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aviawrites · 8 days ago

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love bites (sinners)

!s: stack x female!oc

summary: Josephine’s brother, Wells, was a sharecropper with the Smoke-Stack twins. After they left him without a word, she never forgave them. When they come back seven years later causing trouble, she has no idea what to do — Especially when unexpected feelings arise. [5.5k]

a/n: thank you all for loving the last sinners story and welcome to my new followers! here’s another! also, again, im going to preface this with the fact that i am black. lastly, ! all of my ocs are ethnically ambiguous unless stated otherwise in the !s, free to read for all ! anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), abuse, alcoholism, blood, fighting, guns

in this story, our characters name is: Josephine

📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 2:00pm

Dry air blows in as I suck on my bleeding thumb, having stuck the sewing needle right into it again. Wells has left me in the store alone, as he’s so keen on doing, but as he enters again, he’s got dumb and dumber on his trail.

“Ain’t no goddamn way,” I say in awe, watching the Smoke-Stack twins walk into our shop.

“That’s what I said, Jo,” my brother smiles. I don’t. “The devil done brought their asses all the way back from Chicago.”

“They say he works in evil ways,” I state, flat faced.

Wells is beaming, smiling cheek to cheek and staring at the twins like they gave him something. I seem to be the only one remembering how they left him seven years ago.

“Say man, there any colored folk down in Chicago?” he asks.

“Theres colored folk everywhere,” Stack grins, walking up to my counter.

“Why are y’all back, Stack?”

Wells chimes in. “They throwing a party, the fancy type. Down at the old mill.”

“The old mill?” I scrunch my face up. “And who bought that for y’all?”

Smoke huffs. “We grown now, Josephine. We buy shit for ourselves.”

“I’m sorry, I meant whose money did y’all steal to pay for it.”

“Woo,” Stack smiles wickedly, looking back at Wells. “This sister of yours always did have a mouth on her. Feisty little thing.”

“Boy, if you don’t get the fuck on,” I roll my eyes, rounding the counter and heading toward the back.

“Wait,” Wells stands in front of me. “They bringing business.”

My ears perk up and I look back to the twins — Although, ain’t no business worth the mischief they bring with them.

“What business?”

“This suit jacket right here,” Smoke traces his finger along the button holes of his jacket, “I want you to embroider it, something classy for the party. I’ll give you twenty for it.”

I scoff. “Yea, hell no,” I begin walking off.

My brother stops me again, evoking a rough sigh out of me.

“What, Wells?”

“Come on now, Jo. We family, you gotta do this for ‘em. I’d do it myself if I knew how.”

“Family?” I furrow my brows, crossing my arms and turning my body toward the three men. “If we was family they would’ve never left you on that damn plantation when they fled.”

“It’s best you don’t speak on business you don’t know, Josephine,” Smoke warns.

Every time, he think he gets me with that damn Josephine. If only he knew that I preferred that name over any of my short ones, especially from the mouths of those I hold no relation or respect to.

“You think I don’t know, Smoke?” I near him. “Who do you think was there when he cried the nights after y’all left him?”

Wells shrinks in his spot, embarrassed. Hell, I don’t know why — If anything these motherfuckers should be ashamed for leaving their “family” to do the picking while they took their blood money and ran uptown without giving a shit about the rest of us.

“Twenty-five,” Smoke suggests.

“Forty,” I throw back.

“Thirty.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty-two, it’s the best I can do,” he holds out five clean bills, cleaner money than I’ve ever seen.

I sneer at him, rolling my eyes as I grab the bills and stuff the money in my apron pocket.

“Atta girl,” he takes his jacket off, placing it neatly in my hand. “And make the thread match will you?”

I give him a do-you-think-I’m-an-idiot? look. Why the hell would I put orange thread on a navy lined jacket. It only aggravates me more.

“Are y’all done here?”

“Throw mine in too, Josie,” Stack coyly grins, taking his jacket off too.

“No, Stack.”

“Come on, Jose. I got money—“

“Hell no, Stack,” I interrupt him, walking toward the back room. “You’re lucky I’m taking your damn brothers.”

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📍 Josephine and James’ house || 10:00am

Thimble covers my fingers now as I carefully thread flowers and flames into the bottom of Smokes suit. The thick smell of his cigarettes are embedded into every inch of the fabric, making me even less inclined to take my time.

Smoke is the lesser of two evils, if I had to choose. I can’t prove it, but I like to think that he at least felt a bit of hesitation before leaving Wells behind like that. Before they did what they did, when their daddy was alive, he wouldn’t only beat on them — He’d beat on Wells. I worked in a factory with my mama, so I was never subject to working in any kind of field, but Wells’ work got harder and harder the more he grew up. The only comfort he had was that he was doing it with the twins, our only friends. Ever since that day they left without a word and we heard about their destination through the grapevine, I never forgave them. The plantation got sold but each owner was as bad as the next, hitting Wells with his fist just because he could.

So no, I won’t forgive them — Not after that tricking shit they pulled on my brother, even if Wells is too forgiving to see it. God didn’t bless me with a forgiving heart.

James comes into the living room with his work overalls on, pulling the strap up over his shoulder.

“I’m heading out, baby,” he tells me.

“Oh, okay.”

I continue rocking in my rocking chair as he presses a kiss into my forehead. His retreating footsteps are tuned out by my singing, a gentle hum that gets me through the more tedious seam work. Just as I begin to get lost in my tunes, I hear footsteps nearing the family room.

I stop.

“…James?”

No answer, only more heavy footsteps.

My heart skips a beat and I reach into the wooden table that holds our plants. I feel like a child navigating a new toy for the first time as I retrieve James’ small revolver, holding it in my free hand and pointing it at the hallway.

Heartbeats turn into internal pounding in my ears as the steps take an eternity to reach me. When they finally do, I’m prepared to fire missing shots before meeting my grizzly demise.

As my sure murderer rounds the corner, I open my eyes to see…Stack.

“Jesus,” I hold my chest, letting out a relived breath. “Now why the fuck would that man let you in here?”

“I’m not allowed to visit my old friends?” he asks with a smile, leaning in the doorway.

“We ain’t nothing near friends, Stack.”

He sucks his teeth. “That’s just how you choose to see it, Josie.” He walks closer, sitting in the couch across from my rocking chair.

“That’s how it is,” I assure him. “What do you want?”

“To check in on you, damnit. We just got back, I’m owed a few updates, hm?”

“You’re not owed shit, Stack. And right now you’re wasting my time. What do you want?”

He stares at me for a moment, tilting his head and biting his lip in the slightest. “I wanted to know if you still dance.”

“Tuh,” I scoff. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“No, for real,” his tone quiets. “Do you?”

“Maybe I do, Stack. But not for you.”

“…I want you to show me.”

I continue embroidering Smokes jacket. “And why would I do that?”

“‘Cause I ain’t leaving until you do.”

“I guess we’ll just sit here then...”

And we do. What feels like half and hour goes by, the silence being filled with Stack’s constant nagging. He asks me any question he can think of, my life, my brother, my husband, my sewing, none of which I want to disclose to him. Nevertheless, I do, hoping and praying that he forgets his condition and gets up to leave.

Of course, he never does — They always were stubborn.

“Alright,” I huff, setting my embroidery needle down. “You really not gonna leave?”

“Sure ain’t,” he leers. “I’m starting to think you want me to stay.”

Accepting defeat, I set the jacket down on the rocking chair, grabbing a record from our side table and heading toward the player.

“Let me get that for you,” Stack grabs it from my hands, gently placing it on the record player and lowering the stylus.

He returns to his seat, crossing his leg and biting his lip, a hungry look of satisfaction on his face. “Go on.”

The record crackles to life, one of my favorite jazz songs blaring through the loudspeaker. As it always does, my body moves automatically, no thought needed.

“Wooo,” he pull his cigarette out of his mouth, clapping. “There you go,”

“Shut up, Stack,” I groan, turning my back to him and swaying my hips.

It doesn’t take long for me to get lost in the music, throwing my hands in the air and running them down my body, my legs, arms, and hips rocking in symphony. I’ve forgotten Stack was sitting there by the time the music comes to a close — And my eyes haven’t reopened yet when I feel his frame against my back.

His hands hold my waist, pulling me close.

“That dance ain’t nothing like it was last time,” he says, his lips far too close to my ear.

My hands firmly rest on his. “Yea, well I wasn’t grown last time.”

“I know that’s right…” his breath grazes my neck. “You gon’ do that at the Joint for me?”

For the first time…I consider it. If it was anybody else’s Joint I’d jump at the idea, longing to feel the freedom of dancing to my hearts content once again. One thing James hates more than anything was my dancing — Any work of mine, he’d rather me not do. Even so, I can’t give the twins this satisfaction.

“You wish.”

Stack stays silent for a moment, simply pushing his chest against my back. I’m about to tell him to get the hell on when I feel his tongue on my ear…then his teeth, nipping my lobe.

Why I don’t immediately pull away is beyond me. If Smoke saw me right now…If James saw me right now…If Wells saw me — Wells.

I roughly push against his chest, turning toward him.

Stack adjusts his pants. “Come on, baby.”

“You best leave,” I suggest — I don’t know if I’m panting from my dancing or the close proximity.

He steps closer. “We got time—“

“I have a husband, Stack.”

“Mane, fuck your husband,” he urges. “He ain’t gon’ be home for another few hours, ain’t it?”

“And I need to have this suit done by then,” I reiterate, convincing myself more than I’m convincing him. “Go home, Stack.”

He searches my face for any signs of hesitation, and for a moment I think he sees it. But he backs down, putting his hands up and turning toward the door.

“Alright,” he surrenders. “But I best see you at that Joint tomorrow night, Josie.”

Hell the fuck no.

I stay in the living room until I hear him swing the door closed behind him — I’ve never trusted myself so little until now. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I follow him out.

I’m not supposed to tolerate these men, let alone dance for one of them. This is what I’ve heard of the Smoke-Stack twins doing to women. Serenading them, fucking them, and leaving them to the dogs. It won’t be me.

Once I’m sure he’s gone, I finally walk to the door, reaching for the lock. But as I go to walk back down the hallway and finish the jacket, really this time, something on the coat rack catches my eye.

“Motherfucker,” I mumble under my breath.

Hanging there next to James and I’s winter coats, a grey suit jacket with a red pocket square sits pretty. In the pockets, Stack has left me five clean bills…$32.

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📍 Fields Shoe Shining and Tailor || 10:00am

Business is slower than usual on this fine Friday morning. Wells finishes up some shoes that were brought in yesterday, and Smoke’s mostly finished suit jacket lays in the back room. It was being used as my personalized pillow before. My chin nearly falls off of my fist and my eyes flutter closed as a gust of warm wind passes over me.

All of the fatigue in my body is stripped away the next moment as two gunshots ring out from outside. Wells and I immediately pop our heads up and run toward the door.

“What the—“

My face drops when I see the scene outside. None other than Elijah Moore stands across from two men with bullets in their legs as he tucks his gun back into his jacket.

“The fuck are you doing, Smoke!?” I shout, running up to him.

“They tried to rob my truck.”

“So you shot ‘em?”

“I sure the hell did,” he looks at me crazy.

“Are you fucking serious? Y’all can’t go one day without bringing trouble can you?”

All of the store owners in the square have come outside, standing in front of their businesses and watching the scene play out.

“…Come on,” Wells pulls me back. “Go inside, I’ll handle it.”

“Will you, Wells? Or you gon’ let them get away with it again?” I yell in his face, adrenaline rushing through me.

“I got it, Jo. Just please go inside,” he begs.

I spin on my heels, rushing away from the bloody scene and back into the store on a mission. I rip a paper from under the counter and bite the pen cap off, spitting it onto the floor.

You and your crazy ass brother need to stay away from the Delta — Maybe back up to Chicago where they’ll deal with your asses right. Whatever happened yesterday was a mistake, I don’t want it, I’ll never want it. And come pick up this jacket of yours.

Grammatical errors litter the page, but I fold up the letter all the same, pressing it tight and leaving it on the counter as I go to retrieve Smokes suit from the back. When I return, Wells is entering with him.

“You just gotta chill is all I’m saying. People don’t do shit like that around here no more.”

I push the suit against Smokes chest, stepping back.

“Fuck is—“ he looks down at the jacket. “It’s done?”

“I’m not finishing your jacket,” I tell him, plain and simple.

He eyes me as I return behind the counter, stone faced and completely avoiding his gaze.

“You been showing me a lot of disrespect, Josephine, and I’ve been nothing but good to you,” he lays his jacket across his arm. “So I’ll ask you one good time, what your problem is with me.”

“You are my problem, Smoke. Both of you.”

Wells walks over to me. “Don’t start this again, Jo—“

“I’m not starting nothing, Wells. It’s called having a backbone. Keep the coat, Smoke. Your brother can have his back too.”

I can see him make the conscious decision to retain his calmness as he adjusts his position.

“Alright,” he nods. “If you ain’t gon’ finish it, Imma need my money back. Eighteen flat, and that’s being generous.”

“You not gonna play me in my own store, boy,” I pay him no mind, rearranging my counter. “That coat is more than half done. With all that money y’all got in Chicago you oughta not need any back.”

“See, what you not gon’ do is steal from me, Josephine. I don’t give a damn how mad you are.”

“Or what, Smoke?” I challenge. “You gonna shoot me too?”

He pauses, then pulls that same pistol on me. “Think I won’t.”

“Woah, woah,” Wells holds his hands up. “Is it worth all this, y’all? Really?”

Smoke and I stare each other down, neither of us budging as the barrel of his gun aligns with my nose.

“I ain’t leaving without my money, woman.”

“Well then you ain’t leaving.”

“I’ll get you your money, Smoke,” my brother mediates. “Just put the gun down.”

I shake my head. “Nah, he ain’t gotta put it down. It’s not like he’s gon’ shoot it—“

My words can barely get out when a bullet is fired into the wall behind me, causing a sharp ringing in my ear.

“Smoke!” Wells yells, running over to me.

I hold my hands tight over my ear, moving from behind the counter and over to Smoke.

“Are you fucking crazy!?” I shove him. “You gonna do that bullshit in my damn store?”

“Give me my money.”

Grace and Bo from across the street run in, examining the sight in front of them — Smoke tucking his gun back in his suit, my hands over my ears, Wells pushing me back.

“What the hell is going on?” Bo asks.

“He’s fucking insane, that’s what.”

Smoke turns to Wells. “You best tell her to give me my money, nigga. Else the next one going into a body.”

“I’m gon’ get the money, goddamnit!” Wells exclaims.

I get in Smokes face, rage overriding my common sense. Without thinking about it, I spit — A ball of saliva lining his right cheek.

“Fuck you,” I growl.

Smoke short circuits, looking at me with ten different men in his eyes. But the good ones don’t get the best of him today; he wastes no time pulling the gun out again, aiming it right at my chest. Grace swoops in, pulling me away before he can do something he might regret.

“Let’s go, we are going,” she tells me.

“He won’t do nothing!” I yell as Grace drags me to the car. “You ain’t shit, Smoke! Your ass should’ve stayed gone!”

Bo and Wells run out behind Smoke as Grace backs us out. Smoke has completely lost his composure now, shouting all of the fuck-you-bitch’s that he can muster. I’m just glad he has sense enough not to shoot my ass where I sit.

It’s only when driving away that I finally calm down, realizing just how huge of a mess I made of something that may not be worth it. As Grace speeds us away, I sink lower in the passengers seat, wanting nothing more than one of those cigarettes in Stack’s jacket pocket.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

I wrap my feather shrug tighter as the cool air of the Mississippi night breeze past me. I drove here in silence and in secret without asking myself questions. Why the hell I’m here, I don’t know.

Cornbread stands up the minute he sees me walking up.

“I don’t think you should be here, ma’am.”

“Cornbread, please get the fuck out of my face,” I smile, not in the mood to stay in this cold ass weather.

“Un uh,” he shakes his head. “Smoke gave strict orders not to let your ass in.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I reveal the burgundy embroidered suit jacket from behind my back.

“Stack told me to bring it for tonight, I’m already late.”

Cornbread is conflicted, looking behind him in search of the twins.

“Man, where your brother at?”

“My brother ain’t my keeper — Now seriously, Cornbread. We wasting time and it’s cold out here.”

A sultry voice calls out from behind the doorman. “Let her in, Cornbread. She’s with me.”

He reluctantly obliges, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” I curtsy.

Behind him, I see my one and only friend around here — Pearline. She wears a big smile, hooking her arm in mine as we walk deeper into the dancing crowd.

“I hear you been stirring up trouble,” she taunts.

I scoff. “And you been eyeing Preacher Boy since I saw y’all at the train station yesterday.”

She giggles, looking back at Sammie who happens to have his eyes on her right this moment.

“Just a little fun,” she shrugs. “So, which one is yours?”

“Girl, what?”

“Smoke…or Stack?” she urges, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I’m thinking Stack.”

“Well, I’m thinking neither!” my eyes widen. “I am married!”

She coyly shrugs. “I am too…”

My mouth hangs agape, in disbelief at this side of Pearline — No one’s been able to pull this out of her before. Hell, it ain’t my place to be mad at it.

We don’t fit another word in before Preacher Boy comes to retrieve his little princess, excusing himself and softly pulling Pearline to the stage. She waves goodbye, but I can only give her a look. An I-know-what-y’all-did look.

Pearline’s song pulls that dance out of me that the jazz did yesterday. I have to stop myself from rocking my body to the blues so early into the night. As if I conjured this devil, my eye is caught by none other than Elias Moore himself — leaving the bar to talk to old Delta Slim. I make my way over.

“Stack,” I nod, placing the coat in his hands.

He grins, passing his drink to Slim who quickly makes himself scarce after downing the whole cup.

“I knew you could play nice,” he slips it on over his vest.

“When I want to,” I tilt my head, the hate that I usually feel for this face completely dissolving. “Where’s Smoke?”

“Man, fuck that,” he nears me. “Where’s James?”

I roll my eyes. I’ve tried my best to forget about my husband since the second I left home.

“Oh?” Stack raises a brow, intrigued.

“We argued,” I summarize, my voice low. “He didn’t want me working no more, said it made him look like an unfit husband.”

He sucks his teeth. “Shit, you like to work. And I like that.”

I grin, praying that James never finds out where I came tonight.

“Honestly, I came here half just to spite him.”

Stack’s own smile grows wider, his golden grills showing as he wraps an arm around me, his hand sliding down to palm my ass.

“Let’s spite him even more,” he pulls my body close against his.

But this time…I allow myself to smile. Whether I like it because I know I shouldn’t be doing it, or because I’m growing soft spot for this twin, I don’t have time to figure out.

“Mm-mmm,” I decline, lightly pressing him back. “I gotta find Smoke— Pay him back.”

He backs off, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t, Jose. He still hot from this morning.”

“I gotta. I did some disrespectful ass shit today.”

“Oh, I know it,” he winces, looking up.

I do the same. Standing over the balcony staring at us is his brother, a cloud of cigarette smoke surrounding him.

Stack places his hand on the small of my back, leading me upstairs. He’s hot on my trail as a knot ties itself in my stomach. Had it not been for Stack pushing me, I might’ve turned around and forgotten about the whole ordeal. But nonetheless, as Smoke slips into a room, I follow after him,

Annie stands beside Smoke as we enter, we’ve clearly interrupted something. Smoke just stares holes through my head, his jaw clenched so hard I think it might pop.

“You got my money?” His ice cold tone makes it sound much more like a demand.

I reach into my bra, straightening out a few bills before handing to him. His hand is hard and firm as he pull the dollars from me, counting them up.

Stack scrunches his face up. “Nigga, you was tripping over $18?”

“It’s the principle, mane. Business,” Smoke nods at me. “She know that. Now let’s go make some money.”

And with that, Smoke and Annie exit the room. I’m not enough of a fool to think that Smoke forgives me or will ever forget what I did — But he’s fair enough to take only what he’s owed and go on about his life, and I can respect that.

Now alone, Stack sits in a creaky wooden chair, relaxing and spreading his feet apart. I just stare at him, feeling the slightest bit insecure under his gaze.

“You hear that music, don’t you?” his grills gleam at me. “Show me a little some’.”

A small laugh escapes my lips. But before I can say no, Pearline begins to sing a smoother song downstairs, something much more my speed.

“Go on,” Stack urges me.

I oblige, now thinking less of how mad James would be and more how pleased I can make the man in front of me. My back is turned to him and I begin running my hands up and down my sides, accentuating the curves that I’ve yet to let Stack see. The song gains momentum, speeding much more than I thought it would. Lovely singing turns into wild hooting as the stomps of the crowd thump in my ears. Still, I sway to the music, just with more intention, seduction even. I don’t even notice that Stack has gotten up until his hands are following mine, running over the most intimate parts of my body.

“You gon’ finally let me have you, Josie?” he rasps in my ear, his voice nearly blending in with the music.

“Maybe if you work for it…”

The two of us move in harmony, his hands following mine, my hips following his. It’s not until the tempo slows that I realize the position we’re in. My hands sit on the table as Stack stands behind me, his clothed waist grinding against mine as he leaves rough kisses on my neck. I don’t resist it this time, I don’t want to. In fact, I want to do the exact opposite. His hand rests across my throat, turning my head so that I can properly kiss him. It feels amazing, finally letting all of the tension out in this way. I feel possessed by the music as our hands grow nearer and nearer to crossing a line. But suddenly the stomps ain’t so far, and Stacks lips ain’t so close.

I open my eyes to a gruesome scene. It takes me a moment to be sure, but once I’m sure, I’m sure. James has burst through the door and ripped Stack off of me, landing blows the minute he entered. Only seconds have passed and blood has already begun covering his fist. Stack wastes no time, retrieving his brass knuckles and aiming for James’ face. Blood splatters across the room and the two men fight like dogs in front of me.

“Stop—“ I can barely choke the words out when I realize that this is going to end up in a death.

I don’t bother wasting time thinking before I run downstairs. The time between my leaving the room and returning with Smoke and Annie behind me must be about fifteen seconds, but it feels like three.

“The fuck!?” Smoke pushes past me.

He pulls his gun, aiming it at the incoherent mess that is Stack, James, and a lot of blood. I don’t speak, only run to the two men and try my best to save my James, pulling back on his shoulder. He swings his blood-soaked arm back, elbowing me in the face with a crack before continuing to tussle with Stack. I fall to the floor, cradling my cheek as I scoot away from the two men.

Two shots ring out, and the sound of thrashing finally ceases.

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📍Josephine and James’ house || 12:00pm

I made out that he found the note when he begged me not to leave him. Even bloody, shot, and thrown on the Mississippi road, James still gained the power to speak those words to me. He threw me his accusations that he had against Stack, saying he did something against my will. James did it to save me, according to him. I blamed myself all night long for forgetting to put that note away — Maybe it was that that allowed him to survive the night. Perhaps my praying and apologizing to God was enough to make him save James from those two bullets in his side.

It don’t matter now. I’m back home alone just like I would be if he wasn’t in the hospital, feeling the same too — Despite my stitched up cheek and the never ending thoughts of what Stack and I could’ve done last night. It’s wrong, I know it is, but no matter how hard I fight it, all I can imagine is what we would’ve done had James not barged in.

It’s stormy this evening, the clouds covering the sun make me feel like the lord might’ve darkened the sky just to make me feel worse. I flip through my old photo album, photos of young me, Wells, and our parents in that small house in South Carolina. Sometimes I miss those days — Most times, actually. Before I had a hard head and a harder ass, ready to take on anyone who wanted to whoop me at anytime. Back when I could be a soft Josephine who wouldn’t provoke men to shoot her or spend my nights with drunkards at an old mill.

A knock at the door pulls me from my miserable reminiscing. I close the album and set it aside, opening up the door for what I assume to be a patched up James…But it’s not. It’s a much more warming face.

“Stack,” I half smile, having no idea how he feels about last night…How he feels about me.

“Can I come in, Josie?” he asks.

I nod, stepping aside and letting him walk past me. As we make our way to the couch, I’m marveled at how little lasting damage James did to him. Sure he had a few stitches beneath his t-shirt and a cut and a bruise on his face, but nothing like James — His face was swollen, still black and blue when I visited him this morning.

We sit next to each other, Stack taking his time not to hurt himself. The tension eats me alive as we just stare at each other, soft jazz music playing.

“I’m sorry…” I begin. “I wrote a note-“

“Shh,” he places a hand on my criss-crossed thigh. “It wasn’t never your fault, baby.”

I can’t find it in me to smile today, although baby makes me want to oh so bad.

“Doctors said he should be okay this morning. But he was damn near dead by the time I drove him there last night,” I tell him. Stack gives me no answer. “If he recovers…I don’t know if I ever want him back in my house.”

I never allowed myself to consider the possibility of leaving James. My mama taught me that in order for anyone to see my value, I’m gon’ need some sort of man behind me, whether that be Wells, my daddy, or another man. But daddy died and I protected Wells more than he ever could protect me, so I did what I was told — Found a husband.

I don’t know that I ever loved him. I said I did, but I didn’t know what love was when we got married. It didn’t matter anyway, he had money and he was good enough to me in the beginning, so I couldn’t ask for more. It was three good years before he showed me the real him. The him that got home from work and started drinking, and more than that, started hitting. Only holes in our walls at first, then more. Sometimes I wonder if that’s what makes me so violent. I never had it in me to stand up to him so I stood up to everyone else.

Stack brings his hand to my stitched cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

“If he ever comes near you again — Ever does this again,” his voice is the most tender I’ve ever heard it. “Smoke and I will shoot him dead this time.”

I shake my head, the tiniest hint of a smile on the corner of my lip. “No need.”

“You don’t believe me?” he asks, offended.

“Oh no, I do,” I assure him. “That’s why I’m not scared of what he’ll do no more. I think you and your brass taught him enough of a lesson.”

His eyes scan my body, his hand returning to my thigh.

“Something like this happen before?”

“Only when he’s drunk and jealous,” I don’t include the part where that is every night. “That’s why I’m at the shop so much. I sometimes think that if I’m there long enough he’ll forget he was ever gonna touch me.”

Stacks face has dropped.

“Your brother know this?” he asks, a fiery glimmer in his eyes.

“He got no clue,” I scoff. “He’s dumb that way.”

He stares at me for a moment, a hunger in his eye behind the immediate anger. He raises a hand to my cheek again.

“I can show you real love, baby. Even if it’s just for today...”

Gently, Stack pulls my face to his. We’re careful not to touch each others’ wounds as he kisses me harder, laying back and pulling me on top of him. He pushes his hips up and I grind mine back and forth, groans escaping the both of us.

I feel free when I’m with Stack, like I can be powerful in who I am — I don’t worry about the store or James when I’m on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, a deeper more guttural rasp in his voice now. I ignore it, enjoying his kisses that he litters across my chest. I feel like I’m flying, he can do anything to me.

“Josie,” he whispers.

“Hm?” I hum, not bothering to look down as I pull my dress up.

“…Can I bite you?”

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baby-yongbok · 8 months ago

Text

One Last Time

Ex-husband!Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✦ Genre: Soon to be exes to lovers [18+ MDNI] ✦ Summary: Petty claims of possession lead to one last night of pleasure.

✦ CW: Choking/ light breath play, pussy spanking [for a second], Unprotected sex [wrap it up party people], Size Kink [for a second], Oral (f rec.), Chan is... aggressive(??), Chan is referred to as Chris, He calls you a bitch once. only once. ✦A/N: Bang Chan made me do it. There's barely any plot in sight. I wrote this in 4 hrs in the middle of the night. Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

It’s funny how things change. Day turns to night, hot to cold and love to pure seething hatred.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic but you swear that that’s all you can feel swarming in your chest as you sit across from your soon to be ex-husband.

He made a show of things at the settlement meeting this afternoon. He pushed back on every negotiation you made which has led you to where you are now. Each of you on your side of the bed with a pile of stuff littering the Egyptian cotton sheets that he just has to take with him.

“There. Are you happy now?” You throw the last item on top of his pile and Chris stares down at the item with that damned smirk that you used to love. “Almost.”

He stands from the mattress, dark eyes on something behind you. He grabs it before you can turn. “I bought you this purse.”

The muffled thud of his hard bottom shoes against the carpet is all that you hear before he turns the black designer bag upside down. The contents clatter against his shoes, items rolling in different directions as you watch with a clenched jaw.

He’s circling back to his side of the bed as you call upon the might of the gods to keep yourself calm. After being married for five years Chris has learned each and every one of your buttons and how hard he needs to press them just to tick you off.

You’ve decided not to give him the satisfaction of making a scene. That’ll only feed his ego. Besides, he has buttons of his own, some that you installed yourself.

“Now I’m happy.” He drops the bag into his pile, smiling before you like he’d just gotten away with a million bucks. “Yeah?”

Two can play that game. “I bought you that suit.” The smirk on blushed lips transfers to your painted ones as you stare over at him with arms crossed over your chest.

“I’d like it back.” With an innocent bat of your lashes Chris smiles. It’s gone just as fast as it came and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He's pissed.

“You’re fucking serious?” You hold your hand out to him. “Dead serious.”

Dark eyes are staring into darker ones as he holds your gaze. You’ve gotten used to him challenging you. You’ve gotten used to him being a petty asshole and you’ve learned how to play him at his own game.

You watch as he pops the button of his suit jacket. Tongue in cheek while his fingers work to free him of the fabric. His eyes stay on yours as he peels the smoky threads from his shoulders. He shimmy’s it down thick arms, pulling at the cuffs until he’s free of it. He’s left in a skimpy t-shirt before you and you take the liberty of letting your eyes wander.

“Want the pants too?” Chris throws the jacket over into your pile before his hands start to fiddle with the metal of his buckle. “Keep ‘em. They’re the nicest thing you own now.”

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his hand comes up to rake through his hair as his eyes wander the space you used to share. His gaze stops at your vanity, busy eyes study your open jewelry box then look back to you.

“I gave you those earrings.” He stalks towards the table, snatching the gold studs off of the surface and slipping them into his pocket. “And..”

The muffled thud of his shoes is all you can hear over the thick tension pulsing around you. It’s all that you can hear over your own enraged heartbeat. “This necklace.” The clasp is snapped from around your neck before you can breathe a protest. You gasp at the sudden pressure of your chain being ripped from you.

“What the fuck.” That smirk is stolen back when he slips the jewelry into his pocket. He stands in front of you, barely an inch between you as your chests rise and fall in unison. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Me?” He fakes a pout, blinking over at you. “I didn’t do anything”

“Whatever, you got your stuff, get out.” You’re hissing at him, heart racing and blood bubbling with the annoyance you’ve been harboring for the length of this insufferable process. “I’m done with you.”

“Not so fast.” he says slowly, his hands finding your waist before you can step around him. You attempt to shrug off his grip and fail. “I bought you that too.”

His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. His tongue darts out to lick over his own as he stares. “That lipstick.” His eyes find yours again.

“Fuck off, Chris.” There’s a bite to your tone that makes him smile. He’s always loved a challenge.

“I bought it.” He pulls you into him by your waist. Your body is flush with his and one of his hands quickly abandon the plush flesh to wrap around your neck. “ I wan’ it back. I think that’s fair.”

It’s dark on dark as he leans in, eyes searching each others frantically as Chris closes the gap and kisses you gently. It barely makes a sound, it’s feather light and quick.

“You want it back?” You whisper against his lips and he nods. “Then I want the pants.”

That fucking smirk pulls at his red stained lips and his mouth is on yours in an instant. It’s hot and messy, drowning out the previous softness. You grab at his arms, clawing down the flesh while his fingers dig into your hips.

He licks into your mouth with a desperate groan as you turn your heads left and right, his tongue explores your mouth as he takes in the taste of you one last time. Your arms wrap around his neck as one of his hands grab at the swell of your ass.

“Fuck.” He groans against you, stealing another kiss before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. “Up.” With a firm smack on your ass you jump up and his hands find purchase on the curve of your bottom over your dress.

You fall into a mess of tugging and moaning. The tension you once felt in your chest melts into pleasure as his hands wander your bareskin. He drops you onto the mattress, pushing the sorted piles out of the way and hovering over you in your ripped dress as you lay sprawled out on the sheets before him.

“Gonna miss this.” Chris’ mouth is stained cherry red with your lipstick, it’s smeared over your cheeks and it compliments the bruises that he’s sucking into your skin. You bunch his shirt up his back, scratching along the way and leaving your own marks as you please.

“Shut up, eat my pussy.” You pull him back with a fist full of his hair, he hisses a moan through clenched teeth as his own hand finds it’s way around your throat again. He squeezes this time. It’s just enough to have your eyes flutter shut, just enough to get you right where he wants you.

“Can’t you be my good girl for one more night? Can’t you stop being a bitch for just a second, baby?” Chris leans down with a tighter squeeze. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the flesh. “Did you already forget who the fuck I am?”

He loosens his grip giving you the satisfaction of that blissful rush before squeezing again. “Do you see how small you are?” He whispers, placing a kiss by your ear. “Do you feel how strong I am, baby? Don’t you know how this goes?”

A moan is all he gets as he pulls back to admire you. Your pretty mouth is parted with a silent moan as your thighs press together in a desperate attempt at cumming. “I should make you suck my cock.” His knee wedges between your legs and presses hard against your core.

“I should fuck this pretty throat. I should get you back for being such a fucking brat through all of this.” The hand that was around his wrist scratches up his arm as he lets up again, letting the blood rush and giving you the dizzy feeling he knows you love. “I should -”

Your fingers wrap around his neck before he can finish his thought. Fierce eyes stare up into his as your other hand moves to unbutton his pants. “Just gimme what’s mine.”

Your hand slips into the waistband of his underwear as you pull him closer to you. “Wan’ my cock?” He moans at the soft feeling of your fingers wrapping around the tip. Eye’s fluttering shut as he attempts to take a breath against your grip.

“‘S mine.” You lean up to his ear. “Isn’t it daddy?”

It was quick when he pinned you against the mattress. Both of your wrists were in his grip before he shifted them both to one hand to free his cock for you. “You’re a fucking tease. You’re so fucking predicatable, you know that?” He’s hissing as he fights with the fabric of his pants and your dress.

“You want a reaction outta me, huh? Wanna rile me up, sweetheart?” With a shift of hands and a grunt he’s turning the two of you over. You follow him with a gasp, straddling his waist and sitting over his cock with your clothed cunt. “C’mon I’ll let you. Use me, get what you want.”

Your resolve sinks as his cock twitches against your core. Chris is lying beneath you looking like a sin personified and you feel compelled to indulge in his offer. He is still your husband after all.

Your panties are pushed to the side in an instant. Chris’ wrists are pinned over his head while you grind your cunt over him. Sloppy sounds of you working over his leaking cock swirl in the hot air and Chris watches it all with drooping lids as you work against him. “Put it in, lemme watch it.”

You ignore him, slowing your grind to counter his request. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel you. I can make you feel so good. Let daddy fuck you, c’mon.” He watches you, head reeled back and moans dripping from your lips like drool as you do as you please.

“Fuckin’ tease.” He breaks free from your hold, hands wrapping around your waist and guiding the grind of your hips just as your clit catches on the head of his cock. “I asked nicely.”

His cock catches at your entrance as he controls you. The push of him against your pussy has your mouth open in a silent scream as he bullies his cock into you. “You keep forgetting who I am, hm?” He sits up, landing a firm smack to your ass to match his brutal thrust as you settle in his lap.

“Chris, shit, just fuck me. Fuck me.” Your nails are in his back, drawing lines that could surely draw blood. He hisses at the pain, smiling with a bite of his tongue as he fucks up into you.

His hips snap into yours, gradually picking up the pace until you’re falling apart against him. Chest to chest, you’re panting into each other. Littering the thick air with profanities as he splits you open on his dick. “Oh my fucking god, Chris. More. More more more, please. C’mon.”

“Take it.” He growls below you, allowing you to push him back against the mattress and ride his cock to your heart's content. “That’s it, take it. It’s yours, all yours.”

Your nails dig into his pecks, leaving marks on the flawless skin and you use him for leverage. The loud smack of skin against skin decorates the air accompanied by your moans.

“Don’t hold back, baby. Enjoy that fucking ride.” He thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. “Let loose, just like that.”.

Chris is rambling under you, mumbling under his breath and growling praises when he fucks deep into you.

“Fuck me, fuck me harder. Wan’ it harder.” It’s dark on dark again. Hooded eyes stare into each other void of rage, the only priority is pleasure. You’re only here to take advantage.

“Wan’ me harder?” He fucks into you, moaning at the squeeze you give. “Wan’ me deeper?”

With a lift of his hips Chris flips you over. “Be good for me, yeah? One last time, be a good fucking girl and lay on your back for me. Lemme eat this pretty pussy.” He rips your dress down your frame with a grunt. Your panties get the same treatment before he’s falling to his knees before you.

“Gonna miss you on your knees.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, staring down at him behind a fucked out haze. “Lookin’ so pretty for me with a mouth full of my cunt.”

With a smirk Chris licks a wet stripe from your hole to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking it between red stained lips and flicking it. Your head drops back against the mattress with a loud moan. Your hands comb through and grab at his damp dark locks but he quickly repositions you to hold yourself open for him.

“Watch me eat it.” He reaches up, brushing your chin with his fingertips. He lays a flat wet lick to your pussy, hooded eyes staring up into yours. “Eyes on me. Eyes on daddy.”

He spreads your cunt with his fingers, holding you open for him while he spits down onto your clit. He collects it all on his tongue, licking it over the nub before spitting it back. Sloppy slurps against a drooling pussy is all that fills the room. “Daddy, please, wanna cum on your cock.”

He pulls back with a pop, spitting back down onto your cunt. He watches it drip down to your hole, following the stream with his fingers to press it into you.

“You wan’ me deep right?” His middle and pointer fuck you open as he coos. “Want me to spread this tiny cunt on my dick?” You’re moaning. Panting confirmations and whining pathetically into the air.

“Then hold it.” He kisses your clit, sucking it in then releasing. “Don’t cum.”

“Please.” You moan a plea, unraveling little by little with each suck and flick of your clit. His fingers fuck you open, curling into your soft spot and pushing you further towards the edge that you’re trying to avoid.

You could just cum. You could just take what he’s giving you instead of following the rules but it’s so good like this. He’s so good like this. You miss him giving you what you want.

“Chris, ‘m gonna cum for you. I can’t. Please jus’ gimme.” He blinks up at you with pussy drunk eyes as his kiss bitten lips move against you despite your begging. “Daddy, please. I wan’ your cock.”

"Don't cum for me yet" he speaks against your cunt before licking a wet kiss up to your clit.

"I can't, Chris. I can't, I can't, I'm gonna cum." Your eyes are glued to the way he licks up and down your swollen pussy. Taunting you with the skill he's gained over the years. He's pushing your buttons again.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy, please you have to let me. You’re gonna make me cum. Your mouth, your fucking mouth, please let me cum."

You're babbling, you know you are. You’re slipping through the cracks quickly and you can’t do a thing to stop it. There’s no going back and Chris knows it but he still smacks the inside of your thigh. Warning you to be good for him and let him build you up a bit more before you take his cock again.

"Don't." He kisses your clit. "Cum." He sucks the bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it with a moan. He's a madman if he thinks you could survive that.

"Fuck, 'm cumming. I'm cumming, 'm sorry." You’re shaking, your nails dig into your thighs as you keep yourself open for him. "Cumming, 'm cumming, I can't stop cumming, I can't stop cumming."

He moans into you as he laps up every drop of arousal that you're giving him. He commits your sweet taste to memory with one final swipe of his tongue before he’s kissing up your stomach.

His lips trail up the valley of your breasts. He licks over the mound, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling it with a hum. Once he’s satisfied he moves to your shoulder, kissing and licking his way over to your collarbone then finally his lips are back on yours.

You’re gasping as you tremble through your orgasm, aftershocks wash over you as you taste yourself on his tongue. Chris smirks, whispering against your lips. "No one else will make you feel this good, baby. No one else will make you cum like this.”

The head of his cock slips through your dripping folds, catching against your clit before he’s pushing in. “This is mine. All mine." He sinks in to the hilt then slowly drags his cock back against your walls.

“This is what I want.” He straightens up, looking down at your pretty face contorted in pleasure.

“All of that other shit doesn’t matter.” He moans, holding your thighs back to get a perfect view of you. “I wanna watch it. Wanna see the way my pussy opens up for me. ‘S mine, isn’t it, baby? Tell me this shit is mine.”

“Yours, it’s yours. Fuck, ‘s fucking yours, please, you’re gonna make me cum.” Chris slows his strokes, grinding deep into you and dipping his hips to hit the soft spot that turns you into putty for him.

You’re drooling at the feeling. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of tired eyes as you watch the way he admires your cunt. The corner of his bottom lip is tugged and held firm between his teeth as he fights back his moans so that he can hear yours clearer.

“Shit, You’re gonna make me cum. Gonna make me fucking cum, make daddy cum.” The precise snap of his hips grows sloppy as the seconds pass. His once slow grind is now erratic. He’s purely seeking pleasure, sinking deeper into the haze with every drag.

“Fuck, squeeze me. Yeah, just like that, that’s my girl. Pretty fucking girl on my cock.” Each thrust is met with a slap to your clit. You jolt at the contact, back arching off of the mattress. “Cum for me. Cum on my dick.”

With one more flick of your clit you're trembling beneath him. Your cunt sucks him in and he takes it all with a loud moan. Chris lets your legs fall so that he can hover over you. He holds himself up on his elbows as he kisses you through your climax. You moan into it, shaking with each thrust and twitch of his cock.

“Shit, that’s good. So good, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” The frantic bucking of his hips against yours comes to a halt as he falls apart.

Moans tumble forward as he does. His muscles tense and his eyes roll back as he drives himself deep into you, filling you with every drop of himself that he has to offer. Chris collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you in place.

You pant below him, coming down from your high as aftershocks wash over him. He kisses your neck, breathing heavily into your skin.

“Now.” He pulls back slightly, gaze catching yours. “Now I’m happy.”

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

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2K notes · View notes

astrcmoni · 2 months ago

Text

୨♡୧⁀➷cupid’s kiss ୨♡୧⁀➷

MASTERLIST

synopsis: the city hums around you, a fleeting backdrop to roses, laughter, and the heat of her gaze. by night’s end, only tangled limbs and breathless whispers remain—fragments of a valentine’s you’ll never forget.

pairing: fem!reader x billie eilish

genre: fluff, smut

wc: 12.2k

warnings: car sex, cunnilingus (r! receiving), sexual teasing, talk of cum, making out ( let me know if i missed any)

authors note: i know this is coming out late but take it anyways. hope you enjoy this, happy valentine’s day everyone 💋

the soft melody of an old r&b song drifts quietly throughout your room, threading through the warm glow of the bedside lamp. the air is thick with the scent of vanilla and shea butter, settling into your skin like a second layer, like something familiar. your body sways slightly, hips moving in time with the slow rhythm, a motion so natural it feels like breathing.

your fingers find the lip liner with ease, wrapping delicately around its sleek body before lifting it to your mouth. the deep burgundy wax blooms against your skin as you trace the curve of your bottom lip, slow and steady, like painting something sacred. your cupid’s bow follows next, the tip of the pencil pressing just enough to carve out the shape, to sculpt without effort. your ring finger grazes the edge of your lips, the warmth of your skin melting the pigment just enough to blur the lines. slow, deliberate strokes soften the burgundy, blending it inward, fading like dusk into the fullness of your mouth. the color settles into something effortless, something lived-in—like you’ve been kissed, like you’ve kissed back.

your hand drifts to the tube of clear gloss lying discarded on your vanity, the light catching its sleek surface as your fingers wrap around it. you twist it open, pulling the wand free with a quiet pop before guiding it over your lips. the gloss drenches them in liquid shine, turning the deep berry into something richer, something decadent. it clings to every curve, catching the light with every slight movement. you part your lips just a little, watching how the gloss gleams, how it makes your mouth look fuller, softer—irresistible.

you lean back in your chair, eyes locked on your reflection, watching the way the gloss glows under the soft light. the burgundy, now hugged by gloss, looks like wine under candlelight—deep, warm, and impossible to ignore. you smack your lips together slightly, the wet sheen catching for a moment before settling again. satisfied, you reach up, fingers curling around one of the pinned rollers, sliding out the clip that holds it in place. the strand unfurls, falling in a soft wave against your shoulder.

this motion repeats, fingers working with practiced ease, unpinning each roller, letting the fresh blowout cascade around your face. the weight of your hair feels different now, lighter, freer. the song shifts, a familiar melody slipping through the speakers, and without thinking, your voice joins in—barely above a whisper, tracing the lyrics with quiet ease.

you reach for your black comb, running it through your hair, each strand slipping over the wide teeth like silk unraveling. the motion is rhythmic, soothing, a quiet kind of ritual that settles you further into the warmth of the moment.

the song playing is familiar, comforting—a melody wrapped in nostalgia, threaded with slow, honeyed vocals that make you feel like you’re sinking into something soft and golden. everything about this moment feels unhurried, like the night itself is waiting patiently for you to step into it. the scent of your perfume lingers in the air, a quiet presence mixing with the rhythm of the music, and for a second, you close your eyes, letting it all settle over you like a second skin.

nights like these make getting ready easy, slipping into the three-hour routine you’ve perfected over the years. there’s a tranquility in it, in the way you take your time, in the way you indulge yourself with each step. so when billie had told you earlier this week that on friday—valentine’s day—she was taking you out, you’d immediately started planning. appointments were booked, outfits were considered, and questions were asked, most of which she refused to answer, a teasing smile playing at the corners of her lips. “can’t give up the surprise,” she had murmured against your cheek, her breath warm, her fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. she did love to entertain your excitement, though, only telling you what she wanted you to know—just enough to keep you on edge, just enough to make you anticipate. dress cute but comfortable, that was all she’d given you, and somehow, it was enough.

the sound of keys jingling snaps you from your reverie, followed by the quiet creak of the front door unlocking, then locking again. a smile tugs at your lips, your heart picking up its pace just slightly as you hear the familiar weight of her footsteps approaching.

billie’s socks slide against the hardwood floor, the sound soft but distinct, accompanied by the light jangle of her keys in her pocket and the faint rustling of bags in her grasp. you don’t turn around just yet, but the curve of your lips deepens at the sound of her voice.

“baby, where are you?” her voice carries through the house, warm and familiar, wrapped in something easy, something tender.

“in here,” you call out, still running the comb through your hair, smoothing out the last few strands.

a few seconds later, she appears in the doorway, still bundled up from the february cold. the soft glow of your vanity lights catches the flushed pink of her cheeks, the tip of her nose slightly red from the chill. the red roots of her hair peek out from under her beanie, strands slipping loose beneath the hood of her sweatshirt. her eyes find yours instantly, flickering with something warm, something knowing.

she steps inside the room, making her way toward you, the scent of winter clinging to her clothes—cold air and something faintly sweet, like the bakery she always stops at on her way home.

your head tilts slightly to the left as you notice her hands hidden behind her back, her body language giving her away before she even speaks.

“hi, mama,” she starts, her voice soft, threaded with something breathless, like she rushed home just to give you whatever she’s holding.

she reveals her hands, stretching them toward you, and your breath catches just slightly. deep red roses, wrapped in crisp black paper, petals full and velvety to the touch. the contrast is striking—the darkness of the wrapping making the red stand out even richer, deeper. it’s intentional, you know that. billie has always had a way of making things feel like more than just gestures.

you turn fully to face her, your hands lifting as you take the bouquet, your nails grazing over the back of her hands in the process, a fleeting touch that makes her fingers twitch slightly. your fingertips brush the petals in quiet admiration, feeling the delicate texture beneath them. the scent fills your nose, heady and intoxicating—rich yet soft, like something meant to linger.

billie watches you, studying your reaction, the corner of her lip twitching like she’s holding back a smirk. there’s something in the way she looks at you—like she’s memorizing every detail, like she’s already picturing you in her arms later tonight. the warmth of it spreads through you, slow and deliberate, settling in your chest like a steady flame.

“these are gorgeous, babe. thank you.”

you tuck the flowers against your arm before reaching up, fingers finding the familiar warmth of her face. her skin is cool from the outside air, but she leans into your touch instinctively, eyes half-lidded, lips curving into something soft.

“it was nothing much, but you’re welcome.”

she inches closer, her breath warm against your lips before they finally meet—soft, lingering, unhurried. the kiss is brief but enough to send a slow shiver down your spine, enough to make her chase your lips when you pull away. her mouth parts slightly, instinctively, like she wasn’t ready to let you go just yet.

you chuckle under your breath, running your thumb over her lips, the smooth acrylic gliding over her plump skin—slightly sticky from your gloss. she lets out a soft hum at the touch, and just as her hands start to settle on your waist, you gently push her back.

“actually,” you start, rising from your vanity with ease before walking toward your side of the shared closet. “i have something for you too.”

billie watches you with open curiosity, shifting her weight, eyes following every move you make. she tugs at the hem of her hoodie absentmindedly as you crouch down, disappearing slightly into the closet’s dim interior.

your hands glide over folded sweaters, past stacked shoeboxes, feeling your way toward the back until your fingers brush against the satin ribbon-wrapped handle of the basket you’ve been carefully putting together for the past few days. you lift it gently, pulling it into the light, and stand, turning toward billie with a small smile as you stretch the basket toward her.

her eyes widen slightly, face lighting up as she takes it, fingers tracing over the red bow with something reverent. she shifts the weight of it in her hands, eyes scanning the contents nestled carefully in soft pink tissue paper—the little details that only you would think of, the things you know she’d love.

a candle that smells like vanilla and warm musk, the kind she always lights the second she gets home. a handwritten letter, its rose-colored envelope sealed with a kiss of your burgundy lip liner. a small plushie tucked beside her favorite snacks, something soft, something sentimental. and at the very center, a small box tied with a silk ribbon, holding a delicate bracelet that catches the light just enough to glint, subtle but intentional—just like her.

her smile spreads into a grin, the small gems on her teeth catching the glow of your vanity lights. she lifts her gaze back to you, something playful settling in her eyes.

“are you trying to one-up me?”

“always.” your response is immediate, your voice carrying the same playful lilt as hers.

billie exhales a soft laugh before setting the basket down carefully on your vanity, her fingers lingering on the ribbon for a moment before she turns back to you. without hesitation, she steps in close, arms slipping around your torso as she pulls you into her warmth.

you melt into it, arms looping around the back of her neck, fingers instinctively tangling together as your thumbs rest against her skin. her red roots brush against your knuckles, the smaller pieces of hair swaying slightly as you rub slow circles into the nape of her neck.

she leans down again, lips finding yours in a kiss slower than the last—soft, sweet, deep enough to make your breath hitch. it’s just enough to leave you wanting more before she pulls away, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“i gotta shower,” she murmurs, eyes flicking over you with something unreadable, something lingering. “but thank you for the gifts.”

her hands slide from your waist, moving with purpose, fingers trailing over each curve of your body as she makes her way up to where your hands rest against her neck. carefully, she unlaces your fingers from each other before cupping them in her own, holding them between you like something precious.

she squeezes once, gentle but firm, like a silent promise.

“i’ll be quick,” she adds, voice low, almost teasing. “don’t miss me too much.”

she takes a step back, her blue eyes raking over you in slow, deliberate strokes, like she’s committing every inch of you to memory.

your brow quirks in light confusion. “what? do i have something on me?”

billie huffs out a small laugh before reaching for your hand, lifting it above your head with gentle ease. “nah,” she murmurs, spinning you slowly. the skirt of your dress fans out as you move, fabric catching the soft glow of the vanity lights. when you come back around to face her, her smile has deepened, something playful tugging at her lips. “just admiring, that’s all.”

your eyes roll instinctively, but the warmth spreading across your chest betrays you. placing your hands on her chest, you give her a gentle push, the fabric of her hoodie soft beneath your palms. “will you hurry and go clean up so we can go?”

“pushy, pushy,” she teases, but she leans in anyway, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, her lips lingering for a second longer than necessary. the hum she lets out vibrates against your skin before she pulls away, fingers already toying with the hem of her hoodie. she strips down with ease, leaving a trail of discarded clothes as she makes her way toward the connecting bathroom.

you shake your head at the mess she leaves behind, turning your attention to the bouquet still in your arms. you place the roses in a vase, arranging them carefully, the deep red petals almost glowing against the dim light of the room. the scent of them mixes with the faint traces of billie’s cologne still clinging to the air, something warm, something familiar.

the sound of water rushing through the pipes fills the space, followed by the muffled slide of the shower door.

“so, are you excited for tonight?” billie’s voice carries over the hiss of the water.

“i would be if i knew what it was, billie.”

“the whole point of a surprise date is so that it can be that—a surprise,” she teases. “just trust me, babe.”

you hum thoughtfully, bare feet padding softly against the carpet as you make your way to the bathroom. heat rises to greet you, steam curling around the glass shower door, clinging to the mirror. you lean against the doorframe, watching as billie’s figure shifts behind the fogged glass, her movements slow and unhurried.

“should i be worried?” you ask, voice laced with playful suspicion.

“no, not at all,” she says smoothly. “but you might wanna wear something cute and comfortable.”

“so, no heels then?”

she hums, considering. “mm… not tonight. your boots would look really cute with your fit.” a pause. “but you’ll still look fine as hell no matter what you decide.”

you shake your head, grinning. “flatterer.”

billie laughs, the sound soft and unfiltered, mixing with the warmth of the room. you stay there, talking about everything and nothing, letting the conversation weave between teasing remarks and familiar comforts.

soon enough, the water cuts off, the steam thick in the air as billie steps out. a towel is wrapped loosely around her torso, droplets of water still clinging to her skin, trailing slow paths down the curves of her body. the scent of her vanilla body wash wraps around you as she moves past, something rich and sweet, something undeniably her.

your eyes follow her, drawn to the way her damp hair drips against the towel slung around her shoulders, how her fingers comb through the strands with ease. she moves toward her side of the dresser, pulling out pieces of clothing with the same quiet deliberation she does everything else.

she hums softly as she gets dressed, a song that’s been playing faintly in the background, one you hadn’t even realized she was paying attention to. your gaze lingers as she buttons up her black shirt, her fingers sliding each button into its designated slot with ease. the fabric molds against her frame, and your focus catches on the slight flex of her biceps as she adjusts the cuffs, rolling them up just enough to reveal the lines of ink along her hand.

her eyes flick up toward the mirror, lips twitching into a smirk when she catches your gaze in the reflection. the soft glow of the vanity lights frames her features, turning her crystalline blue eyes into something almost ethereal, something impossible to look away from.

“you getting distracted?” she teases, slipping rings onto her fingers with practiced ease, the metal gliding against her skin. she picks up a delicate chain next, fastening the clasp at the nape of her neck, all without breaking eye contact.

“what? no, shut up,” you mutter, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. the warmth in her stare makes your stomach flip, but you ignore it, turning your attention to your jewelry box instead.

the sable black wood is smooth beneath your fingertips, the hinges sighing softly as you lift the lid. inside, nestled among delicate chains and glinting rings, rests a golden watch—slim, dainty, timeless. the light catches on its polished surface, tracing over the fine links of its bracelet, the minimalist face gleaming under the glow of the room.

with careful fingers, you lift it from its place, the cool metal whispering against your skin as you drape it over your wrist. the clasp clicks softly as you fasten it, the weight settling against you like it was made to be there. the gold catches the light, warm and radiant, an understated elegance that feels like a quiet kind of power.

you reach back into the box, extracting a necklace, its chain the same golden shade as your watch, its charm a simple letter. the ‘b’ sways lightly between your fingers, gleaming under the soft light. before you can put it on, billie stretches out her hand, palm up, a silent request.

you don’t hesitate. you never do.

stepping behind you, billie takes both ends of the necklace, the cool metal hovering just above your collarbone as her fingers slide over the clasp. her touch is featherlight, the brief brush of her knuckles against your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. she hooks the clasp into place, then adjusts the necklace so the charm rests perfectly at the base of your throat.

but she doesn’t step away just yet.

her hands skim down your sides, fingertips grazing the fabric of your dress before settling on your hips. her eyes meet yours in the mirror, a silent moment stretching between you, filled with something unspoken, something deep.

your own initial rests boldly against her neck, a silver version instead of gold, the contrast striking yet complementary. a matched set, tied together in quiet devotion.

billie breaks the silence first, her voice soft but sure. “c’mon, we better go before we’re late.”

her fingers lace through yours, warm and familiar, and she leads you downstairs without another word.

you both move in sync, slipping on your shoes, grabbing your belongings with the kind of effortless ease that only comes with time. the door swings open, and the cool night air greets you, crisp and full of promise.

and just like that, you step out into the night, hand in hand.

the restaurant hums with low chatter and the soft clinking of silverware, but in your little corner booth, the world feels quieter, smaller—just the two of you wrapped up in each other. the dim lighting bathes the table in a soft amber glow, reflecting off wine glasses, the edges of flickering candlelight, and the soft sheen of your girlfriend’s silver jewelry, each little detail seeming to highlight the intimacy between you.

dinner feels like a secret, just the two of you tucked into the booth, close enough that your thighs press together, the warmth of her body a constant against yours. the room is alive with the sounds of the evening, but here, it’s just you two—the scent of rich food and something faintly floral lingering in the air, heavy with comfort and quiet affection.

instead of sitting across from each other, billie pulls you in beside her, her arm draped casually around the back of your seat, fingers lightly grazing your shoulder.

“you look so pretty,” she murmurs, her voice soft but sure, fingers tracing lazy, comforting patterns over your thigh, each stroke a promise, a reassurance.

you turn your head slightly, catching the fond smile tugging at her lips, the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. “you’ve said that three times already.”

she shrugs, her lips curling into an easy smile, unfazed by your teasing. “and i’ll say it again and again. and again.”

you roll your eyes playfully, but your heart flutters at the simplicity of the compliment. the sincerity of it makes the moment feel like something sacred, tucked away just for the two of you.

you lean into her side, your head coming to rest on a familiar shoulder, and breathe her in. her scent is intoxicating—vanilla with something deeper, more complex, something both soft and strong, feminine and masculine in perfect harmony. it clings to her skin, lingering in the collar of her shirt, curling into the space between you both, the scent threading through the warmth that lingers in the air.

“you smell so good,” you murmur, voice soft, just above a whisper, letting the words dissolve between your lips and her neck, filling the space around you with the quiet, tender intimacy of the moment.

billie huffs out a small laugh, fingers still toying with the lace of your stockings where her hand rests on your thigh. “i sure would hope so,” she teases, the smirk evident in her voice even before she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head, her lips warm against the crown of your hair.

“why can’t you ever just accept the compliment?” the back of your hand meets her chest in a gentle hit, teasing but full of affection.

a soft chuckle escapes billie, her fingers still tracing idle patterns along your thigh. with a shift, she pulls out her phone, the screen lighting up in the dim atmosphere as she angles it to capture the moment. she snaps a few pictures—one with your faces close, the other where she leans in just enough to plant a kiss on your temple. her lips curl into a playful grin as she murmurs, “i hope you know that you’re really pretty.”

the phone is set aside, forgotten, discarded in favor of the quiet moment shared between you, the flashes of her smile and the soft hum of her voice lingering in the air, more cherished than any photograph could ever capture.

not long after, your plates arrive, the scent of rich spices and warm dishes curling into the air, drawing you both back to the present. you straighten just enough to reach for your fork, but billie’s arm doesn’t leave your side, her fingers still tracing small, absent patterns over the lace of your stockings.

dinner is slow, unhurried. you steal bites from each other’s plates, laughing at the most random things, exchanging soft kisses that feel like nothing and everything all at once—moments so small but somehow monumental in their own way. the world outside this booth fades into the background as you talk about everything from childhood memories to plans for the future.

the night is intimate, effortless—woven together with the kind of love that doesn’t need grand gestures or fireworks, just the softness of shared space, quiet compliments, the lightest touches, and the way your scents linger together in the small moments.

by the time dessert arrives, the last remnants of dinner sit on the table—half-empty glasses, a shared dessert plate with only a few crumbs left behind. the warmth of the evening lingers still, like the soft, steady beat of her heart beneath your palm. billie’s arm is still around you, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your hip, the world outside the restaurant fading into something almost dreamlike.

billie reaches for the black checkbook the waiter left behind, flipping it open with a practiced flick of her wrist. her gaze lingers on the receipt for a moment, brows lifting slightly at the total, before she hums in approval, a quiet, satisfied sound that melts into the warm, dim atmosphere of the restaurant.

with your head still resting on her shoulder, you tilt your chin just enough to steal a glance at the numbers, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “not bad,” you murmur, your voice low, teasing, the words slipping out like a secret only the two of you share.

she lets out a soft chuckle, nudging you gently with her elbow. “you got a pen?” she asks, tapping the checkbook with her fingertips, the quiet request cutting through the gentle hum of the restaurant. “they forgot to bring one.”

without hesitation, you reach for your purse, fingers sifting through its contents, the familiar feel of soft leather under your fingertips grounding you in this quiet moment. you pull out a sleek, black pen, placing it in her waiting hand, watching as she takes it with a quick, fluid motion.

you watch as she signs the tip portion first, the ink gliding smoothly over the paper in practiced strokes, the sound of the pen scratching against the paper almost melodic in the stillness. then, with a small flourish, she signs off at the bottom—B.E. the letters are clean, effortless, holding a quiet confidence, the kind that’s always been so distinctly her. the way she carries herself, even in the smallest gestures, leaves an imprint on everything she touches.

after capping the pen and handing it back, your girlfriend slips a hand behind her phone, pulling out her sleek black american express card tucked safely in its case. the metal glints in the dim lighting as she slides it into the pocket of the checkbook with a satisfying tap, the motion final, almost ceremonial, as if everything is in its place now.

“there,” she leans in, her voice low and smooth against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “all taken care of. so, are you ready for part two?” the waiter comes back around to your table, taking the little black book and slipping away to the back.

your hands wrap around her forearm, pulling her a little closer as you lift an eyebrow, brows shooting up in surprise at her question. “there’s more?”

“baby, there’s always more.” she grins, lips widening into that familiar, knowing smile of hers. she shifts slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, the gesture tender, the warmth of her lips lingering.

your eyes wander around the restaurant, your mind spinning with endless possibilities of what could be next, the anticipation building. “where are we going?”

she smirks, slipping the black card back into her phone once the waiter returns, the subtle click of the card’s return echoing between you. “that’s for me to know and you to find out.” her tone is teasing, playful, as if she holds all the answers, but she’s not giving anything away just yet.

you purse your lips, trying to stop yourself from rolling your eyes for the thousandth time that night at her crypticness. but the corner of your mouth lifts, betraying the smile that threatens to break free. sliding out of the booth, billie stands, offering her hand to help you out of your seat, the warmth of her palm a comfort against yours. you take it without thinking, the connection between you electric, her hand soft but firm in yours.

she pulls you into a quick kiss, a soft press of her lips to yours, pulling away with a small hum of satisfaction before intertwining your fingers again. without missing a beat, she pulls you toward the door, your steps in sync, the cool night air just beyond, waiting to greet you both.

turns out, part two is top golf.

you burst out laughing as soon as she parks the car, the sound echoing into the quiet night. “seriously?” you ask, incredulous.

she grins, unbuckling her seatbelt with that familiar confident flick of her wrist. “what? you thought i was gonna take you to some bougie rooftop?”

“i don’t know what i thought,” you admit, still chuckling. “wasn’t expecting this though. but just so you know, i’m gonna win and whoop your ass in the process.”

“if you say so,” she replies, her voice laced with playful arrogance. “we all know i’m the real mvp when it comes to this.” the competitive fire in her voice sparks yours, and just like that, the trash talk begins.

the night air is crisp as billie opens the car door and steps out, the neon blue and green lights from the towering topgolf building ahead casting a vibrant glow that dances across her face. you pull your jacket tighter around you, feeling the cool bite of the night, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of your competitive banter. billie jogs around to your side, opening the door for you with a proud little smirk.

“chivalry isn’t dead, i see,” you tease, taking her hand as she helps you out of the car, your fingers intertwining effortlessly.

she winks, that signature glint in her eyes. “not when it comes to you.”

you round the car, making your way to the trunk. with the press of a button, the trunk pops open, and you dig around until you find what you’re looking for—a pair of random sneakers that somehow always end up in each other’s cars. you quickly slide off your boots, switching them out for the more comfortable pair of shoes before slipping your hand back into billie’s.

together, you make your way to the building, your footsteps light but purposeful.

inside, the atmosphere is buzzing—low music hums over the speakers, filling the space with an easy energy. the scent of fresh food and warm pretzels hangs in the air, mixing with the excitement that pulses through the crowd. billie leads the way, her fingers laced through yours, guiding you toward a private bay on the upper level.

you step out onto the platform, the cool breeze kissing your skin as you take in the sight of the open-air range stretched out before you. small targets glow in various colors across the field, the soft thrum of the city’s skyline flickering faintly in the distance. the air is crisp and clean, nipping at your skin with the promise of something new.

“i won’t lie, this is pretty cool,” you admit, leaning against the railing, your voice quieter now, soaking in the moment. “didn’t expect this for valentine’s, though.”

billie grins, grabbing a golf club from the rack, her fingers curling around it with the same ease she handles everything else. “you know i like to keep you on your toes.”

she moves toward the tee, rolling her shoulders like she’s about to do something serious. you cross your arms over your chest, watching her with a mixture of admiration and amusement. she plants her feet, squares her shoulders, and grips the club with entirely too much confidence, as if she’s the queen of golf—never mind that she’s never swung a club in her life.

“you’ve never golfed before, have you?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“nope,” she replies confidently, rolling her shoulders again, a small huff escaping her. “but i’ve watched golf before. can’t be that hard.”

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head. “famous last words. okay, we’ll see.”

“watch and learn, baby.” she takes a deep breath, a focused look crossing her face as she swings the club—

—and completely misses the ball.

a laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, and you quickly cover your mouth to stifle it, but the sound escapes anyway. she straightens up, staring down at the untouched ball with a look of pure betrayal, as if it’s personally offended her.

“that was practice,” she mutters, giving you a look of mock annoyance.

“uh huh, sure it was,” you tease, barely holding back another laugh.

she tries again—this time, she makes contact, but the ball barely rolls off the tee, a soft, unimpressive nudge that doesn’t go anywhere near the target. you double over laughing now, unable to hold it in, while billie pouts, gripping the club like she’s debating throwing it across the range.

she tries once more, swinging with more force this time, the ball barely rolling off the tee again, stopping embarrassingly short of the edge.

“oh wow,” you say, feigning awe, crossing your arms. “real impressive, tiger woods.”

billie groans, dragging a hand down her face in exasperation. “this shit is so annoying.”

you step toward her, shaking your head fondly. “here, let me help.”

“okay, first of all, that’s not how you hold it,” you say, sliding in behind her, your voice warm against her ear. you wrap your arms around her waist, gently guiding her hands to the club. billie relaxes against you, her body fitting perfectly with yours as she tilts her head just enough for her nose to brush against your cheek.

“this is just an excuse to be all over me, isn’t it?” she murmurs, her voice dropping low, just enough to send a shiver down your spine, making your heart beat a little faster.

you smirk, letting your hands linger longer than necessary as you adjust her grip. “maybe.”

her breath is soft on your skin as you guide her through the motion, adjusting her stance, speaking in a calm, steady whisper. she listens intently, her usual cocky confidence melting into something else—vulnerable, trusting. you pull her arms back with yours before swinging forward together, your hearts aligned for just a moment. when she swings this time, the ball sails smoothly through the air, slicing the cool night sky before landing in one of the further targets.

billie gasps, her eyes wide in disbelief, and then she breaks into a triumphant cheer. “did you see that?”

you laugh, clapping along with her, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face. “okay, i’ll give you that one.”

“i’m such a natural,” she says smugly, grabbing another ball with a flourish, her pride practically radiating from her. “bet i can do it again.”

she tries. and she fails.

you don’t even bother hiding your laughter this time, the sound spilling out freely, echoing in the open space. billie glares at the club, as though it’s personally betrayed her, before she sets it down with a dramatic sigh, her shoulders slumping in mock defeat.

“alright, your turn,” she declares, grabbing your hand and pulling you forward, her fingers warm and confident in yours.

you smirk, stepping up to the tee. “are you sure? i really don’t wanna embarrass you more than i already have.”

“girl, please,” billie scoffs, crossing her arms with a raised brow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “let’s see what you got.”

“don’t say i didn’t tell you so,” you warn, your voice playful, but with a hint of challenge. billie rolls her eyes but can’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

grabbing the club from her hand, you turn back to the tee, adjusting your stance, lining up your shot with precision. the cool air brushes against your face, but all you feel is the steady calm in your chest. you take a steady breath, the world slowing down as you pull back. and then you swing—watching as the ball soars effortlessly through the air, its trajectory perfect, landing dead center in one of the smaller, harder-to-hit targets.

you smile to yourself, turning to billie, who’s staring at you with wide eyes and a mock pout. “well, i guess i did warn you,” you say, voice light but triumphant.

billie crosses her arms over her chest, her grin impossible to suppress. “alright, alright. you’re good. but i’m still gonna beat you next round.”

billie lets out a low whistle, her gaze lingering on you with a mischievous smile. “well damn. look at you.”

you grin, turning toward her, an eyebrow arched in playful challenge. “what, impressed?”

she gestures lazily toward the club in your hand, her lips curling into a half-smirk. “nah, just realizing i have no shot at winning.”

“it’s all love for the game, baby. all love.” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before handing her back the golf club, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

the night stretches on, the air growing cooler but the energy between you two never faltering. playful bets are made, stolen kisses shared, and competitive spirits run high, but it’s never about the score—it’s the moments in between, the laughter, the teasing, the way your fingers always seem to find each other in the quietest moments.

at some point, billie decides she’s had enough of golf and just wants to watch you play. she leans against the railing, her chin resting in her hands, her eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing worth looking at. her smile is soft but mischievous, and every time you line up a shot, she can’t resist making sly comments.

“bet you can’t hit that red target.”

you take a breath, steady your stance, and with a smooth swing, you nail it. the ball rips through the air, landing right in the center of the red target.

billie’s eyes widen, a laugh escaping her lips. “i mean, okay, but can you do it again?”

you don’t even hesitate, stepping up and lining up your shot once more. this time, you hit it even more effortlessly, the ball flying through the air with a perfect arc, landing in the same spot.

billie’s mouth drops open in awe, a laugh escaping her. “oh,” she says, blinking rapidly as if she’s trying to process what just happened. “so you’ve clearly done this before.”

you glance at her, a smirk tugging at your lips as you shrug casually. “i told you i was gonna win. all them summers working at the country clubs are finally paying off.”

her gaze softens as she looks at you, something between admiration and amusement twinkling in her eyes. “you’re a showoff, you know that?”

“maybe,” you reply with a wink. “but you love it.”

when the game winds down and the competitive fire starts to fade, the two of you pack up the equipment and make your way back to the car. hand in hand, you walk in comfortable silence, the sounds of the night around you soft and distant. the car sits idly in the driveway, the engine’s hum now silenced, but neither of you makes a move to get out just yet.

the warmth of the evening clings to you both—the laughter, the touches, the shared moments. you lean into one another, heads resting against the soft leather of the car seats, letting the night wash over you. the radio hums low in the background, filling the quiet space between breaths, the soft melody a perfect contrast to the silence surrounding you.

billie traces lazy circles on your knee, her fingers moving with an absent rhythm as she speaks in a softer tone, her voice barely louder than the hum of the radio.

“i just can’t believe…” she begins, her voice trailing off as she drops her head against your shoulder, pressing a soft smooch against the exposed skin of your neck. you feel the warmth of her breath, the weight of her presence, before she continues, her voice playful but with an edge of disbelief. “i got hustled on valentine’s day.”

you chuckle softly, a grin tugging at your lips. “i told you that i would beat you, did i not?”

“you did, you did.” her body shakes with laughter, the sound rich and deep, filling the car with warmth. the vibrations of her amusement carry through her body, against yours, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over you. she tilts her head slightly, looking up at you with that familiar glint in her eyes. “did you have fun?” she asks, her voice soft, almost tender, as if she already knows the answer.

you glance at her, caught in the way the streetlights reflect in her eyes, the way the soft curve of her lips pulls at your heart. something about this moment, about her, feels like it’s suspended in time.

“yeah,” you murmur, leaning into her, feeling her warmth seep into your skin. “i really did. thank you.”

you shift slightly, turning towards her. your hands find her face, cupping it gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin of her cheek. you tilt her chin upward with your fingers, and she meets your gaze, her lashes fluttering slightly as if she’s still processing the moment. you don’t rush it. you take your time, breathing her in, feeling the weight of her in your arms. you brush your nose against hers, the tip of your lips grazing her skin, before closing the space between you.

when your lips meet hers, the kiss is slow, tender—a stark contrast to the fiery ones you shared earlier in the night. it lingers, soft and sweet, and when you pull back, your hand still rests gently on her jaw, your breath mingling with hers. your eyes trace over her face, soaking in the small details—the way the moonlight dances across her freckled skin, the cool acrylic of your nails making contact with her soft skin beneath her eyes. her blue eyes meet yours through thick lashes, steady and knowing.

you push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, admiring the vibrant red gradient in her hair. the soft, colorful streaks stand out against the dim light, adding to the allure of the moment. “my pretty lady,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, your words falling into the quiet void of the night.

billie’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile, her eyes soft and full of affection. her hand drifts to the side of your neck, cupping it gently. she pulls you closer, bringing your lips back to hers in a kiss that’s even more lingering, more desperate this time. her fingers tighten slightly around your neck as she murmurs, “c’mere.”

her voice is soft, but the way she tugs you forward, the way her fingers press against your skin—there’s no hesitation in her touch. no second-guessing.

you shift your body, moving onto your knees and climbing over the center console, settling yourself into her lap like you’ve done it a hundred times before. the familiarity of her body beneath yours feels like home. billie tilts her head back, her eyes heavy with desire, and she looks up at you, her hands already smoothing over your hips, guiding you closer.

you lean down again, kissing her once more. this time, it’s deeper, slower. no rush. just the two of you, lost in the quiet space of the night, in the warmth of each other. her fingers trace over your body as the kiss deepens, and everything else—the world outside, the night, the distractions—fades away, leaving only the feeling of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the rhythm of your hearts beating together.

billie’s fingers slip under the hem of your dress, tracing slow, teasing patterns along your hips, the light touch sending electric shivers up your spine. her lips move against yours with a quiet urgency, each kiss deepening, pulling you closer into her orbit. the taste of her—of warmth, of something sweet and just a little dangerous—lingers on your tongue. she sighs softly as your hand slides into her hair, your nails grazing her scalp just enough to make her shiver beneath your touch.

the moment stretches, pulling you both deeper into it, a world of soft breaths and whispered sighs until you finally break apart, just enough to catch your breath. the air between you feels thick, charged with something both tender and intoxicating.

and then you notice it.

a faint tint of your lip gloss smudged against billie’s mouth, glistening faintly under the dim light, a soft shimmer against the dark of the night. you blink, your lips curling into a small, knowing smile. then, you let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but playful.

she frowns slightly, brows knitting together in mock confusion. “what?”

you swipe a thumb over the corner of her lips, smirking as you catch the gloss. “you got a little something there.”

billie blinks, feigning confusion, her eyes wide as if she’s innocent in all of this. “huh. weird.”

you tilt your head, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin. “oh my god, were you kissing a girl?”

billie gasps, her eyes widening in mock horror, hands rising to her face as if she’s genuinely scandalized. “what? no, ew. i would never. didn’t even know you could kiss a girl.”

you narrow your eyes playfully, dabbing at the smudge again with your thumb, a sly grin creeping onto your lips. “mhm. sure. then where’d this lip gloss come from?”

her lips twitch, fighting the urge to smirk. she tilts her head slightly, the glint of mischief in her eyes as she leans closer. “i don’t know, maybe i just like the taste.”

you snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “i knew you liked wearing my lip gloss. every time i put a new coat on, you’re there to take it off.”

billie hums in amusement, letting her hands slide lower over your thighs, her touch warm and possessive as she pulls you closer. “i only like it when it tastes like you.”

her fingers tighten slightly around your hips, pulling you just a little closer as her breath warms the space between you. she murmurs, her voice low and teasing, “what flavor is this, anyways, hm?”

you barely get the word—cherry—out before she’s leaning back in, her lips pressing to yours in a kiss that’s slow, deep, and all-encompassing. she tastes the answer for herself, her mouth devouring yours with an intensity that makes your pulse race.

billie’s lips are warm and insistent against yours, a steady rhythm pulsing between you. her hands are firm on your hips, guiding you closer as she presses you down against her lap. it’s like she can’t get enough, pulling you closer still, urging your bodies to align. the teasing, playful pace from earlier has shifted into something heavier now, something more desperate, more urgent. a charge fills the air, and you know there’s no turning back from this.

her hands move with purpose, effortlessly sliding your jacket off and tossing it into the passenger seat. she crawls back up, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, tracing the sensitive curve of your spine as she leans in, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw. your breath hitches, and you tip your head to the side, exposing more of your neck as she continues her slow descent, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin there.

billie hums softly against you, the sound vibrating against your skin, before her tongue flicks out, teasing before she sucks gently at the spot. her teeth graze your skin lightly, just enough to send a jolt of heat through you. the sting is subtle but enough to make you shudder, and she feels it, her grin widening as she pulls back slightly, knowing she’s marked you.

you hesitate for only a moment, fingers fumbling at the buttons of her black shirt, your freshly done acrylics not quite cooperating. you huff, frustration creeping in as you try again, but each button seems to taunt you, stubborn and unyielding.

billie notices the shift, the slight furrow of your brows, the barely-there frustration in your movements. she chuckles softly, her lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your throat as she murmurs, “i’ll let you rip off my shirt,” her voice low, almost playful. “if you let me rip off your stockings.”

you immediately shake your head, a small, defiant smirk tugging at your lips. “hell no.”

her teeth graze your collarbone, a teasing bite that sends a shiver down your spine. “why not?” she asks, her voice dripping with mischief.

“because i like these stockings,” you argue, fingers still fumbling at her shirt. “you’ll ruin them.”

she raises an eyebrow, her smirk only deepening. “you’re literally about to ruin my shirt.”

her hands slide lower, smoothing over the sensitive skin of your thighs, and your resolve weakens. you bite your lip, still determined to win this little battle, but the buttons refuse to cooperate. billie watches you for a moment longer, her breath warm against your skin, before she lets out a soft laugh.

“just rip it, baby,” she whispers, her voice slipping into something softer, something more inviting. it’s a command wrapped in honeyed sweetness.

you glance at her, lips parted, hesitating for just a heartbeat before you finally give in. gripping the fabric of her shirt in your fists, you yank, feeling the fabric tear free with a satisfying rip. the buttons scatter across the floor of the car, a soft clatter lost beneath the hum of the engine. her shirt falls open, revealing the lacy red bra beneath, the smoothness of her skin glowing under the dim light.

billie groans, a low sound that sends another wave of heat rushing through you. her smirk widens as she takes in the moment, teasing, “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

you exhale, half amused, half breathless. “you’re ridiculous.”

she hums, hands sliding back up your thighs, fingertips brushing the tops of your stockings with a deliberate slowness. “mmm. and you still have these on,” she says, her voice soft with amusement.

you barely have time to react before her fingers hook under the thin material of your stockings, pulling with a sudden, almost greedy force. they rip apart with a sharp sound, fabric tearing easily, and you’re left breathless at the sound of it echoing between you.

“billie—” you gasp, your words cutting off as she grins at you, the heat in her eyes unmistakable.

she leans in, kissing you again, her hands gripping your bare thighs now, her touch firm and possessive as she pulls you closer, pressing you flush against her. she’s got you exactly where she wants you, and in that moment, you realize she always has.

the car feels smaller with every passing second, the space between you two shrinking with each touch. billie’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your thighs, your back—and it only takes a slight shift for her to pull you closer. her lips find your neck with a hunger that leaves you breathless, pressing kisses along your pulse, each one lingering, tasting, claiming you. you can feel the heat of her body radiating against yours, the way her chest rises and falls with each steady breath, the rhythm syncing with the soft hum of the car, vibrating the air between you two.

billie’s lips tease your skin in that slow, deliberate way she knows drives you crazy. she finds a tender spot along your collarbone, sucking gently, and you can’t help but gasp. your hands slide into her hair, fingers gripping the strands as you pull her closer, your body melting into her touch, giving in to the way she makes you feel.

you want to tear away every last bit of space between you, want to feel every inch of her pressed against you, but there’s something intoxicating about how she keeps you on the edge, never letting you get too comfortable, too settled.

billie’s fingers trail over your bare thighs, skimming dangerously close to the places you crave her touch, but always pulling away before you can get the release you want. your hips shift, grinding ever so slightly against hers, the movement subtle but enough to make her gasp, her lips parting against your mouth as she leans into you.

“billie,” you murmur, voice strained, thick with desire.

she smiles against your skin, that familiar mischievous grin tugging at her lips, before pressing another soft kiss to your pulse. “i know. i know,” she breathes, her voice low, full of that dangerous teasing she knows you can’t resist.

your hands run over the half-ruined buttons of her shirt, the black fabric hanging off her shoulders, and your fingers graze the warmth of her skin underneath. billie shivers under your touch, her breath hitching as your nails lightly scrape down her chest, sending a shiver of her own through you.

restlessly, you shift in her lap, pressing your hips against hers again. the friction makes your breath catch, your body aching for more, and billie groans, her hands sliding down to your back, trying to pull you even closer, her grip tightening around you.

“baby,” you breathe, nails dragging lightly across her chest. “we’re still in the car…”

she laughs softly, the sound rich and low as her lips brush over yours, pulling you closer still. “i know,” she murmurs, her voice thick with desire. “but we’re already here, and you’ve been driving me wild all night. i want you, so bad, babe.”

a beat passes, the tension building between you two. you glance at her, debating whether you really wanted to do this outside, but the temptation is too strong, and you can’t resist any longer.

“fuck it,” you say with a smirk, pulling away slightly. “get in the back.”

you climb off her and crawl into the back seat, billie following you, her movements fluid, eager. she climbs on top of you as soon as she’s in, her lips crashing against yours with a renewed hunger, a fire that’s impossible to put out now. the world outside doesn’t matter anymore—only this, only her, and only the eternal burning need that’s been building between you two since the moment you met.

“you look so pretty laid out for me,” billie murmurs, her voice thick with desire as she leans back in to catch your lips in a searing kiss.

the movements are slow at first, deliberate, like neither of you want to rush, to break the fragile moment. but the tension is undeniable, building with every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath shared between you two.

she’s intoxicating, her lips leaving fiery trails along your neck, her hands roaming over every inch of skin they can reach. each caress feels like it burns, leaving you desperate for more. and you… you’re lost in it, every brush of her fingertips sending jolts of electricity through your veins, something wild and uncontainable awakening inside you.

the heat of the car presses in on you, the soft hum of the radio playing a low, almost forgotten tune, the scent of billie’s perfume mingling with the natural, heady mix of your bodies—it all swirls together into a dizzying, intoxicating fog, until all you can focus on is the way her body fits so perfectly against yours, the way she makes you feel like you’re being consumed, like you’re everything to her in this moment.

her fingers trail up your sides, grazing the sensitive skin of your breasts, and you shiver under her touch, your body aching to get closer, to feel all of her pressed up against you. the heat in your chest swells, that ache becoming almost unbearable.

you can’t take it anymore. your hands find the fabric of her shirt, fingers tugging at it, desperate to get it off, to feel her skin against yours. but billie’s already one step ahead, her hands slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, her fingers finding their way to the waistband of your underwear. the feeling of her pressing against your skin has you gasping, your hips bucking instinctively, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you.

“billie,” you breathe, eyes locked on hers, your voice trembling with need.

she looks down at you, eyes dark with hunger, her lips curling into a grin. “gonna make you feel so good, mama,” she promises, her voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

you nod without hesitation, your breath catching in your throat as your heart races in time with the pulse between you.

with that, billie’s hands slide up to your shoulders, pushing the straps of your dress down, revealing the soft skin of your breasts beneath. she kisses her way down your neck again, her lips moving with purpose, each kiss leaving a trail of heat in its wake. you gasp, unable to focus on anything but the way her mouth worships your skin, the way she makes you feel like you’re the center of her universe.

you can barely keep up, barely focus as her hands move expertly, slipping the dress further down your body, inch by inch, until it pools at your waist. billie pauses for a beat, her hands resting on your bare thighs, and she looks up at you with a grin that sets your pulse racing, her eyes dark with anticipation.

“god, you’re perfect,” she breathes, her voice raw, full of desire as she continues to trace soft patterns on your skin.

you bite your lip, a mix of excitement and need building inside you, ready for whatever she’s about to do next.

before you can respond, billie’s lips are back on yours, kissing you with a hunger that feels almost desperate, as if she can’t get enough of you. her hands roam over your body, caressing every inch of exposed skin, making you shiver with the intensity of her touch, the contrast between the warmth of her skin and the coolness of the car’s air intensifying the need coursing through you.

billie’s fingers trail slow, lazy circles over your thighs, her touch featherlight, teasing, like she’s savoring every second. the dress is bunched around your waist now, exposing more of you to the cool air, but the warmth of her hands keeps you grounded, keeps you tethered to the moment. you shiver beneath her touch, anticipation humming in every inch of your skin, every nerve ending on fire, alive with the promise of what’s to come.

your hands move quickly, eager, tugging at the last of her clothes. you want to feel all of her, need her as much as she needs you. as soon as her shirt is off, her skin exposed to you, she slides her hands to the band of your underwear, her fingers tracing the wine-colored elastic before she moves lower, teasing your pussy through the fabric, sending waves of heat rushing through you.

her touch is maddening, and it elicits a gasp from you, your hips rising instinctively as you try to rub against her fingers, desperate for more.

“billie, please,” you breathe, voice strained with need, the word a plea, a quiet demand for more, for her to finally give you what you’ve been aching for.

she leans back slightly, her eyes flickering over you with a predatory gleam, lips curling into that smug, knowing smirk she wears whenever she knows she has you exactly where she wants you. her hands slide lower, fingers tracing the outline of your panties, grazing over the fabric that clings to your skin, but she doesn’t push any further—just lets her knuckles skim over you, her touch barely there, a slow, teasing build that has you aching with need.

you whine softly, shifting against her lap, trying to press closer, but billie tightens her grip just enough to hold you in place. “patience, baby,” she murmurs, voice low and dripping with amusement, each word a promise that makes your chest tighten. “i’m taking my time with you.”

her lips find your inner thigh, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the sensitive skin. the warmth of her mouth sends a shiver through you, a tremor that runs deep, and you exhale shakily, fingers gripping her shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. billie hums at your reaction, pleased, and kisses you again—this time, her lips linger, her tongue flicking out ever so slightly against your skin.

you let out a soft gasp, tilting your head back against the cool leather seat, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “baby…” you breathe, the word thick with the need she’s ignited in you.

“hm?” she muses, feigning innocence, before pressing another kiss a little higher, her thumb brushing teasingly over your panties. the wet patch grows beneath her touch, your breath hitching with the frustration of wanting her to go further, her fingers never quite where you need them. her teasing is maddening, and it’s almost too much, yet somehow, it makes you crave her more.

she continues like this, slow and deliberate, working her way up your skin with open-mouthed kisses, sucking gently at certain spots, her teeth grazing over the tender flesh just enough to make your breath catch. each movement is calculated, like she’s drawing you into a pattern of her design. when she pulls back to admire her work, a dark mark blooms against your warm skin, and you realize she’s left her mark on you—not just physically, but mentally, too.

a pleased hum vibrates against your thigh as she starts again, her lips mapping out a pattern you can’t quite understand yet. your body twitches under her touch, a restless energy coursing through you, your legs instinctively trying to press together, but she huffs a laugh and nudges them apart again with ease, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as she does.

“don’t be shy now,” she teases, her breath hot against your skin, fingers inching closer to where you need her most. “you were just begging for my fingers a second ago.”

you shoot her a glare, but it melts into a shuddering sigh when she presses another firm kiss against the inside of your thigh, sucking just enough to make the sensation linger, leaving a burning heat in its wake.

she’s careful with it—meticulous, almost—as if she’s an artist, and you’re her canvas. every kiss, every mark she leaves, is deliberate, calculated. you barely notice at first, lost in the sensation of her lips on your skin, each touch pulling you deeper into a haze of want, but then she pulls back slightly, running her fingers over the fresh bruises she’s left with a satisfied smirk, her eyes dark with desire.

“there,” she murmurs, her voice low and breathy, eyes flicking up to meet yours, a quiet challenge in her gaze. “a little love note, just for you.”

your chest still rises and falls in uneven breaths, and your stomach flips at the sight—small, darkened spots forming an unmistakable shape. a heart. billie had kissed a heart into your thigh, the skin bruised with passion, marked by her deliberate touch. you can almost feel the heat of her lips lingering there, the soft press of her mouth still tangible against your skin.

your heart stutters in your chest as you look at her, something warm and fond flickering beneath the haze of desire that clouds your mind. it’s impossible to ignore the way she makes you feel—alive, adored, cherished. she grins up at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her thumb brushing lazily over the top of your underwear, still teasing but softer now, gentler, almost playful in the way she traces patterns over you.

“you like it?” she asks, her voice dripping with a knowingness that only adds to the fire in your veins.

you bite your lip, your hand coming up to run through her soft hair, the strands slipping through your fingers like silk. “yeah,” you murmur, your voice hoarse with the weight of your feelings. “you’re ridiculous.”

billie laughs, the sound light and melodic, but there’s a tenderness to it, an affection that tugs at something deep inside you. she presses a final kiss to the center of the heart she’s left on your thigh, her lips soft but lingering, marking you with something that feels like ownership, like love. “only for you, baby,” she says, her words a promise, a whisper just for you.

she pulls herself back up, lips brushing against yours, and you kiss her slow, deep—tasting her like you need her to breathe. your hands tangle in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens, as you lose yourself in the warmth of her body against yours. the heat of her touch, the press of her chest against yours, is enough to make your head spin, but it’s the lingering sting of her love bites against your skin that keeps you grounded, reminding you of the way she worships you—takes her time with you—tenderly, patiently.

her fingers trace the edge of your underwear, teasing at the waistband before slipping underneath, slowly peeling the fabric down your thighs. the pace is maddeningly slow, deliberate, as if she’s savoring every second of it. you inhale sharply as the cool air grazes your skin, the shift of temperature making every nerve stand on edge.

a soft smile curls on billie’s lips as her gaze flickers up at you, dark and heavy with desire, before her middle finger traces the line of your slit, gathering the slickness of your arousal.

“mm, you’re so wet, baby,” she murmurs, her voice thick, resting her head against your thigh as she watches you squirm beneath her touch, delighting in your reaction.

you moan softly, hips instinctively lifting, desperate for more. “billie, please… just… fuck,” you whine, your body aching with need. your hand slides down to grasp hers, trying to guide it, but she gently moves your hand away, a teasing glint in her eyes as she watches your frustration grow.

“stop it, just tell me what you want from me mama.” she continues her lazy strokes on your slit as she speaks, her knuckles occasionally brushing against your clit.

“i want your mouth, billie come on, please..”

“see that’s all you had to do. just had to be nice and patient.” she plants another kiss to your inner thigh before removing her fingers from your core. wrapping her slick covered fingers around your thighs, the coldness of her rings contrasting against the warmth of your skin, while moving her face down to where you craved for her the most.

she plants a kiss on your mound right above your clit before moving lower, each smooch slower than the last. her lips move against your flesh in open mouthed kisses, sending fluttering butterflies all throughout your body, before stoping at your dripping hole. darting her tongue out, she licks from there all the way back up to your clit, moaning at the sheer taste of you.

you gasp as her lips press against your cunt, a shiver running through your body. your hands instinctively find their way to her hair, fingers curling around soft strands as she kisses you with slow, deliberate movements. her touch is tender yet full of intent, each kiss a promise of more, but also savoring the moment.

her fingers gently trace the curves of your thighs, the warmth of her hands sending waves of anticipation through you. she takes her time, exploring you with a patience that only intensifies the longing building inside you. every kiss, every gentle press of her lips, feels like it’s drawing you closer to something almost ethereal, the world around you fading as you lose yourself in the sensation.

you feel the weight of her affection in every movement, in every deliberate, lingering touch. the softness of her lips contrasts with the fierceness of the emotions she evokes within you. you cover your face, overwhelmed by the way she’s making you feel—utterly cherished, completely in tune with each other. her presence surrounding you.

“uht-uht,” she murmurs, pulling back slightly, her breath hot against you. she places your arm gently back at your side, her eyes locking with yours. “i need to see you, my love.”

you nod, unable to speak, lost in the intensity of the moment. billie leans forward, her lips leaving soft, lingering kisses against your stomach, each one sending a shiver through you. her gaze is steady, her eyes dark with intent, as she watches you closely.

with a delicate touch, she traces the line of your slit, her fingers grazing over your clit, sending waves of warmth and desire in their wake. her movements are slow, almost reverent, while she slides her tongue in your soaked cunt, as if she’s savoring every inch of you. each kiss, each touch, each caress, makes you feel as though time has stopped, and it’s just the two of you, locked in this tender, intimate connection.

you can’t help but moan softly as she continues, your body responding to the feeling of her tongue filling up your spongy walls, every nerve awake and alive. your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your legs clench shut around her head as you arch into her touch instinctively. billie moves her fingers from around your thigh and over to your stomach, pressing down against the pressure that’s built up in your tummy and that’s enough to make you snap. her lips curling up into a soft smile as she watches you unravel beneath her, her hands gently massaging your thighs, grounding you.

when she pulls away, you lean up slightly, watching her, your eyes searching for her every movement. you can feel the lingering warmth of her touch, and the space between you seems to throb with a quiet intensity, each second stretching longer, pulling you deeper into the moment.

leaning on your elbows, you study billie, captivated by the way she savors every drop of you, her movements slow and deliberate. she’s taking her time, and you can’t help but marvel at the tenderness with which she handles you, as if she’s savoring a rare treasure. her fingers graze your thighs, soothing you in the aftermath, the cool air brushing over your skin contrasting with the warmth of her touch.

“you’ve got a little something on your face,” you murmur teasingly, your voice soft and still shaky from the intensity that’s passed between you. your chest rises and falls in rhythm, trying to catch its breath, the air thick with the memory of her.

billie’s eyes twinkle with a playful glint, her lips curling into a smile that promises more. “oh, do i?” she replies, voice smooth, teasing. the faint traces of you on her skin glimmer softly beneath the streetlights, each speck a reminder of the connection that’s left its mark on both of you. she leans in, her breath warm against your lips, and plants a kiss that’s gentle at first, but deepens as her tongue dances with yours, lingering just long enough for you to feel the passion she still holds for you, every movement deliberate and drawn out.

breaking away with a soft sigh, you reach down, fingers brushing the cool floor as you retrieve her torn black shirt. the fabric still holds the heat of the night, the memory of everything you just shared, and with a playful smile, you bring it to her face, wiping away the traces of your cum off her chin. billie’s laughter bubbles up, soft and content, mingling with the quiet hum of the night air. she nestles into your chest, her head resting against you as her fingers lazily trace patterns along your hip. each touch is soothing, almost reverent, as though she wants to savor every moment, every last bit of you.

“you always get me so messy,” she murmurs with a teasing smile, her lips brushing your skin as she speaks. you can feel the warmth of her breath, the sweet weight of her words hanging between you two. her fingers continue their gentle path, her touch warm against your bare skin.

“well, you’re not exactly innocent in all this, billie,” you reply with a smile, still catching your breath. the air between you is thick with affection, soft and gentle, the aftermath of everything you’ve shared unfolding around you in the stillness. the quiet of the night feels like a cocoon, wrapping you both in a peaceful, contented embrace.

billie grins at you, her gaze catching the dim light of the room. “true,” she says, her voice playful yet soft. “but now i have to clean it up.”

you laugh, the sound light and carefree, the weight of the moment easing into something warm and familiar. the two of you begin to gather your clothes, the movement slow and deliberate, as if the night didn’t have to end. the warmth between you both lingers even as you pull your jackets on, the fabric settling over your shoulders like a soft blanket.

the quiet hum of the world outside seems too peaceful, too perfect, as you both step out of the car, your hands intertwining as you walk toward the front door of your home.

the house is dark and quiet when you enter, the warmth inside wrapping around you both as you kick off your shoes, your jackets still draped over your arms. the night feels like it’s been stretched out in the best way, the both of you in sync as you move through the space.

you both pause in the hallway, your eyes meeting for a brief moment that holds more than just a glance. a slow, lingering kiss follows—gentle, soft, yet carrying the weight of everything you’ve shared tonight.

“happy valentine’s day,” billie whispers against your lips, her voice tender as she pulls away just enough to look at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

you smile back, warmth flooding your chest, knowing that this night, this moment, was exactly what you both needed. “yeah. happy valentine’s day indeed. it’s been nothing short of perfect,” you whisper, your arms wrapping around her as you hold her close.

and with that, the night continues on, the soft hum of the house surrounding you both as you settle into the quiet comfort of each other’s company. the world may continue outside, but in this space, with billie in your arms, you know that no moment could be more perfect than this one.

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year ago

Note

so! you mentioned in the 'p0rn preferences' post that Gaz is not the one who jerks off the most in the 141, and I humbly ask you, who would that be?

I don't mean this as a request, just a little discussion, cause I feel like Soap would just be going at it at any chance possible, like a bunny. he probably doesn't care much if someone hears it, but that's just me thinking too much into it.

Who Jerks off the Most in the 141 + König

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Mentions of Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Implied Reader in Individual Headcanons, Accidental and Implied Voyeurism, Edging, Brief Mention of Injury, Men Who Moan <3, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

A/N: As per Anon's question (which I just had to turn into a post of its own) I present to you the list of the 141 members (and König) who jerk off from the most to least <3

Soap

I have to agree with you here, Anon - Johnny is most definitely the king of self love when it comes to the 141.

He doesn't much care where he is or who he's with; when he has to satisfy his needs, he'll do so.

Though, he'll spare whoever's with him the sight of watching him throwing his head back, trying to stifle his moans behind gritted teeth whilst the wet sound of his hand slipping up and down the length of his shaft fill the room.

Unless they want to.

For one reason or another, he's nigh-insatiable when it comes to his libido, and the fact that his stamina affords him the luxury of beating himself off until his cum is practically translucent doesn't help.

The slightest thing can set him off.

Someone brushing past him ? Hard.

Someone stroking his ego a little too enthusiastically ? Bricked up.

He sees something that's shaped to be a little too curvy or phallic ? Stiff as a pole.

He remembers something mildly suggestive you did three years ago in that restaurant ? He's going to the Horny Realm.

Yes, his teammates have complained about his incessant moaning-come-grunting-come-whimpering through all hours of the night, his voice contorting through a spectrum of desperation and Johnny always ending up spent and overstimulated by the time the sun comes up.

And then he's ready to do it all again the second night touches the horizon line, giving his teammates a knowing smile when he walks into the room sporting nothing else save for a pair of boxers and a monster that looks to be trying to tear itself free from them.

Gaz

Dude's young. Of course he's throttling that rooster on a nigh-daily basis.

The only reason he's not at it as much as Soap is because he likes to believe he still has a few threads of his self-restraint intact.

He doesn't.

Especially when it comes to you (regardless of whether you're dating yet or not).

But he doesn't need to know that.

Honestly, the only thing that separates him from Johnny's unmatched libido is the fact that it takes a little more than the slightest provocation to get Gaz going.

Albeit, that line is a thin one.

If he so much as accidentally sees something explicit for upwards of three seconds, he's hard.

The only advantage of his need for satisfaction is the speed with which he can achieve it.

He and Johnny actually timed each other once to see who could get off the fastest.

Gaz won. Though, only by a slim margin.

Needless to say, that made for a rather interesting conversation with the Captain when he walked in on two of his best soldiers sat panting on the edge of their cots, an almost-translucent spray spattered across their stomachs, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Ghost

The third-in-line for the Throttle Throne is none other than our beloved Ghost.

Unlike Johnny and Gaz, Ghost is more likely to leave himself alone at the first sign of trouble, toughing it out until he can will his mind to less lustful pastimes.

He won't make his jacking off known to anyone, either, often doing it in the shower where the water beats down so harshly that no sound can be heard for the water's fall.

That, and he's a master at keeping his voice low, no matter the circumstances.

More often than not, Simon makes quick work of jerking off purely because it’s a means to an end. However, if it’s you he’s thinking of, he’s much more likely to take his time — to immerse himself in the fantasy of your body around his, taking him so well in one capacity or another. Fucking yourself dumb on his cock.

During these times, he’s thorough — much more likely to edge himself, to throw his head back and growl between gritted teeth, to savour the sensation coiling in his stomach, his balls growing tight.

Otherwise, he’ll stroke one out as quickly as he can, getting back to business as usual.

And to look at him, on the surface, you'd never know that he just spent the last three minutes rubbing one out in the bathroom (yes, he is also a contender for first place in the 'Who Can Jack Off The Quickest Competition', but he'll never allow Johnny or Gaz the luxury of witnessing his unprecedented skill; that's for your eyes only).

Until he corners you, breathing down your neck, scolding you for tempting him - a man whose restraint lies only in his ability to hold off from reducing you to an exponential reflection of his prior state, breathless and covered in fluids.

König

Have you seen the size of that thing ? Man should be in the olympics for being able to throw that weight around.

Similarly to Ghost, König only gets himself off when it's absolutely necessary.

Only if he doesn't have you lying around to help him, of course.

Though, he lets himself have a bit of fun with it. Especially if it's been a tough day.

He's vocal, too. Though he tries not to be.

He just can't help it. Days' - maybe even weeks' - worth of unspent adrenaline and semen is hardly any way for a soldier like König to go about his life. So, he expels it in the privacy of quite literally any isolated space he can find.

König is not an adventurous spirit by any means when it comes to self pleasure, but when needs must, he's willing to shoulder the weight of the prospect that someone on his team could walk in at any second and catch him spraying his stomach or the wall white with, let's face it, thick ropes of cum.

Hong-Jin's actually caught him doing that before now.

That's actually how the two became friends: Horangi heard König grunting in the store cupboard and, knowing how stubborn his Colonel was with letting others know when he was injured, sought him out. Wanted to offer his help.

Catching Colonel König in the act of throwing his head back whilst growling the name '(Y/N)' into the darkest corner of the room was, suffice it to say, not what Horangi had been expecting.

Price

You just know he's cool with it. And by 'cool', I mean incredibly intentional, controlled, and not ravenous in the ways our other favourite military princesses are.

Sure, Price has gotten hard on the job a few times.

Who hasn't ?

But thanks to his level head, unwavering devotion to his work, and absolute refusal to acknowledge that he did, in fact, get a little bit of a chub during a shoot-out, he's managed to gain control over every facet of his body.

Until he comes home to you, of course.

Until he's able to loom over you like an omen and run his hands down your sides, stopping at your hips and pressing kisses that become more open-mouthed the further down the side of your neck he dips.

Pressing his hips into yours. Something demands your attention.

There have been very few occasions where a cold shower wasn't a quick enough fix for him.

When the days of having you milk him are too far out of sight, he's had to suffice with his own hands before now. Had to imagine - remember - what yours felt like in his place, your lips curled up as he gripped the chair arms, breathless as he moaned into the warm tones of your shared apartment.

But don't worry ! He'll be sure to catch you up on everything you've missed while he's been away once he returns.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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luveline · 11 months ago

Note

bombshell finds tickets to a russian movie thing sitting in spencer’s desk at work and they’re about to like run out (?) so she presents them to spencer and asks him on a date and pretends that she didn’t just pull them out of spencers desk in that bombshell way

You’re looking for gum. If Spencer were at his desk, you’d politely beg for a stick and he’d give it to you, but he’s not here, so you must search.

You sit in his seat, slinking down as he does with poor posture, your kitten heels hitting the spine of a book kept under the desk. Your dress’ skirt rises up your thighs, the fabric at your neck pulls, but you have bigger problems. You’re feeling the weird franticness of unspent energy and only a stick of gum is gonna fix you.

He has a drawer full of things, neatness traded for space. Blue and pink paper clips in an arrowhead shaped box. Push pins of all colours, their box more ordinary. He has a travel book on indigenous North American birds with stamps held between the pages, a plastic bottle cap, train stubs from Quantico to the station outside of his apartment and a bottle of ibuprofen missing half of its contents.

Your fingers dig around for the familiar shape of a packet of gum, hesitating thoughtfully against the thread of a thicker cardstock.

You pull a cream envelope from the desk and, perhaps wrongfully, unveil the contents: two tickets to see any Russian flick at the foreign language theatre free of charge (if you buy a large drink). They expire tonight.

You press them to your chest and spin in Spencer’s chair without any regard for whoever might see you slouching. Across the office with his hair out of his face and a smile bordering lackadaisical stands your favourite. He even has a pencil in hand. He likes to underline things in the books he reads for your benefit. It’s the pencil that decides your next move.

You stand up, brushing down your nice dress that he seems to like, a black cotton with thin pinstripes settling nicely just above your knees. You check your lipstick in the black reflection of his sleeping monitor, buzzing.

He’s watching you when you turn back. You hide the tickets behind your hip and begin a light walk to his side, the chug of the printer a constant hum you can feel in your shoes.

“What’s up?” he asks.

You tilt your head toward your shoulder ever so slightly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He squints. “You’re acting strange.”

“Suspicious,” you correct.

“That, too.”

“How come you let me hold your hand?”

Spencer doesn’t hide his surprise at your question very well. His eyes turn deer in the headlights, then down to the printer. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“When we first met, you wouldn’t shake my hand. And that’s okay,” —your smile is loving in the hope that he finds your question as the curiosity it is and not an interrogation— “I’m just wondering what changed.”

“I was distracted.” He’s talking about the first time you took his hand, the two of you on the way to the office. “You stopped me from being late.”

“Right, but I should’ve asked and I didn’t. And now we hold hands all the time.” You take a half step back. “I’m not trying to embarrass you, I’m just wondering.”

“Nobody’s held my hand in a really long time. And you’re mostly clean.”

“Mostly!” you laugh, giving him a guilty smile. “I’m super clean, I just forget how gross door handles are sometimes.”

You have embarrassed him, in a way. It’s really not what you meant to do, not when you’re about to ask him on a date.

Ever since you started your official position at the BAU, you and Spencer have grown closer, but there’s a difference between flirting because he’s lovely and flirting because you want him to be your boyfriend. (Not that he knows what you want.) You shouldn’t have started with the hand holding thing.

“Spencer.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you go on a date with me?” You present him with the movie tickets. “Got these, they expire tonight…”

“Are those from my desk?” he asks, taking the tickets from you to look over closely.

“I’d love to go with you, unless you’re gonna take someone else, which is fine.” You embarrass yourself a little, even though you’re not, hoping it makes up for the hand-holding investigation. “Yeah, they’re from your desk. Sorry. I really wanted a stick of gum, my– my nervous energy is through the roof today.”

Spencer frowns at you again. “How come?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know. It just happens sometimes.”

And that’s nothing you’ve ever admitted to him. Your perfect mask is broken, and Spencer doesn’t look at you any differently. “Do you actually wanna go to the movies?” he asks.

“Only if I’m not stealing you away from somebody else.”

“There’s no one else.”

Spencer abruptly turns his attention to the printer, where he collects his copies and shuffles them into a straight, neat pile.

You recover quickly, though inside your heart is a stuttering mess. “I should hope not,” you say. “Okay. Awesome. I’ll bring hand sanitiser and you can hold my hand through the previews.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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helpimstuckposting · 1 month ago

Text

You’re an Idiot, Eddie Munson

Prompt: Sick Fic, Roommates, Idiots to Lovers | Rating: T | Wordcount: 13,765 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Eddie’s an idiot. He knows he’s an idiot. He was an idiot when he asked Steve to move to Indy with him, despite his massive crush on the man. He was an idiot when he got used to Steve in his space, cooking dinner and being an all-around perfect man. He was an idiot when he started turning people down at the bar he went to on Saturdays, and he was an idiot when he stopped going all together, just so he could join Robin and Steve’s movie nights in her apartment.

He got used to Steve in his space, Steve in his plans, Steve in the kitchen in the mornings making coffee for them both; Steve taking naps on their shitty couch as the sun leaked through the window in the afternoon, bathing him in gold like some kind of coveted Greek statue; Steve laughing on the floor as Robin shoves her hand down his shirt to fetch the popcorn he’d dropped. He got used to Steve in every aspect of his life and he was an idiot for… forgetting.

Every time Steve touched his lower back when he dodged Eddie in the kitchen, every time they walked to get groceries and Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulder, every time Eddie lost himself in the jokes and the teasing and the flirting and Steve didn’t push him away, he forgot that they weren’t… well… together. That this was all just Eddie being caught up in his head.

Because he’s an idiot.

Of course his delusion couldn’t last forever, he just… you know, hoped. But when Eddie came home from work early to a pair of high heels by the door that were decidedly not his and probably not Steve’s, and some less than savory sounds escaping from the muffled confines of Steve’s room, Eddie couldn’t exactly shove reality away any longer, lest he want to end up in an asylum.

He found himself on Buckley’s doorstep instead, pathetic brown eyes begging entrance.

“Steve brought a girl over?” She asked, rolling her eyes as she dragged him into the apartment.

He nodded miserably, heading straight for her couch and face planting into the cushions. It was a ratty old floral embroidered thing the three of them pulled off the side of the road, dragged up three flights of stairs, and did everything in their power to clean until it was presentable. Robin loved it. It had tears and loose threads and a slightly wobbly back leg and it was perfect. Perfect for catching Eddie’s tears at the moment, but good for other things, too.

Like movie nights where Robin laid her head in Steve’s lap, and Eddie sat on the floor between Steve’s legs as he carded his fingers through Eddie’s hair. He smushed his face further into the couch. Maybe if he suffocated, he’d forget Steve Harrington ever existed.

“Alright, whiny baby, spill,” she demanded, lifting his legs up so she could slip underneath them.

“There’s nothing to spill,” he mumbled into the fabric, not even lifting his head.

“You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?”

“Whuh- no!” He shrieked, pulling his face free and almost kneeing her in the gut as he flailed onto his elbows.

“Hey, watch it, Gumby, I have precious organs in there.” Robin shoved at his knobby knees, rubbing at her stomach like he’d stabbed her.

He rolled his eyes, kneeing her again on purpose until she nearly threw him off the couch, electing to sit on his lanky legs instead of risking bodily injury. Eddie grunted, newly immoble and tried to wiggle his way out from under her before giving up and flopping back down in surrender.

“It’s not fair,” he whined, wiggling his legs under her butt.

“It’s unfair because you literally haven’t said anything to him, you moron.”

“Agh!” he clutched at his chest, wounded like he’d been shot through the heart and he was bleeding out over the faded floral fabric. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s never once told a crush how she feels!”

She squawked and squeezed his side, slapping back as he retaliated. There was something healing about a kindergarten slap fight between friends, at least enough to distract him from why he was on her couch in the first place; why he’d left his own apartment in a flurry and practically sprinted to hers, why he’d had a lump in his throat the size of indiana itself. It slowly dissipated as he dodged her hits and light slaps, the sting against his arms, and the creeping numbness in his legs as they remained squished tightly under Robin.

She gave up with a huff, flopping her entire body on top of his. They both breathed heavily, as if they’d run a mile instead of just attacking each other out of nowhere. He revelled in it. Basked in the tightness of his lungs and the reddening skin of his arms. If he thought too much about why he was here, it would all creep back up his throat like an alien poised to burst through his chest.

But he did come here to talk, to vent, to fish for sympathy about his pathetic crush as it tore through him, the visions of what could be happening behind Steve’s closed door running through his head like a repetitive nightmare that wouldn’t leave him alone. He thought about those pointed high heels that were sprawled where his shoes were supposed to be, and whatever gorgeous girl was previously attached to them before weaseling her way into their apartment.

He felt sick.

“Have you ever thought maybe he’s fooling around because he doesn’t know how badly you’re pining over him?” Robin finally mumbled, face buried in his rumpled Metallica t-shirt. He focussed on the weight of her draped over him, grounding him like a layer of blankets, or a shiny shock blanket placed over his shoulders so he didn’t spiral into nothingness as his life burned around him.

“No,” he mumbled. “Why would I think that? It’s just wishful. He’s straight, we both know that. I’m not going to torture myself with ‘what ifs’.”

“Oh? But you’ll torture yourself with bad ‘what ifs’, like ‘what if he gets a girlfriend’ and ‘what if he moves out’ and ‘what if he discovers my big gay loser crush on him’.” She dropped her voice low in imitation, mocking him with every shot to the heart.

He groaned, “Those are different! Those are realistic! Those won’t get my hopes up only to crush them into dust to scatter across the globe like the ashes of my lifeless corpse.”

“Wow,” she said flatly, lifting her head and looking him in the eye with raised, judging eyebrows. “You’re even gayer than I thought you were.”

Eddie squawked, using the last of his energy to lift himself into a sitting position and toss Robin aside. She grunted as she hit the ground, leaping back up to slap him in the chest one more time for good measure.

“This is serious! This is important! This is heartbreak!” he shouted.

“This is desperate,” Robin muttered to herself, plopping back down on the couch. “Listen. I know he hasn’t exactly said it, but I’m not entirely sure Steve is straight in the first place. Sure, he’s only ever slept with women, but…” she softened, sagging into her cushion, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Eds.”

Eddie shook his head, unkempt hair tangling as he rubbed it roughly against the fabric beneath him. “No. Nope. Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true!” she begged, clasping a hand around his ankle and shaking it enthusiastically, wishing she could just shake some sense into his whole body. “What straight boy acts like he does?!”

“I don’t know, Buckley, a nice one?” he shrieked, hands twitching to cover his ears like a child and shout out ‘la, la, la,’ to drown out her hopeful pleading.

“He calls your uncle every week for check-ins! He knows your schedule by heart, and he makes dinner for you every single time your shift goes overtime. He knows your favorite foods, he gets you treats sometimes just because he thought about you. I mean, you literally fall asleep on the couch together all the time!” She was whining now, voice propelling into a shout the more she listed, mind scrambling to lay out every single thing that made Eddie fall in love with Steve in the first place, as if that wasn’t entirely too torturous for Eddie to keep listening to.

“Buck, tell me right now he wouldn’t do all of that for you, too, and I’ll concede,” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest to appear collected, even if he just did it to keep himself from falling apart.

She was quiet. He could see all of her points running through her head, all the moments Steve was generous and kind to everyone he cared about, all the times he did those things for people who weren’t Eddie. She seemed to deflate, just like him as she realized he was just that kind to everyone, and Eddie only got the brunt of it because they lived together. Of course Steve paid attention to him, they spent nearly every moment of the day orbiting each other, that didn’t mean he was special.

“He looks at you the way he used to look at Nancy,” she whispered. Her eyes were pleading, desperate for him to understand even though he couldn’t, he didn’t.

“Buck… I- I want to believe you, I swear I do. God, I want to believe you, but I just can’t,” he pleaded right back, “What happens if I do believe you, and I get my hopes up, and I do what you tell me to and confess and he just… just looks at me. Like he doesn’t know what to say, like he doesn’t know how to turn me down, or he doesn’t know how to talk to me anymore. Because I know he wouldn’t be mean, I know that. But it would be worse to see him not want to turn me down, just because I’m his friend and he feels sorry for me.”

He couldn’t handle it if Steve just looked at him with those wide eyes, mouth agape with words he didn’t know how to say. He didn’t want to watch the conflict in Steve’s eyes as he debated how to let Eddie down gently, how to not hurt his feelings when every single thing he could say would. He didn’t want to flit around the apartment and awkwardly pretend that it was okay, that he was fine, that Steve could be normal around him and everything would be fine, because Eddie didn’t know how to do that.

“So much for not torturing yourself with ‘what ifs’.”

Eddie shook his head. He didn’t understand why she kept pushing, she knew what it was like to pine after a straight person, or presumably straight person. She knew this, the feeling of desperation as she watched from afar, trying to stay sane as the other person dug themselves further and further into her heart like they were carving out a scar that would take years to heal, if at all. She sighed, patting his ankle one more time before she reached for the remote and conceded to ignoring the issue all together. She had tried her hand at persuasion, now it was time for distraction.

They watched a few reruns on TV in silence, until Robin kicked him in the shin, glancing at the clock. “He’ll probably be wondering where you are if you don’t head home soon. It’s been a few hours, I’m sure it’s safe to go back.” She looked sympathetic, her eyes just as wide and sad as he imagined Steve’s would be if he confessed. He nodded, dragging himself from the safety of Robin’s living room. She followed him to the door, sad puppy eyes maintaining their place. He knew she was frustrated with him, too, but she didn’t show that right now as she hugged him goodbye.

“Just think about it, okay?” she parted with and he nodded, if only to placate her. But he did think about it, he thought about nothing else the whole walk back to his apartment as he psyched himself up to see Steve. He knew Robin was right about some things, Steve was an anomaly of a straight man to Eddie. Sometimes, when they were cooking together or cleaning on a Sunday it felt painfully domestic as they shifted around, weaving in and out of each other’s spaces like they’d known nothing else. Sure, sometimes it felt like the smile he gave Eddie was different than the one he gave Robin or the kids, but he also knew that the tension he felt whenever they were close was one-sided, just Eddie unable to look away as Steve went about his own business like a magnet pulling his cheap metal rings toward him with every motion.

He kept thinking about Robin’s list of reasons, of the tug at his heart every time Steve came home with Eddie’s favorite snacks just because he was at the store and saw them — thought of Eddie when he wasn’t there. He tried to tamp down the hope as he remembered the man doing the same exact thing for Robin, or stocking the fridge up with Dustin’s favorites every time the kid mentioned coming to visit. Steve was just like that, Eddie knew. He knew not to get his delusions confused with reality, no matter how much he wanted Robin’s world to be the right one.

When he opened the door to the apartment, he was greeted by the relieving absence of a certain pair of heels, no evidence that they’d even existed in the first place. He chucked off his shoes, kicking them messily into a pile directly where the high heels had been, like some petty dog marking his territory. She wouldn’t even know — neither would Steve — and yet it made him feel just a bit better to see his beat up work boots shedding dirt next to Steve’s keds, where they belonged. There wasn’t a girl invading their space, no perfume floating around for Eddie to choke on as he pretended everything was okay.

Instead, the smell of a warm dinner wafted from the kitchen, the clanging of pots and pans telling him exactly where Steve was. As he rounded the corner, he could see the man flitting around from pot, to frying pan, to fridge, stirring and grilling up what smelled like Eddie’s favorite dinner.

He didn’t look dishevelled, didn’t have any hickies dappling the skin of his neck and Eddie chose to be thankful for that instead of wondering whether there were other marks in places he couldn’t see. His hair was damp, fresh and fluffy, drying with a slight curl that he never left the house with and Eddie wanted to card his hands through it, drag his nails across his scalp and feel the soft strands against his palm.

Steve whistled as he stirred the sauce in the pot, and Eddie breathed in deep, trying to melt into the scent of Steve and chopped tomatoes and chicken, shoving away the talk with Robin and the sounds he heard as he fled the apartment. He cleared his throat, leaning against the arch of the kitchen doorway to appear casual and collected, like he hadn’t just had a crisis of the heart. Steve startled, catching his eye with a smile and Jesus H. Christ, Eddie was doomed. He was like the sun, he was like beams of warmth shining through clouds after a storm, the sky parting to deliver him like god down to earth for Eddie to reach out and touch, only to brush fingers and be thankful.

Jesus, maybe he was gayer than Robin thought.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve pulled Eddie from his thoughts. He could probably wax poetic about Steve Harrington for every hour of his life, though that kind of behavior would definitely make him run for the hills, leaving Eddie to wallow in his own obsessive tendencies.

“Hey. Whatcha makin’?” he asked, though he already knew.

How long could he lean against this doorway until it was weird? Had he already been standing here too long? Did it look obvious that he was trying to act natural, only for him to overthink his naturalness to a point of being unnatural? He cleared his throat and walked over to the kitchen table. He couldn’t fuck up sitting, right?

“Grilled chicken parm!” He seemed light, carefree, satiated if Eddie wanted to torture himself more than he already had tonight.

“Mmm, my favorite.”

“I know,” Steve winked. He winked, and Eddie wanted to throw himself out of the window. He wanted to walk up to Steve and wrap his arms around him, he wanted to kiss his neck and trail his fingers down his arms, pretend that they lived together because they loved each other and not just because it was convenient to split rent.

He wanted a lot of things.

“Oh!” Steve startled, turning to point his spatula at Eddie, “I got your favorite cereal and some Yoo-hoo, and we haven’t had ice cream in a bit so I got a couple pints and I figured we could get high and watch a movie or something? Robin gave me a bag of tapes she wanted me to watch, because apparently I’m uncultured,” he mocked, voice going high at the end as if mimicking Robin’s voice, though it sounded nothing like her.

Eddie’s giggle came out high and grating, ripping through the air just to torture him. He wished he could grab the sound and shove it back down his throat, erase it from existence. He just cleared his throat instead and hoped that Steve hadn’t noticed how fucking weird he was being.

He just kept thinking of Robin’s insistence that Eddie should tell him the truth, should tell him that he’d been embarrassingly gone on the man since he’d dragged him out of hell itself. And it was embarrassing, just how much Eddie waited with bated breath every time Steve leaned in close, any time they shared air and he was close enough to count the other man’s moles and freckles, close enough to see the flecks of gold and green and whiskey-brown that call Steve’s eyes their home. If any of his friends gained the ability to read minds, he would be fucked. He got teased enough, he didn’t need to add the nonsense poetry he waxed about Steve every moment he had a spare thought.

The other man didn’t seem to notice his crush-induced spiral, turning back to the stove and humming as he continued to stir the sauce. Eddie should call Wayne. It’d been a while — a week, maybe — and if anyone could handle his sad pining, it was his uncle.

Instead, he picked up the book he left on the table that morning and pretended to read, glancing ever so often at the man who seemed to be synonymous with favorites. Favorite foods, favorite snacks, favorite ice cream, favorite movies, favorite person.

The fact that Steve didn’t already know how Eddie felt was kind of ridiculous, especially since Robin hounded him about his pining every time they were together. He knew Buckley wouldn’t betray his trust like that, though. No matter how much she bitched and whined about him, she had his back — even against her other half.

When the food was ready, it was easier to fit back into their usual banter. If ever Eddie got too close to blurting out the truth, he just shoved more chicken and pasta into his mouth and chewed until the impulse went away. Steve talked about his day and his classes, how the students were always hard to reign in when the weather got nicer and no one wanted to learn about history. Eddie thought he'd probably have graduated the first time, if Steve Harrington was his teacher.

You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?

He shoveled more food into his mouth.

Steve never mentioned the girl he brought home, or the shoes that were at the door, or the noises he’d heard from Steve’s room. He did mention the cafe he went to for lunch, the sandwich he’d ordered that ‘Eddie you’d love it, it reminded me of that place we went to right after moving here, you remember?’ and he mentioned the store he’d noticed near the grocery, one that just opened and had mini figures and card games and D&D stuff, ‘all that nerd shit you and the kids like, we should check it out some time.’

Eddie wanted to scream; he had no more food to shovel. So, instead, he collected the dishes and stacked them in the sink, and made his way to the living room — busying his hands with the task of rolling a few joints for their movie night.

Steve grabbed a plastic grocery bag full of tapes that he’d left by the door, and went through each movie one by one, holding them up for Eddie to see and judge. Robin was apparently on a John Waters kick, and while Eddie was down for Cry Baby, if Robin wanted Steve to watch Pink Flamingos, it was going to have to be on her terms, thank you.

He watched as Steve fed the tape into the player, and broke out the ice cream pints from the freezer — little spoon for Eddie because he preferred it for ice cream. It was calm, it was domestic, it was torture, and Eddie loved every moment with Steve. He took his glances where he could, when Steve was turned away, flicking his eyes back to the rolling papers whenever he was close to getting caught. He rolled two, figured that was enough to make him act normal again — to relax and get his shit together so he stopped acting like a twitchy little squirrel, hoarding anything Steve would give him.

He gave Steve the first hit, if only to be a creep and feel the dampness of Steve’s spit on the filter. He watched as the smoke left his lips, touching where Eddie wished he was allowed, before it cascaded out and filled the room. He took one more hit before passing to Eddie, fingers lazily brushing as the joint left his hands.

Eddie looked away as he drew in his breath, the dampness of the filter a thrill as well as a condemnation. He’d always felt like a freak, always wore that label with pride, but he’d never felt more like a freak, than when he was around Steve Harrington.

He focussed on the red-hot burn of the cherry as he pulled in a breath, the smoke burning through his lungs as he held it longer than he needed to — holding it there just to feel the white hot cloying at his throat, and grounding him before he did something stupid like lean into Steve’s space and say something flirty.

You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?

Buckley, if only it were that easy.

Just think about it, okay?

Actually, he should stop thinking about it. Before the words started spewing from his lips with no interference from his brain, before his heart stopped beating in his chest and came up his throat to speak the words itself, before he had those stilettos by the door wedged into his brain like a lobotomy.

“Eddie?”

He looked over to Steve, who was holding out the joint again. He hadn’t even remembered passing it back after his hit.

“You good, man?”

“Yeah.” He took the joint once more, and tried to stay in the moment. Drifting was for later, right now was for man and dude and buddy.

It was mid way through joint #2, when Steve got cuddly. He always drifted closer, leaned in more to talk about the movie, whispered commentary even though they were home and there was no one else to disturb in the theater.

I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Eds.

He looked at him like he looked at Robin, Eddie thought. He looked at him with warmth and kindness, with a deep affection that was reserved exclusively for those closest to Steve Harrington. He looked-

He looks at you the way he used to look at Nancy.

He was close, close enough to lean against if Eddie just let himself; close enough to brush his nose against Steve’s forehead, close enough to–

Eddie took another hit before handing it back to Steve. He held on to this one, too, until the burn of it took his mind off those too close thoughts. Steve’s lips wrapped around the filter, and in Eddie’s hazy, floaty mind it looked like something he should pray to — the smoke drifting around them, caressing Steve’s skin as gently as it dared, just a whisper as it passed. It was like that, that, you know, the renaissance art style where everything is blended and smokey and otherworldly. Like the Mona Lisa. Steve was the Mona Lisa, and Eddie wanted to breathe in all the smoke that touched his skin.

Steve was giggly now, loose and light headed as Johnny Depp cried glycerin tears and his love interest pleaded ‘please Mr. Jailer, won't you let my man go free?’

He giggled and sang along to the repetitive lyrics and shifted both legs onto the couch cushions, scooting himself closer again, leaving him resting against Eddie’s side. He was warm, so warm against the cotton of Eddie’s t-shirt and he thought maybe if he took another hit or two, he’d be able to blend into the warmth of Steve’s skin and melt together into one person.

The joint was in the ashtray on the coffee table; Eddie would need to lean over to grab it. He glanced at Steve, cuddled up nice and sweet into his side, and he didn’t want to disturb him — like a cat in his lap when he desperately needed to use the bathroom. Steve stretched and snuggled closer, eyes focussed on the TV and not on Eddie’s dilemma.

He was never known as a problem solver, his three years as a senior in high school showed the entire town of Hawkins that he wasn’t exactly the best scholar, but even Eddie didn’t think he was stupid enough to miss what would happen next.

He wiggled his arm under the man, just to grab his attention and not to jostle him free. He thought, oh, Steve would definitely just know what he wanted, because sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t a part of Steve and Robin’s creepy Shining Twins mind-meld. So instead of the man just reaching over to grab the half-smoked joint, he turned his head toward Eddie. Which, obviously that wouldn’t be an issue if Steve hadn’t been snuggled into his side, practically one leg in his lap, but — lo and behold — the movement brought his nose right to Eddie’s cheek.

He could feel his blood rush to the point of connection immediately, lighting his cheeks up like a bright red neon sign — like Eddie was some kind of brothel in the red light district signalling to the public just how horny he was for the man next to him.

He turned slowly — so slowly he wasn’t sure if it was just the weed, or if the whole world was turning in slow motion — just enough to see Steve’s face out of the corner of his eye. He thought maybe Steve didn’t realize how close he was until he turned, just like Eddie, but he still hadn’t pulled away. He smiled lazily at him instead, eyes unfocused and hazy, squinting at the corners like he was still laughing without actually doing it.

“Little close there, Sweetheart,” Eddie whispered, because anything louder than that felt blasphemous, to cut through the sleepy peace of the angel next to him.

Steve giggled, leaning back to actually focus his eyes on Eddie. He could feel the cool air in his absence, Steve’s nose no longer against his cheek.

“Whoops,” he laughed, voice just as small as Eddie’s.

“Could you grab the joint for me? I didn’t want to move you.”

Steve did as he was asked, grabbing the joint and the lighter next to it, and lighting it up for Eddie without him having to even ask. He took one small pull before handing it over, and Eddie fought with himself to hold back a moan as he savoured Steve’s saliva as it once again touched his lips. If only there wasn’t a barrier between the two, if only he could taste it from the source, feel it as he drank Steve in with the desperation of a man lost in the desert.

Steve settled himself back into Eddie’s side, and Eddie did his best not to jostle him as he finished off the joint, thankful that Steve had drifted off to sleep before he did it. At least with Steve asleep, he was safe from the confession that kept springing to the tip of Eddie’s tongue.

The taste in his mouth as Eddie woke up was stale. It felt like cotton on his tongue, dry throat clicking as he swallowed. His thoughts were soupy and his eyes were crusted, joints aching as he stumbled off the couch. He should have tried to fall asleep in his own bed, he wasn’t 20 anymore and the crack of his neck as he stretched took the breath out of him for just a moment. He dragged himself into his room to tug off the jeans he was still wearing, keeping his Metallica shirt and his briefs on from the day before, but he hadn’t bothered with pulling on a pair of sweats — his pale thighs out and about for the world to see.

Steve was in the kitchen, no doubt being the most desirable housewife in all of Indiana by making breakfast for them both. Eddie could smell the toast and butter, the thick scent of coffee drifting through the hallway to his room. He smacked his dry lips in anticipation.

They shared small smiles as Eddie made his way to the table, Steve’s hair sticking up wildly in the back. He looked soft and sleep-rumpled, a small yawn pulling itself from his lips, and Eddie looped his ankle around the leg of his chair to stop from draping himself across Steve’s back. Robin’s words were still floating around like an evil spell, compelling him against his will. If only he could ignore it, shove it into a lock-box and pretend they’d never talked, that she’d never told him to confess in the first place–

The phone rang.

Steve looked from his hand holding the spatula, to the one holding a cracked egg currently spilling into the pan.

“I’ve got it,” Eddie chuckled, squeezing Steve’s shoulder as he passed because he was nothing if not self-indulgent.

It was one of Wayne’s neighbors on the other end.

The call didn’t last more than five minutes.

Eddie hung up the phone, gripping tightly at the plastic handset. He didn’t let go. Couldn’t do much of anything except focus on the racing in his mind. He needed to leave, he needed to call off work, he needed to get back to Hawkins as fast as he could.

“Eds?” Steve asked, voice hesitant and unsure. His eyebrows were drawn together and he had stopped his cooking, clicking the stove off, one hand still wrapped around a spatula and the other halfway to reaching out for Eddie, to touch, to help, to comfort.

“Wayne had a heart attack,” he whispered.

Steve abandoned the breakfast, giving in to the want of reaching out, to cradle Eddie’s elbow in the most gentle touch, like that would help like that would make it better instead of feeling like barbed wire on his skin.

Eddie pulled away, slipping his arm from Steve’s reach and the other man’s hand remained in the air, stuck, like he didn’t know what to do next. They were both still, unusual for them, and it felt suddenly like there were glass shards in the air between their bodies, just waiting to slice them open at any sudden move.

“Is he okay? Eds?”

Eddie nodded, that’s what the neighbor said. That’s what he said. Wayne was okay, Wayne was fine, he went to the hospital on time, he was back home, he was okay.

But, Eddie wasn’t there. He couldn’t be sure, he didn’t know.

“He’s… he’s okay, he’s fine, he’s back home,” he repeated, like a mantra, like he needed to hear the words out loud in order for them to be real. Wayne was fine, Wayne was home.

“Do you want to go, to take care of him? We can stop by the grocery store and pick up some things, I can take a few days off and drive down with you,” Steve was rambling, creating plans and asking about Wayne’s favorite foods, talking about leafy greens and no red meat, about soups he could make and how much PTO he had left, and we, and us, and Eddie wanted to scream.

“Stop.”

Steve did. He cut himself off, hand still raised to where Eddie’s elbow used to be, but he didn’t step forward, didn’t reach out again — kept himself silent. For Eddie. Because he asked.

“Stop,” he said again, watching as Steve’s eyebrows pinched in confusion. He finally put his hand down, standing in the kitchen with his arms at his sides.

“Stop… what?” He asked, and of course he didn’t know, he didn’t know why his desperate need to help, to comfort, to ease Eddie’s worries were just clawing at him with every word, digging into his skin like thorns and dragging, dragging, dragging until his insides were torn to ribbons.

You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?

“Stop acting like this, this perfect guy who outshines everyone else.”

A wobbly smile stretched over Steve’s face, mistaking Eddie’s distress for his typical dramatics. He looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should laugh or roll his eyes, not understanding that Eddie was serious because he didn’t know, he didn’t know.

“I want you to stop being nice to me.”

Steve squinted his eyes, “This feels like a trap, is this a trap?”

“No.” Eddie was shaking his head, clearing it out to make room for what he wanted to say, what he needed to say. He needed to put distance between him and Steve, he needed to go help Wayne and take that time to break this stupid crush and maybe, maybe, when he came back he’d be able to act normal around Steve again. “No, this isn’t a trap.”

“Okay… Well, I’m not sure how to stop being nice to you–”

“Well you need to figure it out. You need to– to be meaner, because I can’t keep going out and meeting guys and comparing them to you because they’re not you, they’re nothing like you. And I can’t keep going on dates and wishing they were over so I can just come home and hang out with you and Robin, and I can’t keep coming home to some girl's shoes by the door and pretending that doesn’t kill me just a little bit.”

Steve looked adrift in their kitchen, untethered and unsure. This wasn’t Eddie’s normal dramatics, this wasn’t Eddie throwing out a backhanded compliment to Steve, this wasn’t a ‘god, Harrington, you’re so perfect it must be exhausting’ with a laugh and a wink. This was Eddie in genuine distress, like the call about Wayne had snapped some kind of barrier between him and everything he’d been holding back.

“What are you saying?”

You haven’t told him how you feel yet–

“I love you.”

He blinked.

It was out.

He said it.

“I love you, I’m in love with you. Not like the way you love Robin or Dustin or how I love Wayne,” his voice cracked on his uncle’s name, the panic about hearing ‘he had a heart attack’ still fresh in the air, still squeezing his lungs.

“I love you, so–,” he chokes on his words, trying desperately to hold back the flood of tears that threaten to burst; he has to say it, he has to say it, and then he can leave, he can go to Wayne and he can take a few days to figure out what to do after he just crushed his whole life into pieces, “–so you gotta stop being nice to me, or you gotta fall in love with me, because I can’t do this anymore.”

And Steve did exactly what Eddie expected him to do. He stood. He stared. He looked at Eddie like his brain had paused and he was being wholly rewired just to turn back on again, like he mentally needed to smack the connection back online or wiggle the antenna.

The kitchen felt like it was closing in as he watched Steve blink back to himself, and then glance around the room as he thought of what to say, as he thought of how to let Eddie down gently.

Eddie didn’t want to be let down gently. He didn’t want the pity or the shame or the guilt that was no doubt swimming in Steve’s head as he tried to think of a nice way, a sweet way to ease Eddie’s confession away because Eddie knew, he knew, that Steve wasn’t going to reciprocate. The sad glint to his eyes and the pinched corners of his lips told Eddie all he needed to know.

“I…” he sighed, still desperately avoiding Eddie’s eye contact. “I mean… I’m not… I’m sor–”

“I know,” Eddie whispered back. He didn’t want to hear the stuttered, stilted apology. He had nothing to apologize for, this was all Eddie’s fault. “I know, you don’t have to say anything, I just… I had to tell you.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you, Eddie, I’m just not… I don’t… I’m not into dudes that way–”

“Steve, seriously, please don’t say anything. It’s not going to make this any better, and I just… I don’t want to hear it right now, okay? So, just… Let me leave and take care of Wayne and I’ll come back in a few days and we can just forget about it.”

The other man looked like he wanted to argue, to say something else, to keep apologizing and explaining and assuring Eddie that it wasn’t him, it was Steve and that was the absolute last thing he wanted to hear. So, he turned on his heel and walked back to his room to pack a small bag, leaving Steve in the center of the kitchen with his mouth agape, spatula still in hand.

He was still standing there when Eddie passed, grabbing his coat and shoving his feet into the work boots he’d left scattered next to Steve’s sneakers. The space would be empty again for any high heels that wanted to stop by, and Eddie wouldn’t have to be here to see it. He knew that Steve would call Robin immediately, that she’d know Eddie opened his big stupid mouth and took her advice and that it backfired exactly the way Eddie had told her it would. She’d probably call the trailer at some point, and he’d wallow with her then. Right now, though, he had an uncle to take care of.

The drive was shorter than he’d remembered — a couple hours south of their apartment — and Eddie was thankful there wasn’t any solid traffic he had to wade through. He didn’t think the drive would end well if he had to sit in his van and wallow in his own head. The music blasting through his speakers could only drown out his thoughts for so long.

All-in-all, he did make it to Forest Hills without bursting into tears on the way, so Eddie counted that as a win. Though, the second Wayne opened the door for him, looking tired and a bit more harried that he had the last time they’d seen each other, the dam couldn’t hold the water works back any longer. He felt a little bad, having his uncle console him even though it should have been the other way around — it was Eddie’s turn to take care of Wayne, that was the whole point of being here. Still, he was distraught enough that it overwrote his guilt, and he just sank into his uncle’s hold, instead. Wayne dealt with it the way he always did, patting Eddie’s back and mumbling soft and gruff that he was fine, Eddie was fine, everything would be okay.

When Wayne told him something would be okay, it always felt more real than when he said it to himself.

After the crying session, Eddie insisted that Wayne sit down in his recliner and take it easy, that Eddie was here to let him rest for a bit and take care of things. He’d learned a lot by living with someone who cooked so frequently, graduated from someone who only knew how to boil hotdogs and follow directions on the back of a box, to someone who actually knew how to cobble together a respectable salad. Wayne scoffed at first. Eddie and salad had never really been paired in the same sentence, but he was an adult, and he could take care of his uncle’s diet for a few days, goddammit, he could. He would. He’d be the best goddamn caretaker this side of the Mississippi River had ever seen, regardless of his own mental state.

And his mental state was rough. Taking care of someone was a good distraction, though. He’d called the shop the second he got to Wayne’s and told them he’d need a few days off for family reasons. His boss, Tom, was always pretty understanding, probably the most understanding boss that Eddie had ever had, and he insisted that Eddie call back and take more days if he needed them.

“Lord knows my nephew could use a few more days of responsibility to knock some screws into place,” he’d muttered over the line.

Wayne wasn’t exactly thrilled to be waited on hand and foot, though. He’d always been a laid back sort of guy, but only in the way that he’d take what life gave him and go with it, make the most of whatever it was, and let the rest wash off of him like water off a duck’s back.

“I’m not some helpless little princess, Eds, I can still make my own damn coffee.”

“Actually you can’t,” Eddie whistled from the kitchen, stirring some honey into the steaming mug on the counter. He held back a smile at Wayne’s put-out grimace as he rounded the kitchen counter and made his way to the recliner.

“Well what the hell is this, then?”

“Tea!” he chirped, darting back to the kitchen before Wayne could do anything drastic like trip him in retaliation. “It’s good for you, your doctor said no caffeine and I haven’t been able to go to the store for decaf yet.”

“Pfft,” Wayne mumbled, “Decaf.”

Eddie could hear the eyeroll in his tone, but he wanted Wayne around for a long time, and he wasn’t going to let the stubborn bastard take himself out of this world with a damn cup of coffee. He could drink the tea, and Eddie would go over the list of foods that Wayne’s doctor had left him with. He needed to grocery shop, because Wayne was supposed to relax as much as possible.

The trailer was nearly the same as he’d left it, the only difference being that Wayne had his room back. Eddie had taken all of his clothes and posters and knick-knacks when he moved to Indy with Steve and Robin, leaving Wayne in peace with his own space returned to him.

Though Wayne probably didn’t think of it that way, it was hard for Eddie to see it any differently. It was Wayne’s trailer to begin with, and it was generous of him to give Eddie the only private room, but Wayne deserved his own comforts at this point in his life. And that included being waited on hand and foot when he was sick, despite his protests.

He called out to Wayne once he collected the doctor’s list of ‘heart healthy foods’, and made his way to the store. Of course, returning to the town that tried running you out of it came with a… not unnoticeable amount of stares and whispers. He tried ignoring it as he wandered down the isles, tried to look calm and collected as he grabbed shit like whole wheat bread, and plain cheerios. His cart looked like he’d stolen it from one of the mothers yelling about satanic panic by the time he was done. Eddie didn’t think he’d bought this many vegetables in his life.

The teenage girl at the checkout counter paid him no mind as she scanned his items, bubblegum popping like she was hired straight from the background of a daytime sitcom. The line of three suburban moms behind him, however, were not as unconcerned. There was something absurd about hearing the continued accusations of satanism as he loaded bags of low-fat yogurt and kale back into his cart. At this point, it felt like he could be rescuing kittens from a tree and still catch dirty whispers about him putting them up there in the first place.

He couldn’t wait to get the fuck back out of Hawkins.

Of course, that’s when he remembered exactly what was waiting for him outside of Hawkins. And you know, maybe being the poster child for Satan himself wasn’t that bad, maybe it was even a calling, maybe he’d find it endearing after a few days or weeks or months. Maybe Wayne would grow to like being a couch potato and Eddie could be his butler permanently, you know? Give back to the community that raised him, and all that.

Eddie shook his head as he unloaded the grocery bags from his van, piling up his arms with every bag so he wouldn’t have to make two trips — even if that meant he was using every ounce of strength to make sure his arms didn’t fall off.

Wayne was still in his recliner, cup of tea empty despite his earlier complaining. He was watching some basketball game on the TV, and Eddie listened passively as he emptied the bags one by one. It was all familiar, like he was back home with Steve and he hadn’t shoved both his feet in his mouth before booking it out of the city. He didn’t know anything about the terms being flung around, or the people attached to those terms, but he could almost smell the dinner Steve had cooked the day before, and feel his fingers against his elbow. If he listened to the announcers drift in from the living room, he could almost feel the breath against his neck as Steve squeezed past him to the fridge.

He opened his eyes, unaware that he’d even closed them as the fantasy washed over him. And it was a fantasy, now, since he’d just fucked it all up. He shook his head, taking out the last item from his grocery bags and balling them up to put under the sink. He wondered, absently, if the bags felt at home nestled together inside a bigger bag or if they felt suffocated being squashed in together like that. Did they feel cradled or stifled? Maybe Eddie would feel cradled if he was surrounded by more people like him, people who understood him in a way that Steve couldn’t. Maybe they were just too different.

The ring of the phone on the wall pulled him from his thoughts. It drowned out the commentators on the TV as it rattled away, and for a second Eddie hesitated because what if it was Steve? What if he picked up the phone and it was Steve’s soft tenor voice that crackled through his ear, and made Eddie want to both drive the two hours back to Indianapolis and simultaneously dissolve into a puddle on his uncle’s floor?

“Boy, if you don’t get that damn phone, I will,” Wayne called from his armchair, and Eddie unstuck himself from his spot.

“Munson residence,” Eddie drawled, trying desperately to push away the anxiety from his voice, “We got felons, accused felons, or upstanding citizens, to whom may I direct your call?”

He could hear Wayne’s exasperated ‘ah, Christ’ as he tried to maintain his composure.

“So, you told him, then,” a distinctly non-Harrington voice crackled through the line. He sighed with his whole body, slumping against the wall.

“Robin this is all your fault, you’ve got some balls to call ‘round these parts, you hear?”

“Okay, can it, Houdini. I know you’re defaulting to humor because you’re stressed, but your little disappearing act has really freaked Steve out.” Eddie could practically hear her eyeroll through the phone, could picture her sprawled across her floral couch in her fuzzy ice-cream pyjamas as she pondered how else to ruin Eddie’s life.

“Freaked Steve out? Buck, I panicked! I’m still panicked! He did exactly what I told you I didn’t want to see. He tried apologizing, for Christ sake.”

Eddie slipped down the wall, tucking his feet underneath him on the cheap linoleum tiles. He pulled at the winding phone cord, twisting and twirling it around his finger as he waited for her to respond. He wondered how long Steve had waited until he called her, or if he just went straight to her apartment after Eddie left. Did he stand there in the kitchen for a while, at a loss for what to do? Did he think about following Eddie, or did he try to shove the confession completely from his mind?

Robin’s sigh crackled through the line. “Not that kind of freaked, Munson. I told him to think about it—“

“Have you considered maybe not telling people things from now on?”

“—And I’m sure he’s having a gay little crisis in that big empty apartment, all by himself.”

“Robs, it’s barely 800 square feet, I wouldn’t exactly call it big or empty.”

“That’s what you focus on? Not the big gay crisis?”

“If anyones having a crisis it’s me! I’m gonna have to find a new apartment, a new job, change my name, maybe even flee the country!”

“Okay, that’s a little much, even for you.”

“Nothing’s too much for me, Buck, I’m the definition of much.”

“That didn’t even make sense.”

He huffed out a breath, hitting his head against the wall behind him a couple times to try and knock some semblance of sense back into this conversation.

“Alright, listen. I know you think you’re some matchmaking messiah or whatever,” he could hear Robin scoff over the phone, “But I really, really don’t want to hear it right now. I have to focus on Wayne.”

Thankfully, after a small pause, Robin graced him with a change of topic. She clearly wanted to keep talking about Steve, though, and Eddie knew that she was just trying to be helpful, but he’d figure it out… eventually. He’d figure it out eventually, and that was not today. Probably not tomorrow, either.

She sighed, “So, how long are you gonna be back in Hawkins, then?”

“Eh, right now I’ve got until Tuesday, but… I don’t know Robs.”

He might take Tom up on his offer and call back requesting more days off. He just couldn’t stop thinking about that face Steve had made, lost and confused in the middle of their kitchen, his arm raised like the confession had shut his brain off entirely. He could hear the stilted apology that he’d cut off, because that was the last thing he needed from Steve — an apology for just being who he was, an apology for something he couldn’t control, something he didn’t ever have to apologize for because it wasn’t his fault. He could imagine the same face greeting him at the door once he finally gathered the courage to go back to their apartment, wide eyes looking for something to say to make it right. He didn’t want to see it; he didn’t want to hear it.

“So, if I don’t hear from you in two days, can I send over a search party?” Robin cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to Wayne’s kitchen, and not the one back in Indy.

He knew the party were still in their senior year, he was planning on catching up with Dustin at some point while he was back. He’d need to do that before Robin called any of them, though, just to prove he wasn’t the sad sack she made him out to be.

He was. To be clear, he was the sad sack she made him out to be.

The party didn’t need to know that, though.

“Yeah, yeah, call in reinforcements. I’m fine, I just need a few days to, like… think things through.”

“You’ve been thinking too long, Doofus. Just, don’t go thinking yourself into any holes, okay?”

“Well, there’s one hole I could–”

“Okay, bye!” she shouted before he finished deflecting with a dirty joke. He always knew how to get under people’s skin, it was a talent he’d honed for decades.

He let the phone hang, resting it on his shoulder as he continued playing with the curling cord. He could hear the dial tone droning on faintly by his ear, and he sat on the tacky linoleum, listening and worrying the cord between his fingers until the dial tone had dug its way into his eardrum.

He sighed, planting his feet more firmly on the ground to pull himself back up. He put the phone back into its cradle with a soft plastic click, and made his way into the living room.

The couch sank underneath him, years of use wearing it down until it was both perfectly soft and lumpy with uncomfortable springs. It was like a hug from someone you love, with really boney elbows. If the rest of Hawkins wasn’t waiting outside the door, he’d stay here indefinitely.

“You done usin’ me as an excuse, now?” Wayne’s voice grumbled out next to him. He was reclined back in his chair, feet kicked up with a small hole on the heel of his sock. His eyes were still trained on the television, but Eddie knew he didn’t imagine the question directed toward him.

“I’m not using you as an excuse, old man.”

Wayne chucked, though his face was blank, and reached out for his mug, setting it down once more when he remembered it was empty. Eddie made a move to get up, to refill it, but his uncle waved him back down.

“I know you’re here to help, but you don’t gotta push away yer friends to do it, kid.”

He never really knew what to say when Wayne went into parent mode. It was nice, and Eddie knew he needed it sometimes, but he never really grew up with it. It wasn’t until the start of high school that Eddie had moved in with Wayne, and by that time he was used to parents bailing at any opportunity, or just pretending he didn’t exist. He was used to staying up late by himself, and pretending he owned the place just to make it feel a little less lonely that there was no one in the other room. He was used to the occasional call just to ask if he was up for helping on a ‘job’, and then the dial tone if he said no. He was used to Al Munson.

He wasn’t used to the calculating eyes that were only calculating how to help. He wasn’t used to the silence that preceded genuine understanding, and the desire to find out what Eddie needed to get off his chest. Wayne was always there to hold Eddie’s hand through his worries, to give advice about anything he didn’t understand. Eddie wasn’t used to that when he moved into the little trailer, and he didn’t think he’d ever be used to it, even now.

“I’m not trying to push my friends away,” he answered, instead of saying the other things that were running through his head.

“Just Steve, then?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, sinking further into the faded couch. Were all parents this perceptive? Or was this just a Wayne specialty?

“I know somethin’ happened t’make you drive all the way down here–”

“Uh, yeah, you had a heart attack–”

“–But it shouldn’t keep you down here, s’all I’m sayin’,” Wayne nodded his head, as if that was that. But it wasn’t, because even without Steve, Eddie would have booked it to Hawkins. Even if everything was fine, and he hadn’t made a fool of himself in that stupid little kitchen — even if he was dating Steve, for Christs’ sake, he would have dropped everything to drive down here, and if his van crapped out on him he would have hitchhiked to do it, too. Maybe he was paying special attention to the food lists and doctor instructions, and maybe he was focusing a little more on cleaning up and making Wayne comfortable, and holding himself back from ripping the nosey suburban moms a new one, maybe he was doing that to keep his mind off of Steve and his hovering hand and his sad eyes, but he was here because he loved Wayne.

“Wayne, I’m here for you, alright? I’m here because… because you’re the only dad I’ve got s’far as I’m concerned, and I need you to be okay.”

If Wayne had heard the little crack in his voice, he didn’t comment on it, but the misty haze in his eye that he blinked away told Eddie that he had. Yeah, he was distracting himself from Steve, but that had nothing to do with making sure Wayne was okay.

“Well, I, uh…” he cleared his throat, turning back to the game on the screen, “I ‘preciate you, kid.”

Eddie nodded, because that was that, and he got back to his feet to bring Wayne’s mug to the kitchen for a refill. He’d bought decaf coffee at the store, and Wayne deserved it, even if it wasn’t really what he wanted at the moment.

He spent the next two days doing much of the same. He cleaned Wayne’s room, cleaned the kitchen, used up the leafy greens for a few salads that Wayne insisted he hated, even though he cleared the plates. He wished he knew how to make the soups that Steve did when he was sick, but he wasn’t about to call and ask. Robin didn’t call again, though Eddie could practically feel her hovering by the phone two hours away.

He stared at the phone, sometimes, just imagining what it would be like to call their apartment and hear Steve’s voice. He’d probably sound relieved, happy that Eddie had checked in, though once that excitement bled out of his system, he knew it would be awkward again. He didn’t want to stand there and listen to the cracking electricity through the line, as Steve tried to figure out what to say. He hated not knowing how to talk to Steve. He’d never once been speechless in his presence, never once looked into his eyes at a loss for what to say. He hated it.

He contemplated calling Tom back, too, and asking for Wednesday and Thursday off, just to delay the inevitable. That was closer to happening than him calling Steve.

The dishes in the sink were piled up from an attempt at the grilled chicken parmesan that Steve made, but he’d fucked it up in the end and burned the sauce. They still ate the chicken, but it made Eddie miss the before — before he opened his mouth, and halted everything in its tracks; before he obsessed over Robin’s words, and blurted everything out; before he cut Steve off, didn’t let him finish talking, and fled from the whole city.

Whatever happened to not running anymore? When did Eddie throw that away again, just to disappear the second things got difficult?

He called Tom and asked for Wednesday off, too.

The next day, the dishes were still in the sink, and the groceries were down to just cereal and yogurt. He should have spent more time with Steve in the kitchen; he should have paid attention to recipes and figured out how to do things for himself without Steve around. He’d been self-reliant for so long, he hadn’t realized when he became dependent on another person again, until it was too late.

He sighed – he seemed to be doing that a lot lately – and handed Wayne a new mug.

“I’m gonna go back to the store, okay? Then I think I’ll stop by the Henderson’s or Wheeler’s to say ‘hi’, since it’s been a while.”

Wayne nodded, taking the tea without complaint. “That’ll be good for ya, see someone besides your old man.”

“I’ll be back around five, probably, just so you’re not wondering.”

Wayne grumbled an affirmative, and Eddie took his leave. He had more of an idea what to buy this time, avoiding the things he’d already fucked up cooking and grabbing more simple snacks. The suburban moms still gave him a wide berth, though their whispered gossip still made its way to his ears. He knew they were aware of Wayne’s heart attack, it wasn’t exactly a secret with high security clearance, and this was a small-as-fuck town — and yet somehow, Eddie coming to take care of his sick uncle wasn’t worth any praise to the Stepford Wives. No, only scrutiny was reserved for the Munsons.

He missed Steve.

He didn’t end up seeing any of the kids, either. Maybe Robin was right, though he’d never tell her that. Maybe he was a sad sack that needed saving. He drove to the park, instead of subjecting some poor kid to his shitty mood, leaving the bags of groceries in the car as he trudged his way to the swingset. It was surprisingly empty on a Wednesday, though he supposed it was just barely after school hours. There was also a playground at the elementary school, so maybe this one wasn’t used as much in general.

Either way, he let the breeze pass him by as he scuffed his shoes into the dirt. He should probably call Robin back before she really did call in the party to drag him out of Hawkins. Maybe Steve had figured out what to say by now. Maybe five days was enough time to ignore the giant gay elephant in the room. Did he want to ignore it, though?

Kind of.

But he also didn’t. Robin was right again (though he’d seriously never tell her). The confession was a long time coming, and Eddie should have done it months ago. He should have just sucked it up and said it the second he realized, just so he could squash it early and they could get back to normal. He wanted Steve’s hand in his hair again. He wanted to watch shitty movies on Robin’s trash couch again, all squished together on the two-seater as if they belonged to one body. He wanted to come home and smell Steve’s cooking.

Wayne had a check-up the next weekend, one he’d already insisted several times that he had a ride to, and Eddie didn’t need to be there for. He kind of felt… untethered, in the middle of the playground with his feet swinging idly. It was nice out, the breeze was warmer than it had been for a while, and it didn’t make him feel any better. He was glad Wayne was okay, obviously, but he kind of wished the old man would ask him to stay. Eddie didn’t even want to stay in Hawkins, but he wanted to feel like he was needed somewhere.

Maybe this was how Wayne felt all those years Eddie yelled about ditching Hawkins at the first opportunity. Maybe this was payback.

He shook the stale thoughts from his head, remembering there were a few dairy products in his van and he should probably get back to the trailer to unload them. He was probably ready to go back to Indianapolis tomorrow, probably ready to face the music, as it were.

Wayne wasn’t in his recliner when Eddie got back, but he did hear the tap running and dishes clacking in the kitchen sink.

“What did I tell you, old man? Leave the dishes to me,” he grumbled, kicking his sneakers off as he juggled the grocery bags. They rustled in his arms as he gracelessly fought his way to the kitchen, bags piled high to once again avoid a second trip.

They all nearly toppled to the floor when he saw Steve at the sink, a stack of dishes already in the drying rack as he scrubbed another.

He wanted to swear at god himself, if he believed in any of that crap. He said he was probably ready to go home, not be ambushed in Wayne’s kitchen with his arms full of groceries. He didn’t even know what to do. He kind of felt like running again, feet itching to move and get him as far away as possible, but he couldn’t exactly run to the car with all the bags in his arms. They called his attention, nearly cutting off the circulation at his wrists as they begged to be put down somewhere, anywhere.

Steve was just as frozen, though he must have heard Eddie come through the door. He still had a cup in his hand, suds dripping from his fingers as he paused to watch Eddie malfunction in his presence.

“Hi,” he said eloquently, putting the cup back in the sink and wiping his hands on the towel hanging from the stove handle.

“Uh,” Eddie added helpfully. He glanced at the empty kitchen table, feeling like his arms would break if he held onto the grocery bags any longer, and yet weirdly feeling like they were the only things between him and Steve, like the glass panel at a prison visiting center.

He swallowed around his pride and the lump in his throat, and carefully placed each bag on the table, one by one. Steve was still staring at him as he finished. Just an hour ago, he could have sworn he was ready to talk, to move past this weirdness between them, and yet faced with the man of the hour, his words all dried up on his tongue.

He was still fiddling with one of the plastic bag handles, tearing off the loose tags in the plastic to avoid looking at the man in front of him.

“Wayne’s across the street,” he offered, gesturing to the door. Eddie nodded. “I’m… uh. I brought a couple different bowls of soup and a casserole. I wasn’t really sure what things Wayne liked, but I tried to go for something more classic, just in case. And, uh, I figured I could wash some dishes while I waited for you. I mean, Wayne didn’t seem to mind, so–”

“What are you doing here?” Eddie cut him off. He seemed nervous, shuffling from foot to foot, wringing his hands out now that they were empty of dishes. It was the awkward silence he was dreading, the stuttered responses and stilted words. Steve sighed, looking back at the sink longingly, like he’d rather be slaving away just to avoid Eddie’s eyes.

“I’ve been thinking…,” Steve trailed off, shoe scuffing against the linoleum.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Robin called?” He looked up, meeting Eddie’s eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, glancing at the phone like she’d somehow know he was talking about her.

“What… uh… what did she say?”

“Mostly just called us idiots,” he lied.

“Yeah, she’s… she’s been doing a lot of that.”

Steve went quiet again, sneaker still scuffing along the kitchen floor. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to say something, and then clicked it shut again. God, the silence made Eddie feel like he was full of ants, crawling up and down his legs and wiggling between his toes.

“Steve, you don’t have to make any of this better, okay? It isn’t something that needs to be fixed.”

“I didn’t know,” Steve blurted out, suddenly still in the kitchen like he had been that day in their apartment. His hands were still clasped together, and his foot was still pointed like he wanted to keep grinding it into the tile, but he was still, unmoving. Just his eyes darted back and forth as he looked at Eddie.

“I know, that was kind of the point, Steve,” he sighed, crossing his arms. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“No, I mean, I didn’t know you could like both,” Steve corrected, swallowing. Eddie could hear the click of his dry throat as he did it. “I didn’t know.”

Eddie wasn’t really sure what he meant by that. He glanced to the sink, a pesky water drop dripping into an empty pot, and then looked back down at the grocery bags on the table. He didn’t really know what to ask to clarify, either.

Steve grumbled, like he was frustrated with himself for his choice of words. He was always mad he couldn’t make the right ones come naturally, like Eddie could. But Eddie could only think of the right words when it didn’t matter, when it wasn’t important.

“I only ever liked girls, Eddie. I mean…”

Was this it? Was this the start of the rejection Eddie knew was coming? Steve liked girls, Steve had always liked girls, Steve didn’t like Eddie.

“I thought that liking girls meant that I couldn’t like you, because I didn’t know you could like both,” he emphasized again. Steve stepped forward, dropping his hands to his sides.

Eddie… thought he knew what he was saying. He thought he understood what those words meant, but it was so far out of left field that it didn’t make sense, it was so far past what he’d ever hoped to hear that he was more convinced he was hallucinating than anything else.

“Do you know how many times I brought girls over wishing they were you?”

Eddie blinked. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure he understood English anymore.

Steve took another step forward.

“I don’t want to stop being nice to you.”

He said it with weight, like it meant something, like he was saying something else, and Eddie couldn’t quite put his finger on it — couldn’t read between the lines when he wasn’t even sure he could read in the first place anymore.

He took another step forward, and Eddie had the irrational urge to throw one of the grocery bags at him to keep some distance. He wasn’t prepared for this, he wasn’t ready for this, he didn’t even know what this was, really.

“You said… you said I should either stop being nice to you, or fall in love with you,” he repeated, “and I don’t want to stop being nice to you, Eddie.”

Steve took another step forward, reaching out for Eddie’s hand, and he couldn’t help but compare it to the day he bolted. Instead of stunned and stuttering, frozen in place, Steve looked determined and sure of himself. His eyes weren’t wide with confusion or darting around for a way out, or a way to turn Eddie down that wouldn’t crush him. He stared at Eddie with a sharp focus, still reaching out to touch, but not afraid of the contact. He was so close, only a couple inches between them, and Eddie shook his head to dislodge the barrage of Steve, Steve, Steve running through his brain.

He took a step back, hip hitting the rounded corner of the kitchen table, but his hand didn’t slip from the other man’s grip. He needed space to get his thoughts in order, because he didn’t have any when he was standing this close to Steve.

“I’m not sure you really know what you’re agreeing to right now.”

Steve shook his head, still holding onto Eddie’s hand, grip tight like he was afraid Eddie would run again.

“I do, I know exactly what—”

“I want to have sex with you,” he blurted, snapping back to himself at Steve’s confused blinking. He took a breath, trying to collect himself so he didn’t fuck this up any further, so he could explain to Steve what being nice to him meant, so he didn’t just take Steve at face value and grab onto him desperately, without him knowing the full picture.

“I don’t just want you to be nice to me. I don’t just want everything to go back to how it was, I don’t want to freak you out when you realize how gone on you I am,” he said, begged. He took another breath, wrapping it around his lungs like a blanket and fortifying his resolve. He stepped back into Steve’s space. The hand around his slackened but didn’t let go.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, flicking his eyes down to Steve’s lips and noticed with a thrill of satisfaction that Steve did the same. “I want to hold you,” he took another step forward, nearly chest to chest. He could feel Steve’s heartbeat though the soft cotton of his T-shirt, pounding away like it was trying to escape this time.

Steve was still staring at his lips, and with the beating of his frantic heart, Eddie started to believe maybe he did know what he was getting into. Maybe Robin was right, again — Jesus Christ — and Steve really had been freaking out through a sexuality crisis for the past few days. All by himself in their big, empty apartment.

That didn’t sound like the start of a porno when Robin had said it, but now? With Steve looking at him like that? His eyes dark and eyelids drooping with unconcealed desire, still focused on Eddie’s lips like the thought to look away hadn’t even crossed his mind. He licked his lips. Steve tracked the motion, and deliriously Eddie thought of a lion in a nature documentary, stalking its prey. What he wouldn’t give to see Steve drooling over him.

“I want to touch you,” he continued to whisper, the air in the trailer dense and heavy, squeezing around them like the walls themselves were pushing them together. He couldn’t quite tell which one was being trapped anymore, he or Steve. Steve’s palms were starting to sweat. Eddie swallowed.

“I want to hear you moan underneath me, like those girls you brought home.”

He was so close he could feel Steve’s knees nearly buckle, his hand gripping tighter against Eddie’s to keep his balance. He swallowed, blinking back to himself, eyes drifting sluggishly to Eddie’s and away from his mouth.

“Can I be nice to you, now?” Steve whispered, so quiet that Eddie wouldn’t have heard him at all, if there was any space left between them.

The air was so heavy, dripping around them like molasses and he couldn’t get the words back out of his throat. He barely dipped his head in a nod before Steve pushed forward, the screech of the cheap metal table legs only background noise as Eddie was crowded against the wall. His lips were warm, just like Eddie had imagined so many times, soft and sweet. He’d pictured these lips taking him apart in their apartment, on his bed, on Robin’s old floral couch, in the grocery store every time Steve grabbed one of his favorites. Favorites, favorites, favorites; these lips were his favorite.

He could hear the soft breaths escaping Steve’s mouth, feel the hot air against his lips — another favorite. Steve’s hand let go of his, fitting against his hips like he’d already carved out a place for them in Eddie’s skin, perfectly molded to grab and hold and never let go. He could barely grasp onto any fleeting thought floating through his head, all so intangible and opaque, like a mirage drifting in and out of view. But Steve’s lips were an oasis, and Eddie was desperate to drink him in — catalogue every noise and feeling and taste like a new collection of favorites that only Steve could provide. This was infinitely better than chasing any last remnant of Steve on the filter of the joints they shared, better than the passing slide of Steve’s hand on his shoulder or his back as he passed.

He was so preoccupied by the feeling of Steve’s everything sliding and gripping and licking and sighing and clicking into place like a missing piece, he didn’t hear the creak of the step outside, missed the rusted rasp of the handle as it turned just around the corner.

“Well, I’m glad ya’ll’ve figured yourselves out, but it’s a small trailer and I was hopin’ for a beer if you don’t mind.”

After sharing the same space, the two steps back that Steve rapidly took — a sheepish, panicked smile on his face — felt like an entire continent. Eddie gripped tightly onto his hand so he couldn’t get far.

Wayne was standing to the side, face blank but Eddie could still see the twinkle in his eye — like interrupting was a form of entertainment — and he knew the excuse was a lie. The old fart probably just wanted to see their faces being caught red handed. Wayne couldn’t even have beer right now.

“I do mind, actually,” Eddie said, gathering his wits faster than Steve, “The doc said a month, old man, you’re not weaseling a beer outta me.”

Wayne shook his head, muttering about being treated like a flower, and snagged one of the trucker hats from the wall before heading back to the front door. Fucker didn’t even need to get past them, Eddie knew what he was about, he could read that old man like the back of his hand.

“Goin’ for a walk with Fred, don’t wait up,” he called out before making his way back to the neighbors.

“Is that alright?” Steve asked, pointing at where Wayne had just been.

“Yeah, the doc said he should start doing light exercise and they mostly just gossip, anyway. They’re almost worse than the suburban moms.”

“No I mean…,” he stumbled over what to say, looking back and forth between the door and Eddie and their hands clasped together and oh, his eyes were still a little panicked.

“Oh yeah, totally, Wayne’s known about me since middle school, he’s not gonna say anything.” Eddie paused, thinking back to the twinkle in his eye, “Actually I’m more than certain he set that up in the first place.”

Why else would he have let Steve do the dishes alone while he made himself scarce? He’d probably seen Eddie’s van return, and waited a few minutes before checking on them like some fucked up puppeteer, pulling their strings behind the scenes. He was a sneak and a weasel and Eddie loved him more than anything.

He glanced up at Steve — hand still pointed to where Wayne was — and caught his eye once more. His cheeks were flushed, lips slightly parted, and it hit him all at once that he could have that, he could have Steve. The other man smiled at him, and Eddie could feel all the worry and anxiety crash to the ground like a wave, pulling away from him in the high tide of Steve’s happiness. And he did look happy, flushed and alive, and so relaxed in the trailer that Eddie had called home for so long.

He didn’t have to keep his distance anymore, didn’t have to pretend that Steve’s hand on his shoulder or brushing against his lower back was anything less than revolutionary, and he didn’t have to stop himself from wrapping his arms around the man and holding on tight. He squeezed the hand still grasped in his, and revelled in the firm squeeze he received back.

“Do you want to help me make dinner, or do you have other plans?” Steve asked, no longer whispering, but no less intimate in the small space they shared. He wiggled his eyebrows like a dork and Eddie felt like he could burst.

“I can think of a few things to do,” he smirked, pulling on Steve’s hand to urge him forward, but only if he wanted, only if he took the step to do it himself.

Steve chuckled, looking down to Eddie’s hand like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and that would have made Eddie panic, before. Before he’d made a fool of himself, and before he’d run from the apartment, and before Steve came all the way to Hawkins just to get him back, and before Steve was his to tug and grip and hold onto. Now, he just felt the same. Like he’d wake up any second and be back on their couch, half-smoked joint in the ashtray and a campy John Waters movie dancing away on the TV screen.

He caught Steve’s eye again and the man relented, stepping forward to crowd Eddie back against the wall, leaning forward to claim his lips again, slower this time. It wasn’t hurried and frantic like it had been just moments ago, it was sweet and gentle and indulgent and Eddie added another favorite to his list. He was sure there would be more favorites to come — favorite ways to hold, and favorite ways to spend time, and favorite ways to annoy Robin and make her regret ever pushing them together. He smiled against Steve’s lips.

They could go on lunch dates to the deli that Steve found, and take the kids to the game shop, and melt together like the ice cream Steve grabbed whenever he wanted to make Eddie’s day. They could cook without Eddie worrying about being too much, or too obvious, or too awkward, and he’d never have to see another shitty pair of high heels where his shoes were supposed to be, taking up space next to Steve’s.

He couldn’t wait to start collecting favorites.

—

Bingo Prompts

#steddie #steddie bingo #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #wayne munson #steddie bingo 2025 #fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #helpimstuckwriting #steddiebingo2025

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florihaei · 14 days ago

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• ౨ৎ ────────── A DANGEROUS GAME ₊ ˖ ་.

이동혁 ꒰ lee donghyuck! x fem reader !

꒰ haechan holds you close like he means it, quiet, warm, and full of feelings. there’s no teasing now, just soft touches and a closeness that says everything without words. ⟡ 📞

✿ - est.relationship 𓂃 fluff, suggestive, teasing, drabble, : names : baby, sunshine, WC ୨ৎ - 505!

( FLORIHAEI VALUT )

ׁ ׅ ❪ previous - next ❫ ୧ ⊹ ࣪

the lights are low, the room is quiet expect for the noises of the cars going past outside. haechan sits behind the couch, legs spread slightly as you settle between them, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. his chin rests on your shoulder, breath brushing over your skin like something meant to be kept secret.

“you always get like this when the night slows down” he murmurs, voice warm and a little sleepy. “all soft and quiet, my baby ..”

you hum, leaning back into his chest, letting his warmth soak into you. “is that a bad thing?”

“no” he says, kissing the side of your neck gently. “it’s my favorite”

his fingers trail along your arm, slow and lazy, like he has nowhere else to be , like he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. you shift slightly, turning your face towards him, and his eyes are already there, waiting, steady and full of something you don’t even have words for.

“you’re staring” you whisper.

“can you blame me?” he says, voice barely above a breath. “you’re so pretty when you’re soft like this, makes me want to take my time with you.”

you heart shutters at the way he says it, not rushed or playful, but intentional. there’s no teasing in his tone tonight, just warmth. he brushes his nose against your cheek. presses a kiss there, then another just beneath your jaw. his hands finds yours, fingers threading together with ease.

“feels like you’re trying to make me melt” you mumble, and he chuckles quietly, deep in his chest.

“that’s the plan” he says. “i want you close to me sunshine, want you like this all night”

you can’t help the way your body leans into his, your free hand sliding up to rest against his neck. he kisses you, softly at first, then deeper, more slow. his lips move against yours like he’s memorizing every part, tasting the moment with every touch.

when he pulls back, his thumb brushes your cheek, his eyes never leaning yours. “you’re my sunshine, you know that?” he whispered. “everything feels better when you’re here”

your chest aches with how much you feel for him, how easily it is totally deeper in moments like theses. you nod, brushing your noise against his.

“stay with me” he murmurs.

“always” you whisper back.

and just like that, the game doesn’t feel so dangerous anymore…

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revelboo · 3 months ago

Note

Am I going insane or has no one asked for D-16??? If not them I am going to humbly bEG YOU PLEASE LET ME SMOOCH HIM HE DESERVES IT

Sure! Took me a bit to figure out a plot convenience to get a reader to him, Megatronus Prime, and Silverbolt. 18+ 🌶️

Fight For You

D-16 x Reader

• Hefting his drill, D-16 sidesteps out of the way of a much bigger, cogged bot. The other not even sparing him a glance. Not even seeing him, because miners are barely above drones in their optics. But what he’s doing matters even if they don’t see him. There’s energon because of him and the others, risking their lives to make sure there are no shortages. That no one goes wanting. And if they cut his rations again? It’s because it was needed elsewhere. Cogless bots are smaller, need less even if there’s a vague dissatisfaction he has to keep pushing down.

• Listening to the chatter around you and sipping at the one glass of champagne they’d allowed you, there’s a nervous tension threading through you that’s part anticipation and part, mostly, anxiety. You pick at the steak they’d put in front of you, surrounded by other dishes, caviar, lobster, things so far out of your budget they’re a treat. If you had any appetite. You keep thinking this is likely a last meal and of the six other team members for the first jaunt, only one is tearing into the food. Everyone else as jittery as you are. But most of the drones have come back just fine. They’d captured staticky, conflicting images of a green world, a glittering city, and more. The gate unstable and shifting, but the scientists think they’ve figured out the intervals it swaps to a new location. That your team will be able to step through, take samples and step back out.

• Waiting for Orion and the others to fall into recharge, he heads to the roof of the dorm assigned to miners and tips his face up to the glittering, dizzying beauty of Iacon. Watches a flight capable Cybertronian streak by and wonders what that’s like. To be so free. Orion is the dreamer, though. Always has been. While he’s the realist. Knows that’s not meant for them. “I matter,” he whispers, voice lost in the noise of the city humming around him. Because he needs to believe that. To be satisfied.

• Heart rabbiting in your chest, you shuffle to an awkward halt, lined up shoulder to shoulder with the other explorers. Over the comms, someone’s humming the Jeopardy theme as you face that churning miasma of light and shadow. The government had dug up the gate decades ago, secreted it away to figure out. And it’s definitely not human tech. Already sweating in what’s essentially a space suit, you can hear yourself breathing as you flex your fingers in the thick gloves. They’d kitted you out with your own oxygen and water, the suit dragging you down and you want to look back to make sure the carbon fiber tether is still secured to the winch. Just in case, they said. In case they couldn’t walk back through on their own.

• “Hold,” calls a voice, almost painfully loud inside the helmet as feedback squeals in your ear. “We’ve got a power fluctuation.” And you feel it when the gate shifts, like a hook sank into your gut, tugging at you. Stumbling back a step as power arcs off the gate. Is this normal? There’s a klaxon screaming and your heart drops. Barely hear someone yelling ‘abort’ when the first person breaks and tries to run. The concrete floor under your feet buckling and cracking and you fall, sliding toward that miasma. Someone’s screaming and it might be you. Grabbing at your tether as you slide and someone else falls on you and you both hit that churning surface.

• Venting tiredly, he turns to go back down and get some recharge and feels a soft thump against his ped. And- what is that? A mini-con? A tiny, little bot with a domed, silvery head trailing a severed cable behind it. And it’s soft when he bends to nudge it with a servo. “You okay, buddy?” Head lifting to look for a transport, for any sign of where you’d come from. Knows the wealthy sometimes keep mini-cons as companions, but that tether? Had you run away? Being kept against your will? Denta gritting, he scoops you up and carries you down with him into the dorms. If you are a runaway, it’s none of his business, but mini-cons aren’t pets. No bot should be chained. But hiding you is only going to cause him problems if your keeper comes looking for you. Still, he can’t just ignore you. Can’t pretend he doesn’t see you, because he knows too well what that’s like.

#transformers x reader #d 16 #d 16 x reader

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ickie · 9 months ago

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♡ … TIO \ MV1 & CL16 …

pairing … max verstappen x reader x charles leclerc summary … you, max, n charles all get freaky... it really is just porn w no plot i cannot lie ... 1500+ words warnings … nsfw !!!!! pls only read if you're 18+. oral (m recieving), light spanking, dom/sub undertones, max gets off on others people pleasure hehe notes … this shit is so far from being proofread i am so sorry y'all... i feel like this is some of the worst smut i've ever written lowkey but it's okay, i just wanted to put out something that wasn't the story of us related ! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated & fill out this form to be added to my taglist ! much love <3

your hips swayed against the body behind you, sweat beading along your hairline as you moved to the beat of the song. head tilting onto the shoulder behind you, you placed a chaste kiss to charles’ jawline, grinning as his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you more firmly against him. your eyes shut as you let him move your body, a wide smile taking over your features as you got lost in the pull that charles seemed to have on you.

as your eyes opened, they met ones with a piercing shade of blue holding something in them that you couldn’t quite read. “he’s looking, charlie.” you giggled, hoping the brunette was able to hear you over the sound of the music.

charles’ head tilted up, making eye contact with his rival turned friend, one of his eyebrows quirking up as they stared each other down. you watched the exchange, feeling the adrenaline begin to pool in the pit of your stomach. max stood up at the bar, swiftly moving himself between the sea of bodies that separated him from you and charles.

“hi, maxie…” you grinned as he finally made his way to the two of you, his expression remaining unreadable. “i missed you.” you hummed, your arms making their way over his shoulders as you pulled him closer, sandwiching yourself between the two males.

“is that so?” he wasn’t looking at you, his eyes locked on charles as they seemed to communicate without even speaking.

you hummed, pushing up on your tiptoes so you could place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, giggling as you finally got his attention on you. max moved out of your grasp while charles pulled away from you, causing a pout to take over your glossed lips. “i think it’s time to leave,” the monegasque said, one of his hands finding its way to the small of your back to push you along.

“i don’t want to-” you started, eyebrows furrowing before you saw the look the two were giving you, knowing that the three of you leaving wasn’t up for debate. you huffed before crossing your arms over your chest, eyes rolling as you moved with the two of them.

the car ride to charles’s apartment was tense, you have been delegated to the back seat as the two men sat in the front, barely acting like they knew you were there. but the moment the three of you were alone, it was a completely different scene.

before charles had even been able to shut the door, max pushed you up against the wall in the foyer, plush lips finding their home in your mouth. kissing max was addicting, the way he took the lead with one of his hands threaded in your hair to keep you where he wanted you – he kissed like it was the last thing he was going to do, and it kept you craving more. his free hand trailed to your ass, kneading the flesh in his hand as you gasped into the kiss. max pulled away, nipping at your bottom lip as he did.

your eyes met the dark green of charles’, clearly not having any complaints about watching the show that you and max had just happily put on for him. “bedroom?” it was a simple question, but you quickly obliged. you didn’t miss the way charles pulled max in for a quick kiss, causing you cheeks to heat up even more than they already were.

inside the bedroom, charles couldn’t keep his hands off of you. “let’s get this dress of, mon ange.” he hummed as he kissed down your neck, deft fingers pulling at the zipper of your dress. max helped push it down your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet.

you grinned as the two men looked at your naked body, trying to suppress a giggle at the fact that you hadn’t been wearing any undergarments at all. “mon ange…” charles groaned, his head tilting back.

“dirty, dirty girl.” max shook his head, pushing you towards the bed while your cheeks flamed with heat.

with where you were on the bed, you got a prime seat watching the way charles and max worked together. their lips were entangled in a deep kiss, max’s hands working the buttons of charles’ shirt while charles palmed max through his jeans. you bit at your bottom lip, not wanting to interrupt what the two of them had going on.

the two parted so they could rid themselves of the rest of their clothes before beginning their descent on you. max pulled you towards the end of the bed, causing you to let out a little squeal. “on your hands and knees, schatz.” you followed the command with no pushback, your head towards to foot of the bed.

charles stepped in front of you, his hand working slowly over his dick before he tapped the tip against your lips. your lip parted, your eyes on his as he pushed his way into your mouth. at the same time, max moved onto the bed behind you before he landed a hard smack against one of your ass cheeks, causing you to jerk into charles’ dick.

a groan came from charles, his hand threading into your hair. he wasn’t pushing you, but the pressure of his hand was a nice presence to have. one of max’s fingers trailed down from the curve of your ass to your pussy, barely letting his finger ghost over your entrance before he came down on your clit, rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves.

you moaned onto charles causing him to buck forward, you pulled away with a gasp, tears pooling in your eyes as you looked up at him. “you’re doing so well for us, mon ange… always such a good girl, aren’t you?” one of his hands caressed your jaw before he stepped away, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

you felt the bed dip, your head turning behind you to look. charles was slotting himself behind you, two of his fingers spreading along your pussy. he groaned at the wetness that was gathered there, lifting his fingers up towards max who willingly took them in his mouth, sucking all of your wetness off of charles’ fingers. “always taste so good…” the dutchman groaned, one of his hands resting against the curve of your ass.

charles grabbed at your hips, pulling you towards the head of the bed so there was room for max to sit in front of you. “please, charlie… need you so bad,” you whined as he ran the tip of his dick along your folds, before he slowly pushed in.

your head hung between your shoulders, moaning at the stretch of him finally entering you. he moved slowly, letting you adjust the size of him before he fully bottomed out. a gasp passed your lips as you felt his hands grab at your stomach, pushing your body up so your back was to his chest – baring your front for max. the blonde’s lips were on yours almost instantly, charles’ fingers tweaking at your nipples while you and max continued to make out. he was breathing in all the moans and gasps you were letting out before he trailed the kisses down to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh. you were almost positive you were going to have marks by the morning.

you took one of your shaking hands, spitting into your palm before you took max in your hand working your palm over the tip of his dick and then beginning to move your hand with the speed of charles’ thrusts. “i want you to feel good, too…” you gasped; your head knocking back against charles’ shoulder.

max groaned into the curve where your shoulder and neck met, his hips meeting your hand as your eyes screwed shut. “’m close, i’m going to-” your words were cut short by the feeling of fingers pressing circles over your clit, the feeling of tightness erupting in your belly as you let out a gasp, body trembling with the force of your orgasm.

charles quickly pulled out, as you felt the warmth of his cum spread across your lower back and ass while max came across your chest. since charles was no longer holding you up, you slumped forward against max, your head resting against his shoulder as you took in a couple of deep breaths, body still shaking with the aftereffects of your orgasm.

you could faintly feel charles move, hearing the ensuite light turning on and the sound of a sink running. he came back with a wet rag, wiping it along your back before him and max moved you to lay on your back. max wiped at your chest, pressing a light kiss to your lips as your eyes fluttered shut.

“you did so good for us, liefje.” max murmured, moving your body so your head was resting against a pillow.

“max… if you don’t come and cuddle me right now,” you grumbled, smiling as you felt his body slot itself behind you.

charles came back into the room – when he left, you weren’t quite too sure – with a couple glasses of water before mumbling something about hating being the little spoon. a quiet giggle came from you before he entered the bed, your arm wrapping itself around his middle and pulling him closer. as you pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, you mumbled a quiet i love you, before doing the same with max – his kiss being put to his knuckles.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 smut #f1 fluff #lestappen x reader #lestappen x you #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen smut

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thefirstforgottenpages · 9 months ago

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Her Favorite Flavor

a/n: i don’t know what possesses me to suddenly find the urge to write before I have classes starting back up but yk 🙏🏾

summary: Comforting your girlfriend Rhea after the unfair loss of her title, you feel the need to divert her mind in some way, even if your distraction involves getting a bit handsy…

Warnings: Soft!dom Rhea, tad bit of angst, hurt comfort, oral! reader receiving, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation.

“And what if I never get my damn title back?” Rhea says softly to you, uncharacteristically vulnerable after her shocking loss. You only sigh, continuing to rub her back soothingly as you stroke her hair. “Like hell that would happen.” you murmur back to her. Your heart lurches painfully when all you receive back is a small watery chuckle that sounds more forced than it should. “Oh Rhea… honey” you trail off, pulling her muscular frame closer to your chest. You offhandedly muse to yourself that you were going to kill Dom, but continue to comfort your girlfriend.

“I just thought—hoped that everything would be back to normal by now.” Rhea drawls her voice now hazily stoic. “I do too hon.” you agree, pressing a small kiss to the corner of her mouth. You smile as a soft blush flushes onto Rhea’s cheeks and she brings one of her hands up to cover her face. “Need a distraction?” you tease from underneath her as you pull her into you. Rhea’s aussie accent takes on a low attractive grumble as she growls out “God yes.”

“Thought so.” you laugh softly as you kiss at any bare skin you can reach. “you’re so pretty Rhea.” You nearly whisper to her adoring the way she grins at your words. “You’re too kind.” is all she shyly replies with. And you blink owlishly down at her when she begins to lower herself to the junction of your thighs. Rhea quirks her brow at you when you silence waiting for her to start the inevitable, “Keep talking sweetheart.” She coos to you and you gasp as she rids you of your shorts and panties in one simple drag.

“Oh— I, well…I you’re s-so strong for starters.” you stutter out. And you can feel how Rhea smiles into your cunt, her ego no doubt already blooming. She lets out a pleased little noise that vibrates to your clit, your already reaching out for her with shaky hands, overwhelmed by how good she could play your body. Your breath hitches before you continue your warbled praises. “You’re so—mmm there— headstrong too.” you sigh, outstretched hands coming to thread themselves in her longer hair.

“Stubborn almost.” you giggle but it quickly turns to a yelp as Rhea flattens her tongue against your hole crudely in protest. You whine her name as she chuckles deeply.

“V-Very determined—“ you cut yourself off with a whimper as Rhea slides two fingers into your pussy, curling them expertly and immediately there’s a telling little tightness deep in your core. “And you’re very warm.” Rhea groans languid, as your cunt tightens around her fingers. She watches as your whole frame shudders needily and she can’t help but admire the view. All thoughts leave Rhea’s brain however, when your plush thighs wrap around her head and squeeze. At this Rhea lets out an unrestrained whine of her own as her free hand comes to promptly grip at your thighs, no longer leaving marks in the shape of her nails.

Your mouth drops open as you make eye contact with her. Rhea looked simply pussy drunk and debauched in how her brows furrowed, eyes rolled slightly as the blush from her cheeks spread to her ears and neck. “Fuckkk!” Is all you can wail as Rhea adds another finger to your now sopping heat. Your breath comes out choppy as you attempt to speak. “Did I also ever tell you how much I love you?” You giggle, and Rhea only hums noncommittal continuing to pleasure you.

“So good t’me Rhe.” you purr out her nickname sultry, and in response, Rhea taps her tongue smugly against your throbbing heat. Keening, your back bows off the bed, canting your hips to meet her ministrations. “I’m gonna cum.” you pant whimpering. Rhea groans at your admission “Fucking finally. I need you.” She grunts and the words go straight to your center. And all of a sudden, she pressing all the right places inside of you, your hips squirming from how intense the pleasure feels.

“Oh Rhea!” you wail out brokenly, clinging onto her built shoulders as she works you through your high, her tongue piercing catching on your clit oh so addictively. You simper as Rhea crawls over you, caging you between her and the bed as she lowered herself on her biceps to give you a biting kiss. You barely hear her hushed tone as your legs wrap around her waist.

“You taste divine.”

#Rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley fanfiction #Rhea ripley wwe #rhea ripley #wwe smut #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x reader smut #Rhea x fem!reader #rhea x reader #Rhea Ripley x fem!reader smut #rhea ripley fluff #Rhea ripley fic #i need her

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mickyschumacher · 1 year ago

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[APHRODISIAC CHOCOLATES! PT.1]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: they say you should learn something new every day. in oscar's case, he learns he should really read the fine prints. or in which oscar's secret santa gift comes into use. 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), protected sex (for the 1st time ever here) childhood lovers (bc oscar IS this trope), face sitting/riding + consent, p in v, teasing, oral sex, mutual orgasms, (over)consumption of aphrodisiacs, mentions of spiders :(

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x gf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: as usual, proofread-ish. for the majority who thought aphrodisiacs and oscar sounded good... hope you like it! ♡︎

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Summer cleaning. You did it every January with Oscar when he came back home to Australia. The reasons you did it? Well, it gave you some peace and the pure free time you had with Oscar was limited. It didn't sound that fun but every year, you managed to make the most of it by reminiscing all the old memories you made, the past year or long ago. The bonus side: you kept things clean!

Last January you had both found an old scrapbook of Oscar and you that you had poorly made with the glue sticks that bare stuck no matter how much you slathered onto the paper, various croppings of coloured paper, loose glitter that hung on by a thread, and the cheapest driest markers you had found (you both thought you took them from primary school).

As horrifically it was made, it was sweet, sending you back down memory lane. The part that made the best was the secret confession in the back of it Oscar had written down with his god-awful six-year-old handwriting. Upon seeing 'really' spelt 'rallllly' and 'pretty' as 'pritty', it was safe to say, Oscar rushed to put the book back as quickly as you found it.

"Babe... what happen to cleaning?" Oscar queried, hand resting on the top of step ladder with raised brows as he looked down at you on the floor. He was moving around the books you stored at the top shelf of

You were sprawled on the floor, relishing the cool breeze the fan brought you. "It's 30 degrees, bro. What do you want me to do? I'm tired. The air outside is warm. It's gross," You complained, feeling your skin stick to the floorboards.

Oscar narrowed his eyes at your words, taking careful steps down the ladder now. "First of all, don't ever call me 'bro' again. Because that's fucking gross," He told you, taking your hand and pulling you up from the floor. "Secondly, you are sugar crashing. We probably should've had lunch an hour or so ago."

You pouted at the sound of sugar, slumping against Oscar's shoulder. "Why are we doing this?" You groaned.

Oscar chuckled, holding you tighter against him. "We're doing this so you don't call me in a few weeks and scream about spiders popping up everywhere."

You curled your lip in annoyance, pushing yourself off of him. "You suck," You retorted, walking over to your fridge. You took a moment to savour the cold air radiating from it as you opened the door before searching for something cold to eat. Your heart deflated at the mostly empty fridge. You hadn't been able to go shopping because everyone was either closed or had close early. You didn't even have any ice cream! The sheer audacity...

Your eyes flickered over your options before a red box caught your eye. You gasped, taking out the container and dangling it in front of Oscar. "We still need to finish these!"

Oscar turned his head towards you, recognising the red box quickly. It was part of the pack of sweets Daniel had given him for Secret Santa last year. To be honest, Oscar didn't have that much of sweet tooth. At least, he had nothing on you. He knew the moment he got it, it was going into his suitcase with prayers that it didn't melt in the Oceanic heat during transit.

While spending Christmas with your families, you, his sisters, and Oscar (mostly you) had taken the liberty to consume most of the candy. By the time you had eaten all the candy canes and small bits, the sight of the mere red box of chocolates made all of you feel sick. So you put it inside your fridge, saving it for some other desperate time. And said desperate time had soon come around in early January during your summer cleaning.

While Oscar would've preferred actual food to eat, he too was at his wits ends. When he nodded, he watched you excitedly come towards him as if you were preparing for your sugar rush.

You sat next to him, knee-to-knee. Opening the box without thinking too much, you both began eating the variety of chocolates. They were in various shades of brown and white, topped of with edible glitter or other candy. You were more than halfway through the box before you wondered what the different flavours were. You popped another into your mouth before closing the box to turn to it's back.

Raspberry... hazelnut... cinnamon.... maca root... epimedium?

Wait what?

"Oh fuck." You heard Oscar whisper.

You raised a brow, lowering the box, still finishing the piece in your mouth. "What's wrong?"

Oscar winced, sucking in a sharp breath before turning the front of the box to you, index finger pointing at the fine print underneath the brand's name.

APHRODISIAC CHOCOLATES.

Effects dependent on the amount eaten and the person. Eat at your own risk.

Your eyes widened, hand almost dropping the box. "Oscar... there's like three left."

Oscar's mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. He pondered the gift. No wonder Daniel was smiling so weirdly at him after he received his gift. That plus his incessant texting, asking whether he had finished all the candy. Shit...

A nervous laugh fell from Oscar's lips as his ears turned red. "I mean... it won't work, right? Surely... this is a scam... a gimmick?"

Your mouth was dry. "Let's check online, hmm?" You told him, taking out your phone. Oscar shuffled closer next you, eyeing the screen cautiously. Typing the product name into the search bar, you felt your cheeks become hot once the results came pouring in.

The best chocolates for sex in 2023!

Horny chocolates for horny lovers. See our favourites!

Viral aphrodisiac chocolates reviewed to be really good.

You pressed your lips, clicking on the last link. Your eyes skimmed the page. You could hear Oscar read the reviews, voice getting louder with every passing second. "Was unsure but no regrets... Bedroom was on fire.. more than... t-three rounds?! Be careful how many you consume... effects stronger with more consumption.... lasts up to three hours?!"

You laughed awkwardly. "S-Surely not. I'm mean not that it's terrible but we still have cleaning to do. I'm sure these are fake reviews... you know like to disguise drop shipping." It was a poor excuse slipping from the likes of your mouth but it was an excuse nonetheless.

Oscar nodded slowly. "Right... cleaning! Yes, that's... that's it! We should probably do that," He told you taking the box out of your hands and putting it to the side.

You and Oscar weren't necessarily awkward or shy about sex. You communicated perfectly well. But the concept of eating aphrodisiac chocolates that were given by his co-worker much less a fellow Australian definitely sent the both of you down the lane of uncertainty.

To be honest, you weren't feeling anything anyways... yet.

Together, the both of you had managed to get all the cleaning done. The thought of the chocolates were long gone after you had multiple Daddy Long Legs come out of the attic, half scaring you to death and sending Oscar into a fit of laughter (although he wouldn't admit he was terrified for a brief second).

Having enough and thrilled you were finished, you were both down to take a nap in your bedroom with all the doors closed and the aircon on blast.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Your nap was going great. It was so good you were sure the red lines of your sheets were embedded into your skin. You were dreaming... it was hot and sticky, it was in the shower for a second and the beach the next and Oscar's hands were all over you.

But all goods things must come to an end.

Especially if it means waking up in Oscar's arms, ass pressed against his hard cock and his hips rutting against you.

With sleepy eyes, you tilted your head to capture a glimpse of Oscar who looked wide awake with a sheen of sweat covering his face. His arms around you tightened when he met your eyes. You furrowed your brows. "Os.. did you not sleep?"

A strained sigh fell from his lips, releasing his hot breath onto your shoulder. "How could I? You were moaning my name and these fucking chocolates are killing me here. God, you sounded so good, baby," Oscar whispered, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

Your eyes closed naturally at his touch. You were sure you were already wet from the dream but the tingling between your thighs was intensifying. "Oscar," You softly whined.

His hips jerked against you, making you both moan quietly. "I need you, sweetheart. Let me eat you out... please," He pleaded, feeling his cock impossibly tighten.

Clenching your thighs together, you nodded frantically. At your notion, you watched Oscar peel himself away from you. You couldn't hide the shock on your face when you discovered he had already removed his pants long ago. He had been grinding into your ass naked. His cock stood straight, skimming the surface of his lower stomach. It looked different. Angrier... harder... not necessarily bigger but it stood as if it was ready to ruin you.

Oscar eagerly spread your legs with both of his hands, cursing when he saw the patch of wet darkness on your shorts. Carefully, he took away your short, leaving in your panties which were fully damp and clinging to every possible fold of yours. "Shit," He muttered, fingers gingerly pulling the front of your underwear so it was tightly pressed against your pussy.

In his peripheral, he could see your legs squirm, getting antsy for his touch. If he was being honest, Oscar could barely think straight. All this aphrodisiac in his system had sent him overdrive. He couldn't tell what he wanted to do first. Whether he should rub his cock against you so the both of you came like two virgin teenagers going at it for the first time... if he should just fuck you to oblivion or whether he should eat you and find every crevice till you were shaking against him and begging for more..

"Ride my face," Oscar simply stated, peeling away your underwear to reveal your bare pussy. He clenched his jaw, restraining himself from taking you right then and there.

You gasped at the intrusion of cold air on your hot folds. Oscar had said something... what was it again? "R...Ride your face?" You shakily whispered. "A-Are you sure? I... don't you need to breathe?"

In any other moment, Oscar would've laughed lightly. But his need for you was far too strong. He nodded, moving to the side so he laid on his back. "Baby, I've never been so sure of something in my life. Trust me. I've got you," He assured, lust thick with his promise.

You sucked in a sharp breath, unable to mull over the proposition because your answer was already clear by the way your pussy was clenching around nothing and your arousal had increased ten-fold. You moved over Oscar's body, hovering over his face. His hot breath sent a shudder up your spine while his hands naturally placed themselves on your hips, slowly pulling you down, legs on either side of his face.

A groan slipped out of his lips. The scent of your arousal was intoxicating Oscar. He could've sworn that he was fucking pussy-drunk.

Your mouth fell open upon feeling his nose against your clit and his warm tongue flat against your folds. "Oh, fuck," You moaned, thighs tensing around Oscar's face.

Oscar lapped at your juices, slurping all he could while he explored every crevice of your folds. His head jutted against your legs, nose sloppily knocking against your throbbing clit.

Your hands flew to his brown locks, tugging at the sheer pleasure running through your body right now. Any tension or worries you had about suffocating Oscar had melted away, hips already leaning in to put as much of your weight on his face as one could humanely allow, rocking your hips to get even more friction.

His tongue dragged up your folds, finding your swollen bundle of nerves as he came up for air. Oscar just couldn't help it. The urge to get a taste of you shuddering against him was overwhelming. But as he sucked your clit gently, his brown eyes of his flickered up to your face and what a sight it was.

You had completely lost yourself.

Eyes clamped shut, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, sweat littering the surface of your skin, nipples hard against your shirt... fuck. If he knew you would feel and look this good, he would've made you ride his face ages ago.

Despite losing your senses, your body still was restraining from putting your full weight on him. Oscar could feel it as you tried to lift yourself in the attempt of self-control, making him chase for your pussy. But the rise of your hips came one too many times and Oscar had enough, fingers tightening around your thighs with an ironclad grip, holding you close to him.

You squirmed against his hold. All those chocolates... you had both eaten them because you were hungry. But Oscar had only become more starved and thirsty as he drank you as though he was dehydrated. You were so wet that his tongue was practically swimming between each fold.

Hips rutting against his face, your head fell back as his lips moved back to your clit, suctioning the bundle of nerves while stars began to invade your vision. You had barely said anything, so lost in the pleasure, forgetting to praise his art. It was like your brain was so dazed that it wouldn't sync up to your mouth, only allowing for your whimpers and moans to join the lewd slurping of Oscar's.

You couldn't care anymore. The stars were so close... you let your full weight rest on Oscar, making him grin against your heated cunt. Your grip on his hair tightened, the coil in your stomach snapping as his movements became sloppy, drool seeping from the corners of his mouth.

Your body is trembling against his face, convulsing around his tongue while the only thing you can manage to let out is a series of broken moans and obscenities under your breath.

Oscar feels you fall limp, muscles tired from tensing and exerting more energy than usual. He slowly lifted you off of him, shifting you next to him as both of your chests heaved with deep breaths. His head fell against the pillow. "I could do that till I die."

You swallowed the saliva that had built up in your mouth, nestling into the pillow. You let out a soft laugh but it slowly died down once the seriousness of Oscar's tone finally registered. Your eyes travelled down his cock, standing angrier than ever, leaking with pre-cum. From what you were seeing, Oscar must've been in pain.

You shifted closer to Oscar, sweaty skin sticking to his own. You peeled off your shirt, sighing at the cold air skimming your breasts. Without a second thought, Oscar's hands were on them, groping and fondling them. Back arching, you fell closer to his touch, pushing yourself into him.

He was distracting you.

"Oscar," You whimpered at the squeeze of your nipple in response. "Fuck me."

Oscar's hands paused, eyes flickering to you. His breathing had gotten quiet all of a sudden while his eyes darkened. "How?" He asked. "H-How do you want me to fuck you?" His voice cracked slightly with the heavy strain of lust–well, partly the aphrodisiacs-weighing it down.

You pulled yourself away from him, sprawling yourself comfortably on the bed. "However you want."

"Fuck," Oscar groaned, eyes closing at your words before pushing himself up to remove his shirt. He moved to hover his body over you. His hooded eyes flickered over you, full with admiration. You looked like a hot mess. His mess... that he made. You were going to kill him.

His brain must of been short circuiting, however. He blinked blankly at you. "Shit, I don't have a–"

You interrupted him by reaching under your pillow, dangling the foil-wrapped packet in his face. Oscar slowly took what he was looking for from your hands, eyeing you with furrowed brows. "You just keep condoms under your pillow now?"

The sudden comment made you break into laughter, making Oscar's struggling to keep his heart at bay. You nodded your head, quietening down. "Yes, specifically for this occasion."

"When a friend gives me sex chocolates?" Oscar raised a brow, voice full of ridicule.

"Yep! Precisely."

Oscar rolled his eyes, shaking his head. You were bad at joking but to him, you were the world's best comedian. He tore the wrapping, hissing at the sudden contact as he rolled the condom onto his shaft. He blew a deep breath from his lips, sweat-ridden hair doing little to move out of his face.

His eyes fell to your still swollen pussy... so enticing... "I don't think I'll last long," Oscar admitted with a grave mumble, a flush of red scattering across his neck.

You smiled softly. "It's okay. You already gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life... you can fuck me till you can't cum anymore."

Oscar's cock twitched against his stomach. He sure liked the sound of that.

His hands darted out to roam your body, embracing the feel of every curve or bump he could get his hands on. He heard your sharp inhale as his fingers danced around your v-line. Me too, he thought to himself.

Oscar couldn't take it anymore. He was practically blue-balling himself at this point. He lowered himself over you, feeling your hot breath envelope him. His cock slowly pressed against your folds, making both of you pause at the warm feeling tingling up your spines. "Shit," he groaned, watching your engorged folds try to grip any bit of his cock. "You're seriously going to kill me."

"A girl's gotta try," You teased, breaking into a small whimper as Oscar dragged the tip of his throbbing cock to your hole, skimming your clit along the way.

Your mouth fell open upon feeling Oscar pushing his hips into you. His cock entered your warm folds, stretching the tight walls of your soaked cunt. Your head lolled back into the softness of the pillows while a high-pitched whimper slipped past your lips.

Oscar grunted as he fully unsheathed his cock, bottoming out as much as he could. The feel of your pussy clenching around him with a vice-like grip was sending over him already. He could feel every part of you, hips flushed with yours while the tip of his cock nudged your cervix.

He began with shallow thrusts, rocking his hips against yours. "Fuck, you feel so good, baby," Oscar swore, eyes fluttering shut momentarily.

You moaned in response, savouring every inch of his cock that came in and out of you. "You fill up so well," You praised, hand travelling to his own to give him an affirming squeeze.

Oscar missed your lips. It felt like he hadn't touched them in a long time even though he had probably spent over half the morning with them today. Sloppily, his lips travelled across your jaw and met your soft pillowy ones. He could hear your muffled moans in the kiss as he rutted into you. Shit...

"Oscar," You whispered with a high mewl upon feeling his fingers roll your nipple in between them. You were going to kill him? More like he was going to kill you.

But you weren't lying. His cock was indeed filling you so well, having you clench around him like there was no tomorrow. You felt so... full... those fucking chocolates...

Speaking of which... Oscar was over these 'aphrodisiac chocolates' or whatever the hell they were. They were making him insane. Every moment he ever spent with you, whether it was on a date or in bed, he always felt like he was being driven insane (in the nicest possible way, of course). But these chocolates... it felt like he was aware of everything. Every reaction... every part of him was on fire... everything was amplified... ten-fold, no, a hundred.

You were both on the crest of your climaxes. Oscar could tell by the way you were gripping him, the sudden reduction of your words, and the dazed look in your eyes. And you could tell by the stutter of his hips and the twitch of his cock.

Oscar bent his head down towards your legs, spitting directly onto your bundle of nerves. Fuck, now your hips were stuttering as well, the familiar feeling of the coil in your lower abdomen unravelling. "Oscar, fuck, I'm going to–"

Oscar doesn't even have the decency to let you finish your sentence, hand rubbing dizzying circles on your clit, hips increasing it's pace, sending you flying into your second orgasm.

"Oh, shit, shit, that's it, baby," Oscar encouraged, fighting to keep his eyes open as the waves of pleasure began drowning him. You were just squeezing his cock so much. Your mouth is wide open as Oscar's hips faltered against yours. He rushed to take his cock out, hand jerking off the engorged shaft to spill every single drop of his hot white cum onto your stomach.

For a moment, it felt like the effects of the chocolates had worn off as Oscar collapsed on top of you without a single thought going through his mind. His chest heavily rose up and down, your chin nuzzling into his collarbone while he soothingly patted your head.

You both laid like that for over ten minutes, saying nothing, just revelling in each other's presence, naked.

"I think we're going to have to thank Daniel," You joked, finally regaining your words.

"Later," Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. "Like three hours later."

You furrowed your brows, looking up at Oscar, only for him to be looking down. Following his gaze, your eyes honed in on the object capturing both of your attention.

"Oh..."

𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

#mickyschumacher #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri smut #formua one smut

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