corner, nor did you care. You wiped away a single tear that had escaped down your cheek, the only one you were willing to let fall over him.

You've Gone to the Bathroom Fifty Times Today based on a prompt, fluffy, 858 words

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress and smoothing out the fabric with your hands.

"You look beautiful," you heard from behind you.

You grinned in the mirror as Harry came up and wrapped his arms around your waist. You lightly brushed the backs of his hands with your fingertips as you leaned into his body. Feeling him hum against your neck, you suddenly felt a twitch. You threaded your fingers through his, pulling his hands away from you.

"Be right back," you said.

"Again?" he frowned, dropping his arms.

"Sorry," you called as you hurried to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

As flushed the toilet, you replayed the scenario in your head. The moment you would tell him. How you would tell him. You'd had it sorted out for the past week. You thought you had it down, that everything would work out smoothly, without a hitch.

Only today you'd started feeling incredibly nervous. You were worried that he'd started to catch on. You'd made so many trips to the bathroom, surely he had to think something was up.

You heard a knock on the door then, making you jump.

"Babe!" Harry called from the other side. "We're gonna be late if we don't leave now."

"Okay!" you answered. "I'm coming."

After you washed your hands and touched up your lipstick, you felt it again. Then you shook your head and opened the door. Harry cocked a brow as he looked at you in question.

"You alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," you nodded, grabbing your clutch from the bed that matched your shoes. "What time are we supposed to be there?"

"Twenty minutes," he replied.

You sighed, knowing you would probably be at least ten minutes late as it was. All because of you.

"Let's go," you muttered, following him out of the bedroom.

The dinner party was already in full swing when you arrived, just like you'd anticipated. You cursed under your breath as Harry lead you through the doors to the dining room, his hand on the small of your back.

"It's okay," he assured you as he whispered in your ear.

The fortunate thing about your tardiness was that you'd missed cocktails. You had already decided you would politely decline when offered any, but at least now you could just sit down and not have to awkwardly mingle with a glass of water in your hand.

Ten minutes into the meal, however, you stood and excused yourself. This time Harry gave you a quizzical look, but you didn't have time to explain before rushing to the toilet. You did manage to hear him say that you'd been under the weather, no doubt trying to give his own assumption to the other guests.

You hated this. This was supposed to be a wonderful, magical night. It was only a couple hours before you were going to tell him. But you hadn't anticipated feeling like crap.

Finally cleaning up, splashing a bit of cool water on your face, you opened the bathroom door to see Harry leaning against the wall.

"What are you doing out here?" you inquired.

"Checking on you," he said. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, giving a tight-lipped smile. "Sure."

"You've gone to the bathroom fifty times today."

You chuckled nervously. "Fifty? That's a lot."

"C'mon, love," Harry urged, pushing himself off the wall with his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you shrugged. "Just been drinking a lot of water. Makes me have to go."

He stepped closer to you, reaching for your hands. Then he gazed into your eyes, making you melt and breaking your defenses like he was always so good at doing.

"Do you have something to tell me?" he asked softly.

You swallowed hard, looking down at your joined hands. Harry's thumbs ran across your knuckles, silently urging you to speak.

"Wh-what might that be?" you stumbled.

When Harry didn't reply, you lifted your eyes again. His seemed to be twinkling, though his mouth had yet to curve into a smile.

"Baby, are you..."

Though he didn't finish his sentence, you knew precisely what he was asking. You bit your lip as you felt the tears begin to well in your eyes. Harry's face lit up then at the unspoken confirmation.

"You are?" he choked.

Still unable to speak, you nodded silently.

A smile now spreading across his face, Harry cupped yours in his hands before placing a tender kiss on your lips.

"I'm so happy," he half laughed, half cried against your mouth.

This wasn't the way you had planned to tell him, in the middle of the hallway at a dinner party. But seeing him so completely giddy with the knowledge, you couldn't have picked a better time or place.

"Let me hear you say it," he sighed.

"Say it?"

You looked into his eyes again which were now utterly dancing, and you knew what he meant. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his nose.

"I'm pregnant, Harry. I'm having your baby."

Harry giggled with glee before resting his forehead against yours.

"Our baby," he whispered. "You're having our baby."

Shower in Harry's POV, 560 words

I turned on the shower, stepping back to allow the water to heat up and flow freely as I undressed. Every muscle in my body ached from my neck to the balls of my feet. This film was taking a lot of out of me, but I never complained. I knew how lucky I was.

The bathroom filled with steam, clearing my nostrils and fogging up the mirror. Stepping underneath the nearly scalding water, I dropped my head, allowing the stream to hit my shoulder blades. The water immediately darkened beneath my feet, the mud from the day's scene dissolving and running down my back. I felt my muscles loosen, the tightness easing slowly from the water pressure.

I leaned my head back then in order for the shower to wet my hair before turning around and doing the same with my face. Shutting my eyes, I exhaled deeply as the water flowed down my chest. I wasn't sure if I'd ever been so exhausted, even after a day filled with interviews or a concert where I'd deliberately given my all because I'd been under the weather. I felt like I could collapse on my massive hotel bed and not wake up until the morning. And after this shower, I planned to do just that.

Once I was satisfied with the removal of all mud and dirt, I turned around once more, reaching for the shampoo. I washed my hair gingerly, half chuckling to myself that it had been nearly three months and I was still using too much shampoo, temporarily forgetting that I no longer had long curls. After rinsing my hair, I grabbed the soap. That was when I noticed it. My semi-erection. Shit.

It wasn't like I was turned on. A man doesn't really need inspiration to get hard. Sometimes it just happens. I tried to ignore it as I lathered my body with soap, the suds forming on my arms and chest. When my hand slid down to my stomach, however, I saw my dick twitch and felt a burning desire I hadn't been prepared for. Dropping the soap in the dish, I let my right hand roam down and encircle my cock which was now fully erect. My hand slid up and down the shaft a few times as I watched the precum collect at the tip. Biting my lip, my left hand held up the shower wall next to me, the shower stream still beating against my back.

Fuck, I cursed as I began to pump faster, the mix of friction and slipperiness doing me in. My thumb grazed across the head of my cock repeatedly and I heard myself let out a deep groan. My chest rose and fell with each quick breath.

I swallowed hard as I felt myself get close. Then with barely two more jerks of my wrist, I came, a guttural moan escaping my throat.

My mouth fell open as I tried to get my bearings and catch my breath. Then standing up straight, I grabbed the soap once again, finishing the rest of my shower.

When I stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom, wrapping a towel around my waist, my eyelids were heavier than ever. Opening the door, I dropped the towel and collapsed onto the bed.

I don't think I'd ever had such a good night's sleep.

Pumpkins & Princesses fluffy, 850 words

Your eyes popped open to near darkness, the only light seeming to come from the hallway, underneath the door. You groaned, rolling over, your hand reaching out but feeling nothing but mattress on Harry's side of the bed.

"Baby?" you called out, your voice groggy from sleep.

When no answer came, you sat up, turning on the bedside lamp. You were indeed alone in your room.

With a confused pout, you tossed the sheets aside, climbing out of bed. Nearing the doorway, you thought you heard voices. Your suspicions were confirmed when you opened the door, noticing that the light was coming from your little girl's room.

Stepping into the hallway, you heard a giggle, followed by the sound of Harry's voice.

"Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities..."

Stopping in your tracks, you sucked in your lips. Tiptoeing very slowly, you crept to your daughter's bedroom door which was cracked open and peeked inside. Harry was dancing around the room, a stuffed animal in each hand as he sang the song from The Jungle Book. You covered your mouth with your hands to keep from giggling. When he'd finished the song, he knelt down next to the bed.

"Do another one, Daddy," your daughter demanded.

"Alright," said Harry, choosing several more toys and lining them up.

"Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, it's home from work we go..."

Your child continued to giggle as Harry made the dolls bounce on the bed while he sang and whistled. For the last four years watching Harry interact with or show affection to your daughter always lit you up inside. But this...this had to be the best thing you'd ever witnessed.

You continued to stand in the hallway, not wanting to interrupt the father-daughter bond they were having. Harry continued his Disney sing-along with "I Just Can't Wait To Be King", going directly into "Hakuna Matata".

"It means no worries, for the rest of your days..." he sang.

Your daughter was bouncing on her bed, trying her best to sing along. You almost lost it when she mispronounced "philosophy", biting your lip to keep from laughing.

"Alright pumpkin," breathed Harry when the song was finished. "You need to get to sleep now."

"One more, Daddy!" she whined, defiantly lying back in her bed as Harry covered her with the blanket.

"It's late, love," he argued. "Way past your bedtime."

"Pleeeease!" she begged.

Harry sighed. "One more. But it's gonna be a slow one to calm you."

Your child beamed up at her father, the same dimple in her cheek. "Okay."

"Look at this stuff, isn't it neat..." Harry began the first phrase of "Part of Your World".

"Daddy!" your daughter exclaimed.

"What?"

"That's a princess song!"

"So?" Harry shrugged. "I can sing a princess song."

"You're not a princess though," she giggled.

Harry's eyes widened, feigning offense. "Yes I am."

You turned your head, once again trying to keep your composure so they wouldn't find out you were eavesdropping.

Your little girl giggled harder. "I thought I was a princess."

"Okay, then," Harry nodded. "I'm singing a princess song to you."

"Okay," she finally agreed, shutting her eyes.

Harry continued the song, ending after the first chorus.

"I'm not sure I know the rest, pumpkin," he whispered, giving his little girl a kiss on the nose.

"Mummy does," she said.

"Hmm," Harry nodded. "Mummy knows a lot of things."

"Yes," your daughter agreed. "She's a princess too."

Harry chuckled. "That she is."

"She's like Ariel," she added with a yawn. You could tell she was fading.

"Your mum's a mermaid?" Harry raised a brow.

"Uh huh. Like the one on your arm."

"Ah, I see."

"She's magic."

Harry patted your daughter's head, giving her one last kiss on her forehead.

"I'll agree with you there, kid."

When you saw Harry rise from the floor, you quickly ran back to your bedroom. As you crawled back into bed, you realized your cheeks were wet with tears. You swiftly wiped them away with the back of your hand just as Harry emerged from the hallway.

"Hey," he said softly. "What are you doing up?"

You bit your lip, but it was all you could do to keep from crying again.

"Baby..." he cooed, crawling onto the bed next to you. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you shook your head vigorously. "Nothing's wrong at all. Everything is absolutely perfect."

Harry gazed into your eyes for a moment before pulling you to him in a tight hug. Your head fell on his shoulder as you embraced him.

"I love you so much," you declared in his ear.

"I love you, too," he echoed before pulling back to look at you again. "You sure you're okay?"

A smile spread across your face as you nodded. "Never better."

Harry cupped your face in his hands, giving you a tender kiss. Just as your lips separated, his own grew into a smirk.

"You heard me singing Disney songs, didn't you?"

You giggled, giving him a quick peck. "Yes, I did. And it was the best thing I've ever heard in my life."

The Lilac Jumper fluffy, 833 words

"I'm gonna miss you," you whispered.

"I'll miss you more," he said.

Pulling you into a tight embrace, you inhaled the scent of him as your nose pressed against his sweater. His favorite purple sweater, or as he called it, his lilac jumper. To you it smelled like lavender, though that may have just been a mental association you tied to it because of its shade.

"Please don't forget me," you teased.

"C'mon, love, how could I forget you?" Harry's voice vibrated through his chest.

You raised your head to look up at him, his eyes dancing, his dimple dipped in his cheek. You returned his smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"All those adoring fans," you continued, "how can I compare?"

Harry's smile faded as he took your face in his hands.

"I love you," he said.

Your eyes blinked several times as you stared at him. Harry had yet to declare his love for you, although several times you'd thought he was going to say it, only to be left a bit disappointed when he didn't.

"Wh- really?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

Color rose to your cheeks as your smile grew.

"I love you, too," you practically cheered.

Harry lowered his mouth to yours, kissing you passionately. His hands slid to the back of your head, your hair threading through his fingers. His lips were soft, yet firm as he kissed you with fervor. You must have stood there for several minutes until you heard his phone ring in his back pocket.

"Sorry, love," he muttered, separating from your lips. "I have to go."

You felt horrible. It wasn't that time of the month, but you had horrible stomach cramps and a headache that hadn't gone away in two days. You weren't sure if it wasn't something you ate or not. But after throwing up for the third time today, you finally resolved to taking a shower and sipping on a cup of tea.

When you got out of the shower, you returned to the bedroom, feeling a little bit better, knowing you needed to get something in your tummy. Your body shook from the cool temperature in the house, and as you rummaged through your drawers to find something comfortable to put on, you remembered.

With a sigh, you opened your bottom drawer, pulling out Harry's purple sweater. You brought it to your nose, taking a deep sniff. Yep, lavender. You pulled it over your head, shoving your arms through the sleeves, then grabbed a pair of black leggings. Leaving your hair damp, you sauntered into the kitchen to make the tea, then sat on the sofa with your phone.

It was just about time for Harry to FaceTime you.

Sipping on your tea, you grabbed a nearby throw and covered yourself with it. You scrolled through a few emails and instagram pics on your phone until you saw Harry's name commanded the screen, requesting a FaceTime call.

"Hi, baby," you said meagerly.

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted, his gorgeous face smiling at you. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," you shrugged, still not feeling a hundred percent. But you didn't want to bother Harry with that. However, you couldn't fool him. He sensed something in your tone.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you insisted. "Just haven't been feeling that great. But I'll be okay."

Harry raised his brows. "You have a cold?"

"No, stomach bug or something. It's nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing," he argued. "Do you need to see a doctor?"

You shut your eyes and shook your head. It was so like him to be concerned.

"I'm okay, Harry, really. It's just been a couple days. If it persists, I'll go to the doctor."

"Promise me you will," he said.

You nodded vigorously. "I will. Now tell me about Vancouver."

"Gorgeous here," Harry grinned.

"Yeah? I always wanted to go there."

"I'll bring you here sometime," he offered.

"Is it cold?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you... I coulda sworn I packed my lilac jumper. But I can't find it. Did I leave it there?"

"Um..." you sounded, holding out the M.

"What?"

With a sheepish grin, you lowered the blanket covering you, revealing the purple sweater you were currently wearing. Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Are you mad?" you asked him.

"No," he replied. "But why do you have it?"

"I um...I selfishly didn't want you to take it with you," you admitted. "I like it here with me when you're not."

Harry's expression softened. "That's sweet. But why that jumper?"

"Because you were wearing it that day," you explained softly.

"What day?"

"The day you first told me you loved me."

Harry sighed and you could see him sit back in his chair. "I love that. It's wonderful."

You blinked, feeling relief. "So you're not mad."

"Of course not," said Harry. "You should keep it while I'm gone."

"Good," you beamed.

"I love you, [Y/N]," he declared.

"I love you too, Harry."

Seven-Tiered Cake: The Interview written in interview style with Harry and Y/N, fluffy, 948 words

Singer, songwriter, actor, and one-fourth of the pop band One Direction, newlywed Harry Styles and his bride, Hollywood baker [Y/N], sat down to chat with us for a bit. In our exclusive interview, the couple discussed marriage, Monday movie nights, and a seven-tiered wedding cake.

Interviewer: Hi, thanks for coming.

Harry Styles: You're welcome. Thanks for having us.

Int: So let's get right down to it. How long have you two been married now?

HS: [Looks at y/n] A little over...

Y/N: Three months.

HS: Yeah, a little over three months.

Int: And how are you liking it so far?

Y/N: It's great!

HS: Wonderful!

Int: Tell me about the wedding. I know most of the world have seen the loads of pictures, Y/N in your gorgeous gown, that enormous cake. It was all so beautiful.

Y/N: It really was a beautiful wedding.

HS: Nothing compared to her, though [smiles at y/n, squeezes her hand]. She was the most beautiful.

Int: Were you nervous?

HS: No.

Y/N: Oh, I was. I was a mess [laughs].

HS: She didn't show it though.

Y/N: [Looks at Harry] I might've been most nervous about the cake.

Int: Let's talk about that cake. Rumor was that you made it together.

Y/N: We did. It was Harry's idea.

Int: Really?

HS: [Chuckles] Don't make me say it.

Int: Make you say what?

Y/N: You know your fans wanna hear you say it.

HS: I used to be a baker.

Y/N: [Laughs and leans over to kiss Harry on the cheek] They're gonna love you more now.

Int: So tell me about this cake.

Y/N: So, it was one I'd made before, only it was just a four-tiered cake. But Harry had the wild idea to have it be taller for our wedding.

HS: It was seven tiers.

Int: Why seven? Is that a lucky number for you?

Y/N: No. I just refused to make it more than that.

HS: [Laughs] She was chicken.

Y/N: Damn right, I was. It had to be carried in pieces by four people. If once piece fell, it would have been ruined. I just couldn't deal with more than seven. I wanted five. But I compromised.

HS: It made it there safely.

Y/N: Yeah.

Int: So how was it, making it together?

Y/N: [Looks at Harry] That part was fun. We had to make close to a hundred flowers out of fondant.

HS: [Smiles] We managed. We work well together.

Int: I'm picturing a lot of flour on the nose, cake batter on the ceiling, that sort of thing.

HS: [Laughs] It wasn't that messy...was it?

Y/N: I dunno, it was pretty messy. I was cleaning my kitchen for hours after.

HS: But I helped.

Y/N: [Puts hand on Harry's leg] Yes, you did, baby.

Int: You two are so cute. Which leads me to my next topic. You seem to be the quintessential couple to many, but I'm sure you also get some backlash. How do you handle that?

HS: Like with everything, you have to stay grounded. Keep your private life as private as possible. Any other opinions people have, let them have them.

Int: How do you feel, Y/N?

Y/N: I just kind of stay away from the drama. I know it's out there and people are talking, but they're not living my life. I choose to ignore it. They're gonna say what they want anyway. But I'm in this marriage, not them.

HS: I just hope enough people will understand how I feel about her, so eventually they'll feel that way about her too.

Int: What do you think makes a happy marriage?

HS: Um...ask me that in five years [chuckles]. No, really, it hasn't been that long yet. Or long enough for me to be an expert. I just...I just know how I feel. And I know she feels the same.

Y/N: I do.

HS: We like the same things. We want the same things.

Int: Do you want children?

HS: Oh, definitely. It's not something we're focusing on right now, but we definitely want kids someday.

Y/N: Right now we're having fun being kids together [smiles].

Int: What do you guys like to do for fun?

HS: We um...we have movie night.

Y/N: Every Monday.

HS: We decided we needed at least one night a week that was for us. We could always go out if there's a party or event, but with both of our schedules, most of the time weekends are pretty busy.

Y/N: And Mondays usually aren't.

HS: So we decided on having movie night on Mondays.

Int: Have you made every Monday?

HS: [Looks at y/n] I think we might've missed one here or there. If I was in London for something and she didn't come with.

Y/N: Yeah but that's rare. I don't think we've missed many.

Int: Who gets to pick the movie?

HS: [Points to y/n] This one.

Y/N: I do not! Not always.

HS: [Shakes head] Doesn't matter to me. I'm fine with whatever she picks.

Y/N: This is why we get along.

Int: Clearly. So, Harry I hear another film is in the works?

HS: Yeah, but I'm not allowed to talk about it yet.

Y/N: Ooh secrets.

Int: Fair enough. Well, thank you so much for chatting.

HS/Y/N: You're welcome.

Int: Best of luck to you both, and I hope you'll come talk again when the baby bug kicks in.

HS: [Chuckles] Okay, we will.

Thank you to anyone who has ever read any of my silly little fics.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-week.

Reach Out and Touch Someone

Day #7 - Prompt: Free Space | Word Count: 1500 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Alcohol | POV: Steve | Tags: AU, Wrong Number, Right Person Trope, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Meet-Cute

Steve dials the number messily scrawled on the scrap of paper. He’s nervous. He’s always nervous when he has to stick his neck out and make a move on a girl these days. 

Yeah, he did the first bit of legwork and got her number out at the bar last night. But he's fumbled the ball and failed enough times, Robin's loving, but accurate, "you suck" burned in his brain, that he's always leery to try again. He should be used to it by now, but it’s still uncomfortable and awkward, every goddamn time. If his friends weren't all fretting about his emotional well-being from being so terminally alone, he wouldn’t put forth half the effort anymore. 

He has Robin. He has his cat. He's happy. 

It rings three times before he hears it connect, “Hello?”

It’s a man’s voice, and he hesitates for just a moment, “I’m looking for, uh, Lyla?”

“Sorry, man. Wrong number.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must have misdialed,” Steve says, a different kind of embarrassment. But this is one he can handle easier, for sure. So he pushed the wrong button somewhere along the way. His eyesight isn't the best thing he's got going for him.

“No worries, man,” the other guy laughs, seemingly carefree about being bothered.

They each disconnect and then Steve reads, and re-reads, the number before dialing again. More carefully this time.

It rings only once before it’s connected.

“Still me, dude,” the familiar voice relays, still light and friendly.

“Wow. I’m so sorry. Clearly, I was given a fake number. That's embarrassing,” Steve laughs, because this is more embarrassing than misdialing. He's uncomfortable and mortified to admit that this girl just didn't want him to call her. Even if he's only admitting it to a stranger.

She should have just told him no. He hates that she didn't, for her sake, too.

“Shitty move,” the other guy answers.

“Yeah, well. I'm sorry I bothered you. Again. I promise to cross-check any future numbers against yours before dialing, just in case.”

The guy laughs, "Well, now. Don't go to any trouble for my sake. Honestly,” and he doesn't sound put-out at all, “don’t worry about it. She clearly didn’t have the balls to just, be, like, honest. That sucks.”

Steve laughs, maybe if she'd had balls this wouldn't have happened at all. Most men feel more comfortable just saying no, he thinks, which is sad but true. He swings both ways, and maybe he should take this as a sign to lean the other way for a while. See if that works out any better for him. 

It probably won't, but he could try.

“There goes my big weekend plans,” Steve teases, uncertain why he does it, even as the words tumble out of his mouth. He needs to hang up the phone and let this guy get back to his own life.

“Dude. That's a problem I can solve. I’m gigging tonight. You have to come. Let me entertain you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Whatever. I want to. Just show up. It’ll be a great story, will it not?”

It would be a great story. One he could even tell Robin to convince her he’s living a little, “I don’t even know your name. What if you’re a serial killer or something?”

“Yep, that’s me. Vicious killer,” the guy laughs, “I’m Eddie, man. And I’m a fucking ball to be around. You’ll want to take me up on this awesome offer. We’ll all be down at Hellfire Club around eight. Show up. If you think we’re murderous, you don’t have to follow us to any secondary, secluded locations.”

Hellfire Club is literally two blocks from Steve’s apartment. He's been past it countless times, but never inside. It's always dark. Like it's not even open, making him unsure about what kind of bar it is, it's so nondescript from the outside. Not to mention the name is a little intimidating. He'd half-convinced himself it's a BDSM club. 

But, now that he's been invited, he could just walk down and see what’s the what, “How will I know which guy you are?”

Eddie laughs, “You’ll know. Trust me.”

Steve has a hard time trusting anyone new these days, but Eddie seems friendly enough. 

Steve realizes he must have been quiet for too long, because Eddie starts talking again.

“I’ll have on a badass battle vest. Look for that. You'll see me. It's impossible not to. I promise.”

“Okay,” Steve agrees, even if he’s not sure what a battle vest even is.

“Now, are you going to tell me your name, or will that just be a surprise?” Eddie asks.

Steve laughs, “Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Well, I’ll see you later, Steve.”

Steve stands in front of his closet for far too long, trying to find something to wear that doesn’t look too nerdy. He assumes Eddie's cool. He sounded cool, and Steve may have been cool in high school, but these days he just keeps his head down and goes through life, content to be fairly unnoticed. He finally settles on a black t-shirt. Basic, classic. Timeless.

Boring. 

But that's a risk he's willing to take.

He walks down the street slowly and arrives around eight-thirty. The windows are still all blacked out, tinted to the point he can't see anything inside. There's just the neon sign with the Hellfire Club over the door.

When he pulls open the door, he's in a hallway that's painted all black, with a bouncer at the end, stationed at a door. Steve kind of wants to turn around, flee, but he doesn't. He's already here. He might as well at least see. Robin will kill him if he chickens out.

He gives his ID to the bouncer, and is directed down a staircase. He really hopes this isn't a sex club. 

It's not.

And as soon as he crosses the threshold into the bar, yes, he knows Eddie instantly. He’s gotta be the one on the bar, pouring shots directly into various mouths. Steve knows he could turn around right now and this adventure could end. But watching Eddie laughing and prancing up and down the bar with flourish, clearly having fun, makes Steve want to go up and meet this guy.

Steve takes an open seat at the end of the bar, kind of out of the way, and just watches Eddie work the crowd.

The bar is blaring It's Raining Men and Eddie is playing up the song, big time. He's not a stripper, at least Steve doesn't think he is, but he's working the crowd for tips, absolutely. He keeps handing them down to a curly-headed guy, who keeps stuffing them into an overflowing jar.

Steve's pretty sure this is a gay club, or at least queer friendly. Maybe he has found a place for himself, something that's been right here under his nose, all this time.

When Eddie finally jumps down off the bar, Steve watches him work the rest of the room.

The other guy comes over and takes Steve's order, and he doesn't quite have the same flourish, but he's efficient and confident with a bottle and jigger.

"Name for the tab?" he asks, shaking the drink Steve had picked from the list.

"Steve," Steve says, and the guy looks up and meets his eyes.

Surely not. This doesn't feel like this is Eddie. He is wearing a vest, a red plaid one, but the other guy also has a denim vest on, full of patches.

"Eddie?" Steve questions, needing to make sure.

"Gareth," the guy says, "that's Eddie," he clarifies, pointing at the one Steve had correctly clocked as Eddie to begin with. "You're his wrong number guy, right?"

Steve nods. He supposes that's what he is, "Yeah. That's me. Loser in love."

Gareth laughs, and it makes Steve smile.

"That's our specialty here, you'll feel right at home," Gareth teases.

"Glad to hear it."

"I'll tell him you're here," Gareth assures, "he wasn't sure you'd come."

"That makes two of us," Steve admits, and Gareth smiles as he finishes shaking Steve's drink, putting it down in front of him.

"On the house. First-timers to Hellfire drink free," Gareth says, and then he's walking away. 

Steve's eyes follow Gareth across the bar, watching as he taps Eddie on the shoulder, leaning close to his ear, pointing right at Steve.

Eddie looks, meets his eyes, and Steve raises his hand, giving him a small, little wiggle of his fingers.

A huge smile spreads across Eddie's face as he bounds in Steve's direction.

Eddie's quickly right in his personal space, squeezing both of Steve's shoulders, greeting him with a smile, "Welcome to Hellfire."

Steve smiles, liking the feeling of Eddie's hands bleeding through his t-shirt, warming him.

Eddie lets go, and Steve misses the feeling already, but Eddie stays. Sliding onto the stool next to Steve, "I'm glad you came."

And Steve's completely honest as he answers, "Me too."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

Notes: If you're too young to remember it, reach out and touch someone was the slogan/jingle for Bell System telephone company back in the day. So, that's where the title comes from, as a play on the wrong number phone call trope.

[izvmimi]

cw: minors dni. smut. reader with body image concerns.

izuku's hips slow to a rolling stop nearly the second you whimper, "c-can we turn the lights off?"

the words are eked out semi-breathlessly, but heard loud and clear, and the tight hold he has around your body loosens ever so slightly as he pulls his upper half from atop of you and leans back so that he can look at your face properly and figure out what prompted that sudden request. he's doing the opposite of what you want him to do right now - studying your lust-warmed face carefully as you catch your breath, a small pout on his lips. the way he looks at you now makes you feel a little too seen, rather far too seen, and your hands reflexively go to your eyes to cover them - not because you don't want to see him, all broad shoulders and perfect, unforgiving musculature, but because you don't want him to see you for the terribly plain being you are.

izuku's hands trace the length of your hips and cup your thighs gently, kneeling as he sits on his calves. he's still inside you, and the full sensation is manageable now even if it still makes you crazy; you can feel him twitch as he thinks, not ready to disconnect.

"yes, but why?"

you whisper something unintelligible under your breath, and he leans in, kissing your forehead, before he pulls your wrists away.

"mm?" he asks. he's smiling down at you, but you can sense a little bit of concern for your mental state, his fingers still running along your exposed skin to attempt to rub in some sense of comfort.

your lips move again, and he pulls one of your hands to his own lips to kiss the knuckles before prompting you to speak louder.

"speak up, my love."

something about the way he slips your thumb into his mouth and looks at you so lovingly, so full of desire specifically for you, overwhelms you and tears form in your eyes.

"i don't feel pretty," you finally cry.

izuku blinks as though he's in disbelief, but the message is clear, and he slips out of you just as quickly as your sobs start to come in for real, and he's got you in a secure embrace.

"but you are," he insists, and he's thumbing your trembling lower lip. you're embarrassed to say it out loud, that you don't see why he sees you the way he does, even if it's not your responsibility to deserve the way he loves you.

you shake your head, and he purses his lips, then kisses your eyelids.

"you're beautiful. you're perfect for me," he insist, but it's hard for you to hear it. all you can remind yourself of is every irregularity to your skin, the way your body falls short to models and other heroes, and everyone else he would be barely off looking at.

he pulls you close and lets you rest in his embrace. a few moments pass, and he strokes your hair and listens to everything that you feel is wrong with you, and even though it hurts him, he lets you say whatever you need to say before denying it.

kisses pepper your skin and deny your imperfections; you let him wind you up more, whispering your beauty into every curve of your body until you start to believe it, until you'll accept him again.

"let me look at you," he pleads, and you nod, letting him intertwine his fingers with yours. the tears are back but they're happy now, thankful, as he fucks you deep, your legs rested on his head, trying to reach the deepest, darkest parts of you.

because you are the prettiest and your beauty is so plain to see.

[gothcsz]

javier peña loves playing with/eating your pussy through your panties 😵‍💫🫠

ay amigita (gn) if only you knew how much i've been thinking about this since i mentioned it in another ask the other day... plus, this couple i subscribe to posted a video that quite literally matched this fantasy— so disfruta y pues… disculpa por la mamada que acabo de escribir

Tags: smut, light dirty talk, pussy rubbing, unprotected p in v sex, i think javier peña has a panty fetish, unbeta'd 🫡, other shit i’m probably forgetting. ~1k wc.

You’re laid back against the pillows, legs spread and body nude except for the very pretty (albeit flimsy) panties that adorn your lower half.

They’re soaked, borderline ruined, from your boyfriend going down on you and then squirting some lube over them to get them slicked up enough to continue with this new... thing you’ve been wanting to try for a while.

Javier has always loved how your undergarments look on you. Whether it’s an expensive lingerie set that he’s purchased for you while he’s away at work or just your simple, day-to-day bra and underwear— it drives him crazy how sexy you look when you’re half undressed. 

Hell, sometimes he even prefers you just like that. Fucking you with your bra pulled below your tits, panties pushed to the side. It’s just so hot.

Which is what prompted you to bring this idea to him, over dinner:

“Want you to rub your cock over my ruined panties, Javi.”

Javier is between your thighs, sitting back on his haunches as he strokes his heavy cock languidly— teeth sinking into his lower lip, grunting as more precum leaks from the slit.

Your panties cling to your pussy, outlining your beautiful sex to him, the once light gray fabric now a darker shade due to how wet it is. Your folds are prominent against the cloth.

He leans forward, bending down to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same time as the head of his cock begins to rub against your slit.

“Oh,” you moan, disconnecting your lips from his and canting your head back. You’re still so sensitive from having his mouth on you, sucking your clit through the fabric and tonguing at your entrance with the barrier keeping him from diving inside. 

The feeling of it was fucking fantastic, and while it usually feels like heaven itself when he devours your bare— something about the texture of your underwear being added to the mix just made the whole thing even more pleasurable.

Every day, Javier Peña finds a way to outdo himself.

His cock continues to glide against your covered pussy, he’s holding his shaft at the base to keep him steady as you begin to move your hips in tandem with his. 

The noises he lets out are like music to your ears. Grunts, groans of your name, his blunt fingertips digging into the plush skin of your meaty thigh as he increases the pace in which he ruts himself against you.

“Puta madre this feels fuckin’ amazing.”

Your lips pull into a smirk, hands traveling down to paw at your tits, pulling your stiff nipples between your thumb and pointer fingers to further stimulate your bliss.

Each time he brushes against your swollen clit, whines spill from your throat, only egging him on further. He reaches over to grab the bottle of lube, letting a thick strand of it land over his cock and all over your panties.

“Need to feel you, baby, please.”

You nod, flashing him the sultriest fuck me eyes you can muster and he curses under his breath, pulling your panties to the side to reveal your glistening cunt to him.

His spit, the lube, your creamy arousal— it all paints such an erotic picture. He almost loses it entirely and releases his load then and there.

He slaps his cock against your clit a few times, causing your back to arch and thighs to twitch at the sensation. The fire that blooms at your pussy travels throughout the entirety of your body, leaving your skin hot and entrance fluttering as he continues his movements from before; except this time it’s skin on skin.

Javier lets go of your panties, sliding his shaft against your flesh. Feeling the wet fabric brushing against his sensitive cock along with the stickiness from your pussy has his mind spinning and he grits his teeth, one hand coming up to grope your tit while the other finds purchase at your thigh again.

The fucking sounds that come from this little act are obscene, his dick feels so good sliding against your sensitive sex. You feel his heavy balls brushing against your ass, they’re wet from all the mess you’ve made and smearing it all over your skin.

Your eyes flutter close, losing yourself entirely to the pleasure, moaning his name and resting your hand over his that’s currently tweaking your nipples.

“Just like that Javi, oh baby you’re going to make me come.”

He halts then and you snap your eyes open, flashing him a confused look then suddenly— like a fucking animal, he tears your underwear straight down the middle, once more revealing your sweet pussy.

DIY fucking crotchless panties. 

“Mira que belleza. Lookin’ so pretty with this cock on her.”

And he continues his thrusts, eyes glued to the way your swollen cunt looks while his cock drags between your labia, the pearl of your clit peeking out from beneath the hood each time his head rubs beneath it.

The hand that was on your thigh moves to twist the fabric, having it dig into your skin and making your pussy look plump, protruding from the makeshift hole he’s just tore.

Your own hands fist the sheets, vision blinded by white spots as you feel your orgasm building at the base of your spine. Your lips part in a silent scream, hips meeting his thrusts.

Then suddenly, his cock is inside of you, and that has you jolting and screaming out his name like you’ve just been shot.

Javier has a smug expression on that handsome face of his, chuckling darkly at your reaction then beginning to pound into you.

All that teasing, the foreplay, building anticipation— it has got the both of you lost in a horny reverie as your walls pulsate around his girthy shaft.

“Just like that, baby, pussy is always so fucking tight.”

Needing to be closer, he leans down to press his entire body weight onto you, your legs coming with him as they’re pressed against your tits, folding you in half while his knees spread a little more to give him a better angle to fuck you at.

And he fucks you.

Your calves are on his shoulders as he relentlessly and unabashedly fills you with that cock of his that you love so much.

His teeth graze along the skin of your jaw before your lips meet messily, swapping spit and clashing teeth.

It’s the hottest thing ever.

With both of his hands planted on either side of your head, he uses the leverage to deliver some brutal thrusts while your hand skips down the length of your torso until your fingertips are at your engorged clit.

You’re both so close, it won’t take much longer.

“C’mon, Javi. Give it to me.” You purr, whining as he hits your g-spot which inadvertently has your walls gripping him like a goddamn vice.

And that’s all it takes for you to milk every single drop from him. A gravelly moan falls from his lips and his balls tighten, delivering three more harsh thrusts before he stills and begins to paint the inside for your pussy with his load.

Feeling his cock twitch and his teeth digging into your neck prompts your own release. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, fingers pinching your clit.

First you felt like you were shot, now you feel like you’ve been hit by a truck as your orgasm takes over. How is it that Javier makes you feel such extremes?

You both lie there, intertwined and panting heavily. The position that was once so titillating is starting to feel uncomfortable but you’re still so lost in this haze he’s put you in, that you don’t mind it right now.

His dick softens inside of you, lips turning tender as they press gentle kisses along any inch of skin he can reach. Sensing your discomfort, he shifts to move your legs off his shoulders and you use this change to throw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as he gets comfortable between your thighs.

“Loved that. Love you,” he mutters, kissing your cheek then your lips.

You can’t help but smile, nuzzling your nose against his. “Love you too. You owe me a new pair of underwear.”

Both of you chuckle lightly, feeling the damp, now cool, material pressing against your heated skin.

“Lo que quieras, princesa.” 

[kettlefire]

DP x DC Angst Prompt

Inspired by the song Preacher by Roe Kapara

"This is a distress signal from Amity Park Illinois." A scared teen girl was the face to meet the staticy camera. Red hair pulled up in a messy bun, tear stains clear on her face, eyes rimmed red.

All options were running out. They had two days, two days before the hunt began. Two days before they lose everything.

A distress signal, broadcasted on loop, over and over again to any frequency they can get their hands on with the limited equipment they had.

"This Friday, at 3:15am, my town is going to make an irreparable mistake."

A soft clang rang from somewhere of screen, but that didn't shift her attention.

"My town, my home, has fallen to the manipulation of a deranged woman."

A choked sound came from off screen, sounds uncomfortable close to a sob.

"Amity Park has always been disconnected from the rest of the world. A small town, in it's own small world. Things have been happening here for the past two years, and now..."

She paused, glancing off screen before wiping her face.

"Now we aren't enough to save it. We did took too long to notice the cancer that was spreading. The hysteria combined with fear of the unknown that drove out town to follow her.

My name is Jasimine Fenton, I'm here with my father Jack Fenton. My mother, Madeline Fenton, is the reason the world might be facing war."

The video footage grew worse, static starting to over take the image and the audio.

"Dad, we're losing it!"

"Sorry Jazzy-bear" The new voice clearly came from a man, even if he stayed clear of the camera view. A moment passed before it was fixed.

"We don't know how long we gave before they find us, but... My baby brother Danny Fenton is going to be brutally hunt down Friday morning.

There's no time to put all the information needed in this signal, but I'm begging anyone who sees this. Please send help.

Anyone who has spoken against the plan has been imprisoned, the only ones from the team that's fear is us."

Jazz let out a shaking breath, staring off screen for just a moment before coming back, fresh tears rimming her eyes.

"All Danny every wanted to do was protect his home, and all he got in return was pain and hatred. Please, you might not know us, but you need to know. Danny holds a high position with in the ghostly realm.

Whatever you want to call it, the ghost zone, the infinite realms, or purgatory. Doesn't matter, all you need to know of the living kill Danny, the ghosts will rage war."

A heavy thud filled the room, the camera seemed to shake at the sound. Fear filled Jazz's face.

"Dad, they-"

"It's okay Jazz, finish the recording, they can't get in yet."

Jazz nodded, moving toward the camera. She seemed to cup it in her hands and tried to speak over the loud thud that continued to penetrate the area.

"We're running out of time, I hope this reaches someone somewhere. More than anything, I hope this reaches the Justice League.

Reaches them before Friday. Before the world is in true danger. Danny is the only link to peace between worlds. Don't let a woman driven by hatred be the end."

This time instead of a thud, it sounded more like a crack. The camera shifted and a view of a large man built like a tank was caught. A strange gun in one hand, and what looked like a strange grenande in the other.

"Jazzy-Bear, there's an escape tunnel in the back. Go, I'll hold them off as long as I can."

"No! I'm not leaving you!"

"Jazz-"

"No. I don't care, I'm no use to anyone by myself. We need to stick together."

"Jasimine-"

"I'm setting the recording to loop."

"Honey-"

Loud crash broke through following another crack. Heavy footsteps followed. Voices screamed through the air.

Jazz's face filled the screen completely as gunfire could be heard.

"Please send anyone, I can't lose my baby brother too."

And just like that, the screen went black. Barely a couple seconds passed before the screen lit up again.

The video starting from the beginning. Hoping for anyone to view it.

A cry for help cycling through an endless loop until it found it's self broadcast for the League.

[novashelby]

It Feels Like Home When You're Here~Tommy Shelby x Reader One-shot

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Mention of war, mention of sex, but overall sfw.

Word Count: 1,246

Summary: Tommy Shelby feels disconnected with everyone after the war. Everyone except you. This was a request using the prompt: "Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?" Just know the prompt is not mine, but I can no longer find the list. I will credit it once I find it.

Please enjoy! Please consider commenting and a reblog!

War did something to boys. Took good boys…good natured, impressionable boys and turned them into hardened, difficult to do men. Tommy wasn’t any different. No matter how he wanted to think or what he knew of himself, he was no different than the others who went to France and died. Everyone died in France in one way or another. Everyone died and everyone killed. And after scurrying through the dark, rat infested tunnels with no light other than a hand held torch, nowhere felt normal. Nowhere felt like home. People he once could connect with weared thin and fizzled off, and before he knew it, the only thing that soothed him was the brown liquor filled bottle. But they weared thin, too, and he’d have to go buy a new friend. 

After a busy Wednesday, Tommy headed to the pub. It was an unusual case. In fact, it’d be unusual if he didn’t go to the pub for a drink or two. Pushing through the creaky wooden door, he skimmed over the sea of people. Every time he’d walk anywhere, there’d be a chorus of greetings. A popular man he was. But lonely, God, fucking lonely, but he’d feel pathetic to admit it. In the farthest right corner of the Garrison, John and Arthur were sharing a rum.

“Thought I’d find ya’ two here,” Tommy said, taking a crack at a poor excuse of a sarcastic joke. He sat down and whistled for a glass. Of course, it came promptly. No one dared to make a Shelby wait for anything. 

John, already two sheets to the wind, looked over at his older brother. In a slew of slurred jumbles, he asked, “and what has ya’?” Meaning, in some sort of way; how are you? Tommy couldn’t answer before the direction of conversation changed to what it always was; women, money, horse racing. John was going on about some whore he came across the previous night. “The back end on her.” He elbowed Arthur in the side who joked that he had kids to go home to.

Sometimes Tommy would join in on the banter, enjoying the occasional lightheartedness, but usually he’d half-listen and half-observe the space around while his head just slowly drifted. That particular night, he watched the barman slide down pints and poured glasses of brown liquor. 

The door swung open, the tiny bell on the frame ringing. Tommy glanced over for a second and went back to his drink when it hit him. Only men and the occasional whore walked through those doors. But her long hair and petite features stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike the men who dressed in browns, blues, and beiges, she fashioned something lighter. A pretty lilac under a white winter coat made of mink, or so she said. He looked back over again, eyes following her. He knew why she was there and it didn’t take long for their eyes to connect.

John stopped talking and Arthur, under his breath, mumbled, “my fookin’ God.” But she was neither of theirs, Tommy thought as she approached the table. The pub followed her as she walked. John and Arthur looked up at her, but Tommy silently slid from the table and extended his hand.

“I was looking for you,” she said, but he didn’t respond. He simply took her arm with one hand, and with the other, he downed his whiskey and took out a smoke from his pocket. Together, they walked out of the pub in silence, down the dusty Birmingham street. It was a little bit before either of them spoke. Just when they hit her small dingy flat, she said, “I was going to cook you dinner, but last time you hardly touched a thing-”

“I don’t see you for dinner,” he said, taking over the key that she fumbled with in her hands. She sighed, putting her palms in the air, moving off to the side. He just wanted to feel her bedsheets against his skin. He fiddled with the door and it came undone easily. “You need a better lock-”

“When will you admit you see me for more than sex?”

“I don’t admit things very often,” he said, and they paused together in the entryway of the flat, bodies pressed. He smiled, touching her rosy rouge tinted cheek, thumb making circles. He nodded for her to continue onward, and she untangled herself from his overbearing stance. 

Her apartment was always cold, but it was the only place where life didn’t suck. That and the pub. But even the pub became lonely and dark. He took his usual spot on the sofa and when she walked by, he reached up and snaked his arms around her waist to pull her down with him. “I don’t need another drink,” he said, nose tangled in her hair, sniffing the lavender scented shampoo in her thick curls. 

“Perhaps I wanted one,” she said, twisting herself to look at him. Hearing him whisper c’mere was like music to her ears. Instantly, she rotated, putting one leg on each side of him. She straddled him as his hands rested on her hips, keeping her steady. Intimately, she placed her hands on his cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles. She chuckled, “you need a shave.”

Tommy smiled, leaning in to peck at her lips. “I’ve only shaved this past Saturday.”

“It’s Wednesday-”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Then I’ll just get up now and-”

She pressed harder against him, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him in close. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Her lips ghosted over his ear moving to his temple, leaving a lingering kiss while his hands tickled up her back under her blouse. When his fingers worked at her bra, she let out a soft sigh. “When will it ever be about something other than sex, Thomas?” she asked, pushing away. His hands dropped, finding a new home on her thighs. They stared at one another for a few moments before continuing, “hmm? Will you ever let me in deeper?”

Tommy looked off to the side, swallowing. “It’s just hard for me right now-”

“You always say that,” she accused, grabbing his face, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “You always say that. Thomas! When is it ever not hard? It’s always going to be hard, but don’t you understand…you’re here. Other men weren’t as lucky!”

Before he could process his thoughts, he replied, “no, they were luckier.”

She straightened her back, dropping her hands to her side. Scoffing, she said, “so my brother-”

“No, no, no,” he said, stopping her before she could speak anymore. He held her close again, working around her stiffness. He rubbed his face into the crook of her neck before resting his forehead on his shoulder. “We don’t have to have sex…it’s just the way I know how to express my emotions.” 

She eased a bit, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s hard, is all. learning how to navigate you-”

“Out of everywhere, this is the only place that feels right,” he said, looking up at her. “Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?” There was no answer for that. She didn’t know what to say because she herself couldn’t explain it. They agreed it’d never happen. That they’d stay neutral and it’d just be as it was and nothing more. But somewhere along the way, they bonded to one another. 

And neither minded.

[pughswoman]

Her Gaze ⭐

Prompt: Flo cannot stop staring at you in an interview together. What do you do about it after the interview??

Warnings: smut again... making out, lap grinding (flo to reader), thigh riding (flo to reader)

(fluff at the end!)

Word count: 1K

Florence couldn't stop staring. She was admiring every single one of your features. Although the look on her face was serious to others, you could see in your peripheral vision that Flo's eyes were anything but innocent. 

The normal green in her eyes has dimmed to a darker moss colour and her pupils have dilated.

You tried avoiding eye contact with her, but you just couldn't resist. The way she looks at you drives you insane and you have to hold back biting your lip when your soft eyes meet her devilish ones.

Her eyes slowly reach down to your hands, acknowledging every vein and watching how your fingers move as you fidget.

Carefully her eyes ascend back up your body onto your face again.

Her eyes rest on your lips and she watches as your tongue pokes out to wet them.

Florence has to hold back a moan simply by watching as she imagines everything you can do with that mouth and those hands... god those hands.

'Florence?' She's pulled out of her gaze as someone seems to be calling her name.

She then remembers she's in fact still in public and is on camera.

'Sorry, yes?' She replies turning to the voice.

The interviewer laughs at Flo's confusion and she hears you chuckle beside her, quickly earning an elbow in the stomach, and you groan.

**

Finally, the interview ends and you and Florence make your way back to the makeup room, closing and locking the door before anyone can disturb you.

'You're going to drive me crazy with the way you look at me,' You say.

'Oh? Is that right, baby?' She husks as she walks slowly toward you, causing you to pull her to you desperately.

She gasps in surprise and you take that as an opportunity to join your lips together.

Very briskly, the kiss becomes very heated and Flo's hands are not only pulling at your hair, but is also running her hands through it as you begin to kiss down her neck.

Florence is panting heavily and you're unbuttoning the top she was wearing for the interview.

Thankfully the microphones you had attached had been disconnected and taken off the second you got off stage.

You continue your way down Florence's body and as soon as her top is detached from her, you leave kisses everywhere you can to let her know she is appreciated.

As a reaction, Florence grinds herself into you as her hands caress over your back and into your hair again.

You bring both yourself and Florence over to the make up chair and sit down, letting Florence perch on your lap.

You smirk as you continue your actions and lift your head to her chest, taking her now hard nipple into your mouth causing Florence to arch her back into you as her jaw drops and she lets out a raspy moan.

This only boosts your ego and you move onto her other nipple, letting it receive the same attention as your tongue swirls around it.

You tease her for the next few minutes and allow her to mindlessly grind against your still clothed skin. You think she could cum just by the way she's reacting to it.

This gives you an idea.

'Baby,' You say, but she doesn't hear you, too lost in the pleasure.

You place your hands on her thighs, immediately halting her movements, which causes her to whimper.

'Get off on my thigh, honey,' You whisper, looking into her doe eyes.

She whimpers again but doesn't move, knowing she wants you to do it for her.

'Do I have permission to take these off, sweetheart?' You ask softly, referring to her pants and underwear.

'Yes,' She responds quickly, her voice almost whiny.

You teasingly remove the clothing and Florence stays quiet so that you don't stop altogether.

The cool air reaches her wetness once the clothing is off and Florence's breath hitches at the feeling.

Gently you grab her by the waist and pull her onto your thigh and as soon as her warm pussy touches your leg, she instinctively clenches around nothing.

Slowly, with your support, she begins rocking back and forth, beads of sweat starting to form over her skin.

As Florence consumes the pleasure, her head tilts back, easily giving you access to her neck to which you attack with small love bites.

Florence's mouth falls open as the sounds of her pretty moans spill out and her rocking speeds up.

The motion is the perfect friction for her clit as she grinds more pressure onto it.

In only a couple of minutes, Florence's legs start to tremble and she is desperately gripping your shoulders, digging her nails into your skin.

Her head is now over your shoulder as her moans and gasps fill your ears.

'Please... Please, baby. Can I cum? I need to cum so bad,' She whines.

You're both lucky the make up room is soundproof.

'Hold it, sweetheart,' You say.

'I-I can't,' She moans.

'You can and you will,'

Florence shakes her head as more quicker moans fall past her lips - until her body comes to a still and you feel her legs shaking.

She clenches around your thigh and arches her back, a long moan escaping as she collapses against you.

Except - you don't let her stop.

In fact, you keep going until she's cum at least four times.

**

'You okay, honey?' You ask her softly as if you didn't just ruin her.

'Mhm. Tired,' She mumbles.

'I'll take care of you don't worry,' You say as you place a peck on her lips and delicately sit her on the make up chair while you go to the bathroom and grab a cloth, wetting it with warm water and making your way back to Florence.

You lightly clean her up and Florence flinches at the feeling as she's still sensitive.

'It's okay, sweetheart. I'm almost done,' You say as you clean up the leftover cum on her thighs.

After you had dressed her into more comfortable clothing (your jumper that is too big for her and a fresh pair of underwear) you tenderly pick her up and place yourself onto the chair, letting her sit sideways across you, her head falling into your chest.

Almost instantly, soft snores tumble from her lips as you rub soft circles on her hand as you hold it.

Your other hand brushes through her hair and down to her back as you draw random scribbles with your fingers gently.

Lastly, you place a kiss on her head as you join the deep slumber.