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javierpena-inatacvest · 5 months ago

Text

His

Summary: Javi can't get enough of you (aka idk how to summarize this other than it's pwp whoops)

Word Count: 1.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader

Warnings: ... again, this is straight up pwp, unprotected p in v sex, rough(er) sex, breeding kink (I'm sorry!! I'm sorry!! It's physically impossible to not!!), praise kink, big, nasty creampie, cum play, 1 use of daddy and papí (but like, that's the goal), an ass smack, prone bone and the one position from s2e3 of Narcos because I say so!!! also sweet, tooth rotting fluff because I don't know how to write any other way

A/N: She's nothing, if not consistent, your honor 🤠 You'll have to pry Javier Peña and his big, fat breeding kink out of my cold, dead hands before I stop writing about it!!!!!! Figured what better way to break a hiatus than letting the ovulation demons do the lords work for me to post some smut on tumblr dot com, hope y'all enjoy!!!

Never Too Late Masterlist

“Fuck, Javi!”

The only thing that’s keeping you from waking up your neighbors with the volume of your moans is the way Javi has you pressed against the mattress, muffling the sound of you screaming his name as he pounds into you, over and over.

You swear he could smell it on you from the second he walked through the door, how you had been craving him all day. Just the thought of him alone was enough to make you ache with unbearable need and want. From the moment he left for work this morning, you were counting down the hours until he got home so you could climb him like a goddamn tree.

But then again, how can anyone blame you when he’s the one who instigated it in the first place?

“I swear to god, when I get home, I’m not letting you out of the fucking bed tonight ‘till I knock you up.”

“Is that a threat or a promise, Javi?”

“Both.”

Javi’s always been a man of his word, but with the way he’s fucking you right now, it makes you wonder if he’s ever planning on letting you out of the bed again.

“That’s it baby girl, let me hear it.”

You can feel the way the words rumble in his chest, pressed against your back as he fucks into you, deeper and harder with each thrust. The grip around your intertwined fingers tighten, practically melting you into the bed with the weight of his broad body is pinning you down, caging you beneath him.

Heat is radiating off him, the tacky sheen of sweat pooling where your skin meets, Javi’s hips flushed against the meat of your ass. He’s already got you three orgasms deep, but there’s just something addictive about Javi that always has you begging for more, desperate to cum around his cock over and over again until you have nothing left to give.

“Oh my god- fuck. Fuck, Javi, I want more baby, please. Fuck me harder- oh fuck-”

You swear you can feel his smirk creeping into the corners of his cheeks as he kisses your shoulder, relishing in the mess he’s already made you, and yet, you still can’t seem to get enough of him.

“You want more, hermosa? Let me hear you, baby.” Javi coos, purposely slowing his pace down just enough to make you whimper, quietly laughing to himself at the way he can feel you back your ass up against his hips, trying to keep yourself as full of him as you can.

“I want it, I want more, baby, please.” You whine, craning your neck behind you just enough to see the devilish grin Javi has plastered across his face.

“You gonna be a good girl and take everything I have to give you? Let me fill you up until it’s got no choice but to fuckin’ stick?” He groans, the thought of fucking himself so deep inside you that nine months from now, he’ll be the reason for your growing family, igniting something indescribably primal in him.

“Yes! Yes, please, fuck- I’ll take all of it!”

It’s borderline pathetic how many octaves your voice has climbed as you beg him for more, a pitch and volume so loud and high you nearly startle yourself with your response. You can hear Javi sigh and curse under his breath. You’re not sure if it’s because having you like this drives him crazy, or if having you like this drives him so crazy, he’s worried he’ll bust right then and there if he doesn’t control himself.

Your response has him shifting behind you, sitting back on his knees and gripping his fingers into the meat of your sides to force your bottom half up, one hand letting go to smack your ass just hard enough for your breath to hitch in the back of your throat.

You’re not sure how, but the new position has him feeling even fuller, stretching you out to the point of pleasure filled sobs as he starts to pound against your g-spot, each thrust rougher than the last.

You’re so wet that the sound of him sliding in and out of your cunt is almost as loud as the noise of his skin slapping against yours. That, combined with the lewd panting and moaning heaving from each of your chests, has the room sounding like you could easily give any porno ever produced a run for its money.

“Love this pussy so fucking much. Always so fucking wet and tight for me. Whose pussy is this, baby?” Javi asks, his once smug demeanor quickly dissipating as he chokes out his question through gritted teeth, so drunk on you he can barely think straight.

“Yours! Fuck, fuck fuck- It’s yours, Javi.” You sob, fisting at your bedsheets so tightly, you’re convinced it won’t be long until your knuckles turn white.

“Fucking right, it is. Fuck you so full of me that I knock you up, make sure- mierda- make sure everyone knows you’re all mine. That what you want, Mami?”

“Yes, y-yes! Oh fuck- yes! ”

Javi gets one more smack at your ass before he reaches around to scoop you up from your front, draping his arm across your chest to flush it with his back, never letting the pace of his hips falter. If he wasn’t holding you up, you’re positive you’d be limp, so all consumed by pleasure that it’s engulfed every inch of your body. to keep yourself upright.

His free arm snakes around to find your clit, whimpering as the pads of his fingers rub tight circles around the bundle of nerves. The undeniable tingle at the base of your spine is beginning to build again, the all too familiar clamping of your cunt around Javi’s cock growing tighter by the second.

You can all but feel him in your stomach, every inch of him sunk as deep as you can take him, backing your ass into him to counter every snap of his hips. You shoot your hand behind you, digging your nails into whatever part of his thigh you can find to brace yourself on as he fucks into relentlessly, only egged on by the fact he knows how close you are.

“You got one more for me, baby?” Javi mewls, nipping at your neck while the hot words of his breath dance across your skin. “One more time before I cum so fucking deep inside you?”

You’re not sure how you even have the capacity to form words, nodding your head in compliance as you try your best to string together something comprehensible as the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter.

“Y-yes, oh fuck- want you to fill me up. Put a baby in me, please, papí.“

“Fuck me.” Javi huffs under his breath, furrowing his brow in an intense focus to keep from fulfilling your request preemptively. “Cum for me, Hermosa. Cum all over my cock, and I promise I will.”

It only takes a few more frantic strokes before you’re collapsing around him, orgasm shooting through your body with such radiating pleasure, you’re not even sure you’re on this earth anymore. The way he’s pinning your nearly limp body to his, pounding into you relentlessly to chase his own high is almost too much, but you’ll take it. You’ll take everything he has to give because it means that you’re his.

“That’s my girl.” Javi coos, sliding the hand that had been rubbing at your clit up your chest, stopping to wrap around your jaw, just firm enough to dip your head back to rest against his shoulder. “My good fucking girl.”

His head is buried in the crook of your neck, pants and moans muffled against your skin, growing louder with each snap of his hips, each one more reckless and sloppy than the last. You can barely make out the words he’s mumbling into your ear, his brain just as jumbled as yours as he nears his finish line.

“I have so much fucking cum for you. Gonna fuck it so deep in you, it’ll- oh fuck- it’ll fucking take. Fill up this pussy with every last- shit- every last fucking drop. Fuck!”

It’s a low groan that rumbles in his chest first, followed by a strangled whimper that dies somewhere in the back of his throat as his hips stutter, hot ropes of his spend spilling inside of you while he cums. You know he doesn’t dare let a drop go to waste, that he’ll keep his cock stuffed inside your cunt until you’ve milked him of every ounce he has to give.

And fuck, he wasn’t lying when he said plenty to give.

You can’t even tell where your body ends and his begins, melded together as one, his length nestled so deep inside you, you can feel all of him pulsing while his seed overflows, leaking out pussy and dripping down your thighs. You know there’s nothing more Javi wants than to keep every last drop inside your cunt, but the best he can do with how much he has to give is to keep fucking it into you, forcing hips to thrust deeper in sync with the heavy heaves of his chest until you’re all but sobbing.

“It’s- fuck- it’s so much, Javi, fuck-” You whimper, jaw slack at the slick, sticky mess pooling around the base of his cock.

“Jesus, fuck- I know, baby. I know, but you’re taking me so fucking well.” He coos, softly kissing your neck and shoulder before shifting your body to lay you down, somehow remembering to grab a pillow from his side of the bed to prop under your hips before your back hits the mattress.

You hiss at the loss of Javi inside you, the sharp breath quickly replaced by a gasp as you the next plop of cum dripping out of your hole caught by Javi’s fingers, sliding up your soaked folds to gently press back into your cunt. He uses the last bit of strength he has to part your legs just enough to make room for his head, leaning down just enough to pepper soft kisses to your clit, trailing up your stomach and chest until he collapses next to you.

The both of you lay there for a moment in silence, nothing left to fill the room but the post-orgasmic haze you’ve left behind, catching your breath as you try to let your brain sync back up to your body.

“Javi… Javi, holy fuck.” You huff, the corners of your cheeks turning upwards in a cheeky grin as you roll your head to face him, giggling at the wide eyed, fucked out expression his face still can’t seem to shake.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Javi sighs, shaking his head in disbelief before running his hand through the sweat-dampened curls of his hair, prying them from the damp mat they’ve made on his forehead.

“You came so hard, Jav.” You softly giggle, scooting close enough to lay your cheek against his chest, smiling as he drapes his arm across your back to pull you in closer.

“Yeah, I know. Fuck, I haven’t cum that hard in a long time.” Javi smirks, fingers drawing gentle patterns on the warm skin of your back.

“Trying to knock me up really turns you on that much, huh?” You tease, the two of you laughing like you didn’t already know the answer, or that he couldn’t say the same for you. “It’s hot.”

“Yeah?” Javi asks, biting down on the plush of his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows at you.

“Mhmmm. You’re already about to be the hottest DILF known to man, makes it that much hotter how badly you want to be a daddy.”

Even though Javi rolls his eyes at you, trying his best to hide the boyish grin stretched between his cheeks. You snicker at the pink flush of his face, leaning over to leave a lingering kiss on his lips, both your smiles meeting each other’s mouths.

“Fuck me.” Javi sighs, quietly laughing to himself, carefully brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face.

“Again? Already? Hate to break it to ya, but I think it’s safe to say you’ve got nothing left in the tank there, Jav.”

This eye roll makes him grin even harder, supring on your giggles with the ticklish kisses he pecks across your body as payback for your awful joke.

“You’re such a fucking dork. God, I love you.”

“Love you more, idiot.”

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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throttleheart · 3 months ago

Text

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Tumblr Dot Com

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff. Crack treated seriously

Warnings: 18+, fluff, secondhand embarrassment, teasing, implied smut if you squint, lando being a menace & insufferable, unresolved tension, suggestive comments, mutual pining, Y/N fighting for her life, suggestive content, makeout session, mutual pining, nsfw, they like each other so much get a room

Word Count: ~7.7k

Summary: the one where y/n runs a Tumblr account about Lando and posts fics about him, cue to chaos

tried my hand at writing something that's not in third person

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

You should’ve closed your laptop.

It was a simple action. One you always did when Lando came over. Because no one—not a single soul—could ever find out about your Tumblr account.

But apparently, the universe had other plans.

Lando was in your kitchen, rummaging through your fridge like he owned the place, while you were curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone. It was supposed to be a chill night—just movies, snacks, and him being annoying as usual.

And then you heard it.

“Wait.”

You looked up, confused. Lando was frozen, standing behind your desk, your very open laptop in front of him.

Your very open Tumblr dashboard in front of him.

With a very specific post displayed at the top.

A post about him.

Your stomach dropped. “Lando.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at the screen, his eyebrows raising higher by the second.

Then, slowly—so painfully slowly—he turned to face you, a shit-eating grin already forming.

“What. Is. This?”

Your soul left your body.

“Nothing,” you blurted out, scrambling off the couch. “Close it. Right now.”

But he didn’t close it. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he scrolled.

“Oh my God—Lando, STOP.” You lunged for your laptop, but he dodged, laughing as he held it out of reach.

“‘His hands gripped my waist, possessive, desperate—’” He snorted, eyes flicking over the words. “Jesus, is this about me?”

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Instant cardiac arrest.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP.” You tried to grab it again, but he was too quick, spinning away, now fully invested in your blog.

“‘Lando Norris was dangerous in the kind of way that ruined you for anyone else—’” He whistled, eyes wide. “Wow. You really think I’m that good, huh?”

You groaned, face burning. “I swear to GOD, if you don’t stop—”

But he just grinned, scrolling further.

“Oh, look! A fic! Let’s see what I’ve been up to.”

You panicked. “LAN—”

And then he started reading out loud.

“‘His breath was hot against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as he whispered—’”

“I’M DELETING THE BLOG.”

“‘Tell me who you belong to, baby.’”

“I’M BLOCKING MY OWN ACCOUNT.”

Lando lost it, doubling over in laughter, your laptop now clutched to his chest like it was his most prized possession.

“Oh, this is amazing. This is the best day of my life.”

You buried your face in your hands, wishing the earth would just swallow you whole. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You peeked through your fingers, glowering. “Yes, I do.”

He just smirked, finally setting your laptop down—but not before saving your blog link to his phone.

“Oh, you are NEVER living this down.”

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch, officially defeated.

Lando chuckled, moving to sit beside you, his arm draping over your shoulders. “So… do I actually whisper filthy things in your ear, or was that just for the fic?”

You whacked him with a pillow.

“I’m never speaking to you again.”

Lando snorted, leaning back against the couch, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on. You’re being dramatic.”

You glared at him, crossing your arms. “Dramatic? You just found out I run a Tumblr fan account dedicated to you. Do you understand how mortifying that is?”

“Oh, trust me, I do.” He grinned, stretching his legs out. “Because I’ve read your work. And I gotta say, I’m impressed.”

Your entire body burned with embarrassment. “I hate you.”

He clicked his tongue, smirking. “You already said that. But according to your fics, you also ‘crave me in ways words could never fully describe.’”

“I’M DEACTIVATING.”

Lando laughed, full and genuine, his stupid dimples making an appearance.

“Seriously, though. How long have you had it?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. There was no getting out of this. “A couple of years. Since before we even met.”

His eyebrows shot up. “So, you were obsessed with me before I even knew you existed? Damn, that’s kinda hot.”

“I’m begging you to shut up.”

Lando ignored you, his mind already working overtime. “Wait—does that mean you’ve written fics about me and other girls?”

You froze.

His eyes widened. “OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE.”

“IT WAS BEFORE I KNEW YOU.”

“SO YOU SHIPPED ME WITH OTHER PEOPLE?!”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at his face. “STOP MAKING THIS WORSE.”

He caught it easily, grinning like an absolute menace. “Wow. Betrayal. And here I thought I was your favorite.”

You groaned, covering your face again. “This is literally the worst night of my life.”

Lando chuckled, shifting closer until his leg was pressed against yours. “Nah, this is great. Best night, actually.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

You huffed, looking away. He was too close now, his familiar scent—cologne, a little sweat, a hint of something sweet—messing with your head.

Lando must’ve noticed, because his voice dropped, lower, smoother. “So… which one’s your favorite?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

He smirked, fingertips tracing random patterns on your thigh. “Which fic? Out of all the ones you wrote about me. Which one do you like the most?”

Your mouth went dry.

Because you knew exactly which one it was.

And it was not PG-13.

“Oh my God. You’re thinking of one right now.”

Lando’s voice was pure amusement, but there was something else underneath it too—something teasing, something dark, something undeniably smug.

You swallowed hard, trying to play it cool. “No, I’m not.”

“You so are.” His fingers brushed over your knee, barely there, but enough to make you shiver.

“Lando.”

He hummed, tilting his head. “You wrote about it.” His fingers slid a little higher. “Wanna recreate it?”

Your breath hitched.

His smirk widened.

“That’s what I thought.”

“I hate you.”

Lando grinned, cocky and completely unaffected. “You keep saying that, but I’m starting to think you mean something else.”

Your jaw clenched, doing your best to ignore the way his fingers were still casually resting against your leg, warm and so distracting. You weren’t going to let him win this.

Not after he found your Tumblr. Not after he read your fics.

Not after he figured out exactly how much you wanted him.

“You are never letting this go, are you?” You muttered, refusing to look at him.

Lando leaned in, voice low and infuriatingly smug. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Your entire face burned. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah?” His fingers traced small circles against your thigh, barely there but enough to make your breath hitch. “Then why are you still letting me touch you?”

You snapped your legs shut, shoving his hand away like you weren’t seconds away from losing your mind. “Because I haven’t kicked you out yet. But don’t test me.”

Lando laughed, throwing his head back. “God, you’re cute when you’re defensive.”

“I am not defensive!”

“Mhm. Sure.” He stretched, acting like this was the most casual conversation ever, like he wasn’t slowly destroying you from the inside out. “So… about that fic.”

You groaned, dropping your head back against the couch. “Lando.”

“What? I’m just curious.” He nudged you with his elbow. “Come on. Which one’s your favorite? The one where I take you in the backseat of a McLaren? Or the one where you call me ‘Sir’ and—”

“I’M BLOCKING YOU.”

Lando cackled, absolutely thriving off your suffering. “Oh, babe, it’s too late for that. You should’ve blocked me before I found your blog. Now I know everything.”

You whined, grabbing a pillow and burying your face in it. Maybe if you ignored him long enough, he’d magically disappear.

But, of course, Lando never made things that easy.

His voice dropped, teasing but also… something else. Something thicker, heavier. “You know… we could make it real.”

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you peeked out from behind the pillow, heart hammering. “What?”

He tilted his head, watching you like he was memorizing every little reaction. “If you want. If you think your writing is accurate, we could… test it out. See if I really do all the things you imagined.”

Oh.

Your brain short-circuited.

“You’re messing with me.”

Lando shrugged, eyes still locked on yours. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanna know what’s got you writing about me late at night.”

Your throat went dry. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love it.” His smirk deepened. “And, apparently, you love me.”

You hated that he was right.

You hated that your entire body was betraying you, your pulse racing, your breath uneven.

Most of all, you hated that you were actually considering it.

Because the way he was looking at you now—dark eyes, lazy smirk, confidence dripping from every inch of him—made it really, really hard to say no.

“So, what’s it gonna be, babe?” Lando murmured, fingers grazing your wrist, slow and deliberate.

Your heart pounded.

You knew exactly where this was going.

And you didn’t want to stop it.

Not even a little bit.

“Fuck it,” you whispered, grabbing him by the collar.

And then you closed the gap.

Lando barely had a second to react before your lips crashed into his, the force of it knocking the smirk right off his face.

But he recovered fast—his hands instantly sliding around your waist, pulling you in like this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

And maybe he had.

The kiss was hot, messy, desperate, all the teasing from earlier boiling over into something neither of you could control anymore. You could feel him smiling against your lips, like he was so damn pleased with himself for pushing you this far.

So you bit his lip.

Lando groaned, hands tightening on your hips. “Fuck, okay. That’s how we’re playing?”

“Shut up.” You kissed him again, hands threading through his stupidly soft curls, tugging just hard enough to make him swear under his breath.

He exhaled a sharp laugh, pulling you fully into his lap like he had zero patience left. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You just smirked, nails dragging lightly against the back of his neck. “And you talk too much.”

Lando opened his mouth to say something—probably another cocky remark—but you cut him off with another kiss, grinding down just enough to make his breath hitch.

His fingers dug into your thighs, grip tightening. “Jesus, babe. You tryna kill me?”

“Just proving a point.”

Lando licked his lips, watching you like you were his next win on the track. “Yeah? And what point is that?”

You leaned in, lips brushing against his ear. “That I could write something even better after this.”

His reaction was instant—a low curse, a sharp breath, his hands gripping you harder like he was fighting the urge to just flip you over and take control.

And that’s when you realized.

Lando loved the chase. Loved being the one teasing, the one making you squirm. But now? Now he was the one losing his mind, the one stuck between wanting to keep up the game and completely unraveling beneath you.

And it was delicious.

You smirked, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his jaw. “Speechless, Norris? That’s a first.”

Lando exhaled sharply, his hands skimming under your shirt, warm and all-consuming. “Oh, babe. You have no idea what you just started.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

His grip tightened, his smile turning dangerous.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Lando’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he looked at you like you were his next race, his next win—something he had to conquer, own, ruin in the best way possible.

And maybe you would’ve let him.

If you weren’t having so much fun watching him lose his mind.

You smirked, running your fingers down his chest slowly, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “What’s wrong, Norris? Cat got your tongue?”

His jaw ticked, hands flexing on your hips. “Careful, babe. You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna have to shut you up myself.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt. “That supposed to scare me?”

Lando let out a low laugh, but it sounded strained, like he was fighting every single instinct telling him to take control.

“Not scared, huh?” He leaned in, breath hot against your lips. “Even if I do… this?”

Before you could respond, his hands squeezed your thighs, dragging you closer until there was nothing between you.

You let out a shaky breath, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you completely fall apart. Not yet.

Instead, you smiled sweetly, tracing your fingers down his arm. “That all you got, Norris? Thought you were supposed to be a world-class driver.”

Lando’s eyes flashed, and you knew you’d just made a huge mistake.

Because now? He was done playing.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.” His voice was low, dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

And you?

You were so fucked.

“Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Lando’s voice was low, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers flexed on your hips, holding you therelike he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, you were so done for.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your cool. “Big words, Norris. But I’m still waiting.”

Lando huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You just love pushing your luck, don’t you?”

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. “Maybe.”

His grip on you tightened, and for a second, you thought he was actually going to give in—going to kiss you, ruin you, wipe that smug look off your face with his lips.

But then?

He did something much worse.

Lando leaned in, lips barely brushing your ear, voice low and smug as hell when he whispered,

“I read the smut, you know.”

Your entire body locked up.

“…You what?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh yeah. I read all of it.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Every single detail.” His fingers traced small circles on your waist. “All those filthy little thoughts in that pretty head of yours. Want me to list some of my favorites?”

Oh. Oh no. Oh fuck.

Your face burned, heart racing way too fast. “Lando—”

“What was it you wrote the other day?” He pretended to think, tapping his fingers against your hip. “Oh, right. ‘Lando looks like he’d be the type to ruin you against the nearest surface and then act all innocent about it.’”

Your soul left your body.

“That was a joke, obviously,” you blurted out, your voice way too high-pitched to be convincing.

Lando just grinned, eyes gleaming. “Mmm, was it? Because it sounded like you spent a lot of time thinking about it.”

You wanted to die.

You shoved at his chest, face on fire. “Oh my god, shut up.”

Lando laughed, the sound bright and teasing, like he was having the time of his life watching you absolutely crumble in front of him.

“What else did you say? Oh—‘I bet he’d love taking his time, dragging it out until I’m begging’—”

“LANDO.”

He was cackling now, gripping your wrist when you tried to flee. “Aw, babe, don’t be shy. I think it’s cute.”

You glared at him, trying (and failing) to regain even a shred of dignity. “You’re the worst.”

Lando just smirked, leaning in again. “If I’m the worst, why’d you write an entire fantasy about me?”

You hated how your breath hitched, how your pulse raced, how he was way too close and way too cocky about it.

“That was fiction,” you muttered, even though your body was betraying you with every second that passed.

Lando tilted his head, lips barely inches from yours. “So if I kissed you right now, it wouldn’t be like what you wrote?”

Your breath caught.

His fingers brushed against your jaw, thumb grazing your lips, teasing.

“Wouldn’t feel that good?” His voice was softer now, but the intensity in his eyes? Burning.

You hated him.

You wanted him.

And he knew it.

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping his hoodie. “Why don’t you find out?”

Lando’s smirk dropped.

For the first time since this whole thing started, you had him right where you wanted him.

And you weren’t backing down.

Not this time.

Lando’s smirk faltered.

For the first time all night, you had him exactly where you wanted him.

And the way his fingers tensed against your skin? How his lips parted, breath just a little uneven?

Yeah. He knew it too.

His gaze flickered to your lips. Once. Twice.

You almost dared him to do it.

Almost.

But Lando Norris was nothing if not stubborn, and you should’ve known he wouldn’t make this easy.

Instead, he did what he always did.

He made you wait.

“You want me to find out?” His voice was low, teasing. Deadly.

Your pulse spiked, fingers tightening on his hoodie. “Are you always this annoying?”

Lando grinned, tilting his head. “Only for you.”

Before you could snap back, he moved.

Slowly. Deliberately.

His hand slid from your waist, up your side, over your ribs, until his thumb brushed the edge of your jaw. His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up, holding you there like he had all the time in the world.

You swallowed.

Hard.

Because this was different.

This wasn’t him teasing you for fun. This wasn’t him trying to get under your skin just to see you flustered.

This was something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

You could feel it in the way his thumb traced soft circles against your cheek, in the way his chest rose and fell just a little too quickly.

And when he spoke again?

It was barely above a whisper.

“Tell me if you don’t want this.”

Your breath hitched.

Lando’s forehead pressed against yours, his nose grazing yours, and fuck— this was so much worse than just kissing you outright.

Because now you could feel everything. The way his fingers tightened slightly, like he was holding back. The way his lips were just barely there, almost taunting you.

“I—” Your voice caught, because, holy shit, he wasn’t playing anymore.

His thumb traced your bottom lip, slow. Precise.

“Last chance, love,” he murmured.

You exhaled shakily, the tension thick enough to drown in.

And then?

Then you did the only thing you could.

You closed the gap.

Finally.

Lando swore softly against your lips, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually go through with it.

Like he had just lost some kind of game.

But the second he recovered?

He took control.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping tight as he pulled you flush against him. His lips moved against yours with that stupid mix of confidence and recklessness, like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

And honestly?

Maybe you had too.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into the kiss. And fuck, you wanted to memorize that sound, wanted to hear it again and again and—

Lando suddenly flipped you, pressing you into the couch, half on top of you now, grinning against your mouth.

“So, I was right.”

You blinked up at him, still breathless, still so lost in him that it took a second for his words to register.

“…What?”

Lando smirked, but his voice was soft, almost too soft when he whispered,

“I really can ruin you against the nearest surface.”

Your stomach flipped.

And that was when you knew—

You were so completely screwed.

Lando was still hovering over you, smirk barely there, but his eyes?

His eyes told a different story.

Because he was wrecked.

Just as much as you were.

Maybe more.

But he was still being Lando. Still being the cocky little shit who knew exactly what he was doing to you.

So when he spoke next?

It was deadly.

“You’re staring.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “No, I’m not.”

Lando laughed, but it came out rough, like he was feeling every bit of this too.

“You’re literally looking at my mouth right now.”

Your gaze snapped up immediately. “Am not.”

“Liar.”

“Asshole.”

Lando grinned, but then his expression shifted, the teasing slipping into something quieter.

Something dangerous.

His fingers brushed along your jaw, so gentle it made you ache. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you like this. Like he was memorizing you.

You swallowed hard. “Lando…”

He hummed, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t stop looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And fuck— It was too much.

“Say it.” His voice was low, rough, like he was barely holding on.

Your breath caught.

“Say what?”

Lando’s lips hovered over yours, so fucking close that you felt his breath, but he didn’t close the gap.

Didn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

“Say you want me.”

Your heart stuttered, because— Fuck.

This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t teasing.

This was real.

And it was so much worse because he didn’t say it like a challenge. He didn’t say it like he was certain you already did.

He said it like he needed to hear it.

Like he needed you to say it first.

Your throat felt tight, chest aching, because it was always supposed to be a game with Lando.

Always a push and pull.

But suddenly— It wasn’t.

Suddenly, it felt like this moment was everything.

And maybe that scared you more than anything.

But you still said it.

Still let it slip past your lips, quiet and shaky but unmistakably true.

“I want you.”

Lando’s breath hitched.

And then?

Then he kissed you.

Really kissed you.

Not the way he had before— Not playful or teasing or just for the sake of winning.

This was different.

This was slow, needy, like he was pouring every unspoken thing between you into the way his lips moved against yours.

Like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

And maybe he had.

Maybe you had too.

His fingers tangled in your hair, deepening the kiss, pulling you closer, closer, closer like he couldn’t get enough.

And fuck, neither could you.

Because you had kissed him before, but it had never felt like this.

Like he meant it.

Like you did.

Like neither of you were running anymore.

Lando’s lips were still on yours, but now?

Now, it wasn’t desperate.

Now, it was soft.

Like he was savoring it.

Like he was memorizing every second.

And maybe you were too.

Your fingers slipped beneath the fabric of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Lando exhaled, a quiet sound against your lips before he pulled back, just enough to look at you.

His forehead pressed against yours, breath still uneven, eyes still dark.

And then he smiled.

Not cocky. Not teasing.

Just soft.

Just Lando.

“I should’ve done that a long time ago.”

Your heart skipped, but you still managed to breathe out, “Yeah, no shit.”

Lando laughed, and fuck— The sound made your chest feel lighter than it had in days.

“I mean it.” His voice was gentle now, his fingers brushing down your arm. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

You bit your lip. “Know what?”

His thumb traced lazy circles along your wrist, gaze flickering over your face like he was deciding whether to say it.

Then, finally—

“That I’m fucking crazy about you.”

Your stomach dropped.

Because— What the fuck?

Your lips parted, but the words got stuck in your throat, and Lando?

Lando just smirked.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

But then his expression softened again, and suddenly, it wasn’t just teasing anymore.

Suddenly, it was real.

And it terrified you.

Because he meant it. Because Lando Norris meant it.

And you?

You were so gone for him it wasn’t even funny.

So you swallowed the fear down and just let yourself have this.

For once.

You leaned in, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, voice barely above a whisper—

“Yeah, well… I’m kinda crazy about you too.”

Lando’s eyes lit up, and before you could blink, he was kissing you again.

Slower this time.

Sweeter.

Like he wanted to make sure you believed him.

And maybe— Maybe for the first time—

You did.

Lando kissed you deeper this time.

Not teasing. Not hesitant.

Just wanting.

And fuck, you felt it everywhere.

His hands slid down your waist, fingers gripping like he was scared to let go. Like if he did, you’d slip away again.

Your back hit the couch, the weight of him pressing into you, his hoodie bunched up where your hands had fisted into it.

“Is this okay?” His voice was low, lips brushing against yours.

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.

“Need to hear you say it, love.”

God.

Your stomach flipped, the way his voice dropped, the way his hands stayed gentle even when everything else about him was wrecking you.

“Yes, Lando.”

That was all he needed.

He groaned, pressing his lips back to yours, his fingers slipping beneath your hoodie, tracing hot lines over your bare skin.

Your breath hitched when his lips moved, traveling down your jaw, kissing, nipping, teasing until he reached that sweet spot at the base of your neck.

You whimpered, and he smirked against your skin.

“That’s new, huh?”

Your face burned, but you still rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And so you did.

You pulled him back down, fingers threading through his curls, tugging just hard enough to hear that little groan that made your thighs squeeze together.

Lando noticed.

Oh, he definitely noticed.

“You like that?” he murmured, voice all gravel and honey.

You refused to answer, refused to give him that satisfaction, but then his fingers trailed lower, his knee nudging between your thighs and—

“Lando—”

Yeah. You were gone.

And he knew it.

His lips found yours again, hotter this time, hungrier, like he was making up for every second he hadn’t done this before.

Like he was making up for all the time wasted.

And fuck, you let him.

You let him take his time, let his hands explore, let his lips ruin you.

Because he was yours now.

And you?

You were his.

Lando’s lips were everywhere—soft, urgent, like he was memorizing you, like he was making up for all the times he hadn’t done this before.

Like he wanted to make sure he’d never forget how you felt beneath him.

His fingers slipped beneath your hoodie, the tips grazing up your sides, teasing, not quite touching where you needed him.

You gasped against his lips, your nails digging into his shoulders, needing something to hold on to because he was ruining you, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever recover.

Lando chuckled, his voice deep and husky, completely wrecked.

“You’re squirming, love.”

“Shut up.”

He hummed, his fingers tracing circles on your hips. “But you love it, don’t you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then he shifted, his knee pressing just right, and whatever you were going to say died on your tongue.

Lando grinned, completely and utterly smug. “That’s what I thought.”

You huffed, trying to glare at him, but your body betrayed you, your hands slipping into his curls, tugging just enoughto earn that deep, guttural groan that made your stomach flip.

God.

You could listen to that sound forever.

His lips found your neck again, suckling lightly, sending shivers down your spine. “Gonna write about this on your blog, sweetheart?”

You froze.

And then promptly smacked his arm.

“Lando!”

He laughed, the vibrations tickling against your skin, but when you tried to move away, he didn’t let you go.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, lips brushing your temple as his fingers slid beneath your hoodie to rest on bare, warm skin.

The shift in mood was sudden, but not unwelcome.

You felt him exhale, felt the softening in his touch.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice quieter now.

You nodded, breath still shaky, and he tilted your chin up, making you look at him.

“You sure?”

Your heart clenched.

Because for all his teasing, for all the smugness and the cocky grins, this was Lando too.

Gentle. Attentive. Yours.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He hummed, tucking you into his arms, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your back.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, warm, safe.

After a few minutes, he chuckled. “Still gonna keep that blog up, or should I expect a rebrand?”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Oh my god, stop.”

Lando laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you melted, because, yeah—maybe you had written about him ruining you.

But you never expected him to put you back together too.

Lando’s hands tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver.

“You hit me, love. That’s not very nice.”

You rolled your eyes, fully aware of the way he was still pinning you down, his body heat seeping into every inch of you.

“Maybe if you stopped talking—”

Your breath hitched as Lando dipped his head, his lips trailing lower, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

God.

Your hands fisted in his hoodie, trying to ground yourself, but he was everywhere—hot and solid and deliberate.

“I like when you get all flustered, you know that?” he murmured against your skin.

Your only response was a sharp inhale, your fingers tugging at the fabric of his hoodie, wanting it gone.

Lando chuckled, low and wrecked, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin below your ear.

“Impatient.”

You huffed, trying to push him off, but he just grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the couch, his weight pressing firmly against you.

“Lando.”

His name came out breathless, more like a plea than a warning, and his eyes darkened instantly.

“Say it again.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat in his gaze, the way his pupils had blown wide, his usual bright blue eyes now stormy and intense.

“Lando.”

This time, you barely got the word out before he kissed you again, deeper, hungrier, like he was claiming you.

Like he didn’t just want you in this moment— he wanted every single part of you.

Your hoodie was pushed up, his hands finally roaming freely, his palms warm against your bare skin, mapping out every inch of you like he never wanted to forget.

Your head tilted back, your legs tightening around his waist, and Lando just smirked, dragging his lips lower, lower, lower—

And then—

A loud ping echoed through the room.

Lando froze.

You froze.

His head dropped against your chest with a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your phone.

A notification.

And, judging by the guilty look on your face, Lando already knew.

He lifted his head, narrowing his eyes, lips glistening and smug as he looked at you.

“Is that another Tumblr update?”

Your entire body burned.

You grabbed a pillow, smacking him in the face before scrambling off the couch.

“I hate you.”

Lando just laughed, completely unbothered, his arms snaking around your waist before you could escape.

“No, you don’t.”

And, to your absolute horror, he reached for your phone, grinning devilishly as he scrolled through your notifications.

“Oh, love—look at that. Another comment asking for a spicy update. Should I help you with some inspiration?”

You shrieked, grabbing your phone back, shoving him playfully away as he just grinned at you like a menace.

And even as you glared at him, breath still uneven, body still buzzing, you knew one thing for certain—

You’d never, ever run out of things to write about.

Lando was still grinning, still so smug, still looking at you like he had all the time in the world to ruin you completely.

And, god, you wanted to let him.

You shoved your phone under a pillow, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the worst.”

Lando tilted his head, eyes dragging over you, from your flushed cheeks to your hoodie, which was still bunched upfrom where his hands had been.

And then—he smirked. The smirk. The one that made you weak every single time.

“Am I?” He took one slow step forward.

Your breath hitched.

“You sure about that?” Another step.

You should back up.

You should run.

But you didn’t.

Lando just watched you, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “Because I think, sweetheart, you actually like it.”

Your entire body felt like it was on fire.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already there, closing the space between you, his hands gripping your hips, tugging you against him.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You couldn’t.

Because he wasn’t.

You were absolutely, completely, utterly gone for him.

Lando chuckled, pressing a slow, teasing kiss just below your ear, his fingers tugging at the hem of your hoodie.

“Take this off.”

You froze, your heart slamming into your ribs.

He must’ve felt your hesitation because he pulled back slightly, eyes softer now, searching yours.

“Only if you want to, baby.”

Baby.

You nearly melted right there.

You swallowed, gripping his hoodie instead, tugging him closer. “I want to.”

Lando exhaled slowly, like he was holding himself back, his hands sliding up beneath the fabric, his fingers tracing fire along your skin.

“Then let me.”

He tugged it over your head in one smooth motion, and then—

His eyes.

Dark. Hungry. Completely locked onto you.

“Fuck.”

Your stomach tightened, heat rushing through you because he wasn’t just looking—he was memorizing you.

Like you were something he never wanted to forget.

And then, he was on you again, his hands gripping your waist, his lips crashing against yours, deeper, more desperate.

Like he was making up for lost time.

You barely registered being backed up against the couch before Lando’s hands were everywhere, sliding down your thighs, your hips, his fingers pressing, teasing, taking his time.

Your breath hitched as his lips trailed lower, down your jaw, your collarbone, the slope of your shoulder.

“Lando.”

He groaned against your skin. “Say it again.”

You did. Over and over again.

And when he finally pulled back, his lips swollen, his curls a mess, his hands still gripping your thighs like he couldn’t bear to let go—

He grinned, panting, eyes still blown wide with heat.

“Gonna write about that, too?”

You laughed, smacking his chest before pulling him back in.

Because, yeah—maybe you would.

But for now?

You had way better things to do.

Lando was everywhere.

His hands, his lips, his body pressed against yours, like he was claiming you, like he was making sure you’d never think about anyone else the way you thought about him.

Like he was making up for every single fic you’d ever written about him— and proving he could be so much better.

His breath was hot against your skin, his hands slipping under the waistband of your shorts, fingers trailing lower, lower—

“Lando—”

He groaned, the sound gravelly, desperate, like he was just as wrecked as you were.

“Say my name like that again, and I swear—” His voice was low, dark, full of something that made your knees weak.

You trembled, clutching at his hoodie. “Lando.”

He growled. Actually growled.

And then—

Your back hit the couch, your legs parted, and he was above you, between you, everywhere.

His mouth was on your neck, your collarbone, your chest, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding them higher around his waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His breath was ragged, his hands tight on you, like he was barely holding it together.

You felt feverish, your skin burning, your pulse racing, your entire body aching for more.

His lips brushed your ear, voice wrecked.

“Tell me what you want.”

You whimpered, arching into him. “You.”

Lando exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping to yours. “Yeah? You want me to ruin you, baby?”

“Yes.”

His lips curved into a smirk.

And then—

He did.

Lando's eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips as he pressed firmly against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this—wanted you.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw, down your throat,leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his curls, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin. God, that sound.

His hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, spreading you open beneath him. His touch was teasing, torturous, deliberate.

"Lando—"

He smirked, because he knew. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Patience, love.”

Patience? Fuck patience.

You arched up into him, pressing your body flush against his, and his breath hitched, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Needy little thing, aren't you?" he teased, but his voice was hoarse, like he was barely holding himself together.

"Shut up and touch me."

He chuckled, low and dangerous. "You want me to touch you, sweetheart?"

"Yes."

"Where?" His fingers skimmed the edge of your shorts, barely there, taunting.

"Everywhere."

Lando swore under his breath, his control snapping like a frayed wire.

And then he was kissing you again—deep, desperate, all-consuming.

His hands slid under your hoodie, tugging it over your head, his lips barely leaving yours for a second before they were back, claiming, devouring.

He pressed his hips into yours, and the friction made your head spin.

"Feel that?" he breathed against your lips. "That’s what you do to me."

You whimpered, your nails raking down his back, pulling him closer, needing more.

"Lando, please—"

He groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. "Jesus, you're gonna be the death of me."

And then—

His hands. His mouth. His body against yours.

And nothing else in the world mattered.

Lando’s lips were still pressed to your neck, the heat of his breath making your skin burn. You could feel the weight of him above you, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath, his body just inches from yours, and the way his hands moved gently, almost hesitantly, as if asking for permission to get closer.

You didn’t stop him.

His fingertips grazed along your skin, light and teasing, before finally, slowly, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You shivered, gasping as his touch lingered, so close but not quite touching what you needed.

His lips moved back to your ear, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me you want this," he whispered, the words laced with so much desire that it sent a wave of heat through your body. "Tell me you want me as much as I want you."

You swallowed, fighting the urge to pull him closer, but you couldn’t find the words at first. The tension was thick, hanging between you like a promise waiting to be broken.

Finally, you could barely breathe as you whispered back, voice barely audible. "I want you."

And that was all it took.

Lando’s lips crashed down on yours, desperate now, like he couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands pulled at your pants, quickly, almost too quickly, and in a rush of movement, you were completely exposed to him, the cool air of the room hitting your skin as his body pressed you into the sheets.

He hovered over you for a moment, pausing, his eyes locking with yours. "Are you sure?" His voice was rough, like he was barely holding onto his control.

You could barely speak, but you nodded, reaching for him, pulling him in, desperate to close the distance between you two.

"Then let’s not waste any more time."

And then, there was no stopping him.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Lando’s chest vibrated with laughter, and you could feel it everywhere—his warmth pressed against you, the rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek.

You huffed dramatically. “I’m deleting my blog.”

Lando gasped, mock-offended. “You’d do that to all your fans? To all the people who live for your thirst posts about me? That’s cruel, love.”

You groaned, trying to shove his grinning face away, but he only held you tighter, rolling you onto your back so he could hover over you again.

His curls were a mess, his lips kiss-swollen, and the way he was looking at you—like you were his favorite thing in the world—made your breath hitch.

“You really read all of them?” you murmured, your fingers tracing absentminded circles on his bicep.

Lando smirked, but this time, it was softer. “Course I did. Had to know what I was up against.”

You frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

He let out a small breath, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You write about me like I’m some kind of dream, you know? Like I’m untouchable. But I’ve been right here, loving you the whole time.”

Your��heart stopped.

Lando had always been flirty, always been the one to push your buttons, but this? This was different.

This was real.

Your fingers tightened around his arm, your voice barely above a whisper. “Lando…”

He smiled, leaning down, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I mean it, love. You’re not just some girl writing about me on the internet. You’re my girl.”

Something in your chest cracked open, something tender and terrifying all at once.

You reached up, pulling him down, your lips meeting his with more emotion than you could put into words.

Lando sighed into you, his hands sliding down your waist, his body pressing closer, deeper, warmer.

And suddenly, your blog posts didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

Because Lando Norris was the kind of man to ruin you in the best possible way— and put you back together all over again.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻ ⸻

You were wrapped up in his hoodie, sitting on the couch, laptop balanced on your legs, as you stared at your dashboard.

Lando walked in, fresh out of the shower, a towel slung over his shoulders, hair still damp.

“Oh no.” His voice was teasing, amused. “Are you writing about me again?”

You glared playfully, closing the screen. “Absolutely not.”

He grinned, plopping down next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“What if I wanna read the next chapter?” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder.

You shivered, tilting your head slightly. “What if I just live it instead?”

Lando hummed, satisfied, his fingers curling into your hoodie, pulling you closer.

“Best story I’ve ever been a part of, love.”

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

661 notes · View notes

puck-luck · 1 month ago

Note

aaa hi andy!! i'd like to order a mocha with cinnamon, peppermint and whipped cream for luke hughes 🤭 (praise kink + switch!bf!luke)

sweet lu ik a few words will undo you... you'd be shocked to see the things we write about you on tumblr dot com...

“Babe, you’re a genius,” Luke slurs. He flicks his tongue over your entrance and moans. “You’re so fucking smart.”

You pull off his cock and lick your lips, clearing your throat. “Your mouth is on my cunt and you’re complimenting my brain?”

Luke makes a soft noise, dragging the flat of his tongue from your clit to your hole. He nuzzles himself into your heat. His arms are wound around your thighs, hands gripping your ass cheeks tighter as he spreads your cheeks, trying to gain better access to your folds. All he succeeds in doing is smearing your lower lips with the lip of his tongue.

“You’re not listening, huh,” you wonder. You circle your fist around Luke’s cock and stroke him from base to tip. You spit a wad of saliva onto his tip, thumbing over it and wetting his member as best you can so that your hand glides more smoothly.

“Mm-mm,” Luke agrees. He shifts so that his thumbs can hook on your folds and pull them apart, then he licks into your hole. “Eating right now, sweetie. Busy.”

“You wanna know to really get under my skin, Lu?” you ask.

“By sucking your clit until you can’t hover over my face anymore?” Luke replies. He tightens his grasp on your thighs and pulls you back, smothering himself. “I wanna die here.”

You look up at the ceiling and bite the inside of your cheek, showing slight exasperation. You twist your hold as you jerk him off, rubbing his slit over the inside of your bottom lip. “Gonna give you some examples of what you should say to a girl when you’re eating her out like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“Go for it,” Luke replies absentmindedly. He nods in little movements, his tongue working in and out of you as he does.

You suck his tip into your mouth harshly, feeling the vibration of Luke’s stuttered moan against your cunt. “I love your cock, Lukey. It’s amazing, the way it fills me up and hits all the right spots.” You kitten-lick his slit before speaking again, swallowing the precum that escaped him. “I could spend all day worshipping your body. Every inch of you is sexy as hell– these thighs, these abs, your chest, your mouth.” You scratch your nails over his quads, then run your fingers through the downy hair decorating his inner thighs.

Luke shivers and his muscles tense. “Mm, keep talking,” he says.

“You’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. The best lay,” you tease, spitting down his member again. “The way you touch me and please me and fuck me, Lu, it’s magic.” You kiss the vein on the side of his cock. “You’re magic.”

“You’re magic,” Luke parrots back in a strangled voice. He removes a hand from your ass and pushes his middle finger into your hole. His tongue darts over your clit. “Taste so good, talk so good.”

You grin and strip his cock quickly, feeling his abs jump underneath you. “The things you do to me, the way you make me feel,” you continue. You lick Luke’s shaft and fit your mouth around him, dropping as low as you can. Your chin brushes the hair at his base and your nose nears his balls, then you pull off, leaving a line of spit to connect you. It vanishes as you start to jerk him again, his cock twitching in your hand. “I’m putty in your hands, Lu. Completely owned by you.”

He chokes on a moan and milky white cum spurts from his cock, landing in stripes over your lips and tongue. The salty taste bursts over your tastebuds and Luke buries his face in your cunt, tongue working overtime to try and bring you to that same point.

#1 year of puck-luck!#andy writes anything🍄#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes smut #luke hughes blurb #lh blurb #lh43

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prettycalla · 17 days ago

Text

|| when i run ||

Pairing: Michael/Reader

Summary: Michael can't help his jealousy at the thought of you with someone else, even though he's convinced you have no interest in him. How wrong he is.

Word count: 7.3k

Tags and warnings: Angst with a happy ending, smut (unprotected PiV - it's fiction, please be safe IRL), jealousy, brief mentions of smoking and alcohol, unrequited love (but not really), love confessions, Michael's POV, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

(For the three people who read my bin man fics, I present to you...whatever this is. It was supposed to be 2k at most, and well, here we are. Feel like I'm really baring my soul on tumblr dot com with this one. Title is from Soft Universe by AURORA - it's a Michael song, trust me on this.)

Michael Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

Tick, tick, tick.

It's just gone eight o'clock. Michael's standing in the kitchen, clearing up the dishes. He's on the verge of taking the clock off the kitchen wall and chucking it in the bin, if he's quite honest.

It's not the clock that's bothering him. Not really.

It's you.

You'd said you were going out tonight. To meet a few friends you hadn't seen in a while.

"Just a couple at the local, nothing crazy or anything," you'd told him while you were having dinner on the settee.

You'd asked if he wanted to come with you.

He'd almost choked on his mouthful of pasta then, trying to get the word no out before he could stop himself.

"Nah, s'alright," he'd said, eyes watering. "I'm wiped from work, I wouldn't be any fun."

"Well, I always think you're fun," you'd told him, in that casual way of yours that always left him feeling as if he'd been hung out to dry.

You'd headed for your room soon after to get ready, and now here he is, bent over the sink and scrubbing the plate in his hand so hard, he's on the verge of taking the bloody pattern off it.

She was just being nice, he thinks to himself for the hundredth time.

You're a sweet girl, of course you wouldn't want him sitting on his own on a Friday night.

Still, he can't help himself from wanting there to be more to it than that. The plate starts to creak in his grip.

You don't take as long as you normally do to get ready, and he's grateful for that. He needs you out of the flat, and soon.

He hears you before he sees you - those ridiculous shoes you always wore going out were a dead giveaway. He busies himself with the drying, opening the cupboard door closest to his head and stacking the plates up inside. He tries to take as long as he can, but it's not exactly a hard job, and he knows he has to face you at some point.

He closes the cupboard to find you standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Fuck," he hisses under his breath.

He can see you trying to bite back the smile threatening to spread across your face.

"Sorry," you say, clearly not very sorry at all. "Did I scare you?"

"Uh, yeah," he forces himself to reply, a little too slow on the uptake.

He's lying. You hadn't scared him at all. He just hadn't expected you to be dressed like that.

Normally you don't make too much of a fuss over your appearance, especially when you're just sitting around the flat. Didn’t make sense to waste time if you weren’t going anywhere, you’d say. Michael’s secretly grateful for it, because honestly you’re getting hard enough to live with as it is.

But now…Christ. He’s got half a mind to tell you to cover yourself up, purely for the sake of his own sanity.

He's staring. He knows he's staring.

“Um, Michael?” you ask, not quite meeting his eye.

And now you've clearly caught him at it. He tries to snap himself out of it.

“Yeah?” he asks, too quickly.

He clears his throat.

"What's up?" he tries again.

It's not much better.

“I was wondering if you could, um…” you start to say, a little awkwardly.

Michael's hanging on to your every word. He hates himself for it.

A breath of a laugh escapes you as you turn around.

“Tell me honestly, is this too short?” you ask, your hands self-consciously pulling at the hem of your skirt.

He's never needed a cigarette more in his life than he does right now. You're gonna be the fucking death of him, you really are.

He lets his eyes flick down once and back up, barely looking. He can't trust himself.

“Nah, s’fine,” he says, forcing his voice to sound flat.

He hopes to God he sounds disinterested.

“Oh…okay. Great,” you reply. “Thanks.”

You sound a little off, but maybe that’s what he wants to think. He wants you to be upset that he didn’t try and take advantage of the situation, and Christ, he feels like a dickhead for even thinking that.

You look as though you're about to say something, when a car horn sounds from outside, startling you both.

"Oh, cab's here," you say, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me, okay?"

You lean in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before you turn to leave, and it takes everything in Michael to stop himself from grabbing you and pulling you into his arms. He can smell your perfume, the one he'd bought you for your birthday last year, after your prick of an ex hadn't bothered his ass.

His heart hurts.

“Yeah, ‘course. You have fun, yeah?” he calls after you.

He’s trying so hard to sound like a friend, and not like a man who’s hopelessly in love with the girl he shares a flat with.

He knows he's failing big time.

You wave at him with a smile before you go. It’s only when the door closes behind you that Michael finally lets himself relax, slumping against the kitchen counter with his head in his hands.

“This is so fuckin' stupid,” he mutters to himself, letting out a long, tired sigh.

He never meant for this to happen. He's so angry with himself.

You'd only known each other a little under a year, but it had felt like forever. He'd met you through a friend of a friend, while he was between houses. He hadn't exactly been sold on the idea of moving in with a stranger, but beggars can't be choosers, right? He needed somewhere to go, and a bed was a bed. He thought it'd be a temporary thing; with the two of you working different hours and that, he figured you'd be like passing ships in the night.

But then you were you. You'd leave him something to eat in the fridge before he left for work in the mornings. You'd do his washing for him the odd time when it'd completely slipped his mind.

It wasn't fair. Why'd you have to be so nice?

All he had to do was find a place to live and not fall for the person he was living with. Easy, right?

"Can't fuckin' do anything right, can I?" he says to the empty room.

He tries to push you to the back of his mind for the rest of the night. Really, he does.

He manages to last the best part of an hour before his leg starts shaking.

It wouldn't be weird if he went, would it? You'd invited him. Yeah, but you were clearly just being nice. And showing up now would look weird. Why didn't he go with you? He's gonna stick out like a sore thumb if he shows up by himself. He should go. Nah, what's the point?

He sits like this for longer than he'd like to admit, one thought after another after another wearing him down.

Tick, tick, tick.

The little clock on the mantlepiece feels like it's mocking him.

You're running out of time, is what it sounds like it's saying.

He's about ready to toss every fucking clock in the flat out at this point.

With a heavy sigh, he gets up. He's antsy and he hates it, like his skin's crawling with agitation. He pulls his jacket from the back of the settee and throws it on, heading for the door.

He doesn't know where he's going, but he knows he can't stay here all night. He already feels like he's losing the bloody plot after an hour.

A walk wouldn't do him any harm. It'll take his mind off things for a bit. Would probably do him the world of good right now.

He hasn't been paying attention to where he's been going, and it eventually hits him that he's heading in the direction of the pub. He thinks about turning around and heading back, but he's here now. Might as well go the whole way.

As usual, the place is packed for a Saturday night. Mostly students trying to shake off the stress of exams for the weekend by drinking themselves stupid. A hen do is in full swing near the back, and some of the girls are already looking a bit worse for wear before they've even really started.

Michael cranes his neck, looking for you over the crowd in front of him. He recognises one of your friends sat in one of the booths, so you must be-

And then he spots you. Standing at the bar with some bastard's arm around you. You're laughing, cheeks already a little flushed.

He feels his stomach drop as his jaw clenches. He makes himself leave before he ends up doing something that'll get him lifted. The last thing he needs is to spend a night in a cell.

God, he feels so stupid. He knew you had no interest in him, knew he was barking up the wrong tree, but why does it still feel like you were leading him on? Like you're cheating on him? Like he'd convinced himself that just maybe there might be a chance you two could-

He's a fucking idiot. He should've known better. Of course you were just being nice to him. There was nothing there between the two of you. And there never would be.

He's home before he realises, and it takes every last bit of willpower he has not to slam the front door and let the panes of glass smash in the aftermath.

He goes into the kitchen, pulling a beer from the fridge and knocking most of it back without even thinking about what he's doing. He needs to take the edge off, before he does something he'll regret. He promised himself he wouldn't put his fist through any more walls, and he's kept that promise the entire time he's been here.

He forces himself into the living room, hoping the alcohol will take the edge off. But it's just him and his thoughts.

And that fucking clock.

He tries to breathe, to calm himself, but all he can think about is you.

You, smiling like that with some dickhead's arm around you.

It should have been him. It should be him.

He sits there for God knows how long, seething. Deep down, he knows he's in the wrong, but he's just so angry.

Are you gonna make him wait up all night for you? Or are you gonna go home with your new boy?

He knows he shouldn't, but he keeps thinking. Pictures you, falling into bed with some stranger, his hands all over you like you're a piece of fucking meat.

He shuts his eyes tight, gritting his teeth.

It's a while before the front door finally creaks open. You're trying to be quiet, he can tell; even when he hears your shoes clatter to the ground as you take them off, one soft thump, then another.

He hopes you'll just go to bed. He can't be around you right now.

“I didn’t think you’d still be up,” comes your soft voice from the doorway.

He can’t have anything go his way, can he?

“Yeah, well. Couldn’t sleep,” he replies, unable to keep the bite out of his tone.

“Did you stay up because of me?” you ask worriedly. “Oh, Michael, I’m sorry. I know I said it wouldn’t get messy, but…”

You trail off. He laughs at that, too loud in the quiet room.

“Always does get messy, doesn’t it?” he says, picking at the label of the beer bottle in his hand.

You laugh softly, completely unaware of what he's getting at.

“Missed you tonight,” you say shyly.

He hears you hum under your breath, the little one you make sometimes when you smile at him.

God, he wants to scream.

He turns to finally look at you. There it is, that little smile he knew would be waiting for him. Another fucking kick to the stomach.

“Yeah?” he asks, and then it’s all falling out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Because I sure as hell didn’t miss you.”

You laugh awkwardly, clearly caught off-guard.

“What? Michael-"

“Save it, yeah?” he says, cutting you off as he stands up. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

He tries to move past you, but you stand firm in the doorway, glaring at him.

“No,” you reply resolutely, digging your fingers into the doorframe. “You’re gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you.”

Michael laughs, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

“Nah, there’s nothin’ goin’ on with me, sweetheart,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Never is, is there?”

You let go of the doorframe, pressing your hands against his chest. He makes the mistake of meeting your gaze. Your eyes are watering.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Michael,” you say softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t even know what you’re apologising for. Somehow that just makes him angrier.

"Just don't, alright? Let me out," he says, trying desperately not to think about the warmth radiating from your hands through his shirt.

You shake your head. "No. I'm not moving until you talk to me," you reply, your voice small but firm.

Michael feels as if he's on the verge of tears himself. He can't do this. He needs out of here. He just wants to run. Keep running and never look back.

"Michael, please," you whisper in a trembling voice.

Something in him is about to snap.

“I did go down to the pub earlier,” he says through clenched teeth. “Saw you standing with some bloke at the bar. Didn’t realise you were that kinda bird, but who am I to judge, ey?”

You frown at him in confusion.

"Where the fuck is this coming from?" you snap at him.

"Let me out," Michael insists, taking your wrists in his hands to move you away from him.

You pull yourself free and shove him back in your anger. He's caught off-guard and he stumbles, falling into the armchair behind him. He looks up at you as you stand over him, your expression furious.

"How dare you," you say, your voice shaking for an entirely different reason now. "What gives you the right to talk to me like that?"

Michael doesn't move. He's took it too far, he knows he has.

"You have no right, no right at all, to talk to me like you own me," you continue, hands shaking with temper. "Not that it's any of your fucking business, but that "bloke" you saw me with? That was my cousin. Now unless you want to start accusing me of something else, I want an apology."

Well. He's only gone and royally fucked everything up now, hasn't he?

"Look-" he starts, but you look as though you're about ready to murder him, and he thinks better of it.

"Last I checked, there's no fucking ring on this finger," you tell him, holding your hand up. "Not that I'd let you speak to me like that even if we were married. We're friends, Michael, or at least I thought we were."

Michael doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He's never seen you this angry before. He just stares at you.

You put your hands on your hips, refusing to back down.

"You'd better explain yourself, or I swear to God, you can sleep on the street tonight," you say lowly.

He knows you mean it. He lets his legs drop from the arm of the chair, managing to get to his feet to stand in front of you. You don't move an inch, still glaring at him expectantly.

"I'm...I'm sorry," he says softly. "Really, I am. I-"

He reaches out to you, but then thinks better of it, letting his arms fall back to his sides with a sigh.

"I was- When I saw you, I got angry," he admits, unable to look you in the eye.

"Angry?" you repeat. "What are you talking about?"

Michael gestures vaguely. "When I saw you and your-"

He sighs, realising how stupid he sounds.

"Your cousin," he finishes weakly.

He looks up at you then. Your expression has softened a little; instead of anger, it's mostly confusion.

"Why were you angry?" you ask.

"Because I- Isn't it fuckin' obvious?" he asks, wincing as his temper gets the better of him again.

"Is what obvious?" you shoot back in frustration. "You keep saying things like I should just know what they mean!"

Michael's about to ask you if you're really that thick, when he thinks better of it. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth instead.

But then you push him too far.

"Why were you angry?" you insist.

"Are you joking?" he asks in disbelief.

"Does it fucking look like I'm joking?!" you ask, temper flaring right back up again. "I don't get you, Michael! I get one night to do something fun this week, one night, and then I have to come home to this! I should be asleep right now, and yet here I am, having this fucking argument with you!"

Michael presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in frustration.

"I was jealous!" he snaps through clenched teeth. "Alright? Are you happy now?"

"Jealous of what?" you persist. "What the fuck do you have to be jealous of?"

"When I saw you- I just- I wanted to be the one to-"

He can't get his words right. He sounds like an idiot. He knows he does.

"Whenever you dumped your ex, I thought maybe I had a chance to- But I didn't. I knew you needed a friend, so that's what I was. It near killed me to help you pick up the pieces after him."

“So, what?" you ask exasperatedly. "You were being nice in the hopes of sleeping with me? Is that it?”

“Don’t you dare,” Michael says, his tone low and dangerous. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

“Then what, Michael?!” you scream at him.

“Because I love you, alright?!” he shouts back.

Your eyes widen, and he keeps going before you can stop him.

Before he can stop himself.

“I love you,” he says again, his voice a little softer now. “I’ve loved you from near the day and hour I moved in here. You’re the nicest, kindest, most beautiful girl I've ever met. You drive me crazy, and I can’t keep pretendin’ like you don��t, alright?!”

You could hear a pin drop in the sudden silence that's fallen over the room. Michael's chest is heaving like he's run a fucking marathon.

You both stand there, just staring at each other.

Tick, tick, tick.

He's not sure which one of you moved first, but suddenly you're in his arms, your mouths crashing together. He's never wanted anything more in his life, and now he has it-

Your hands are in his hair, sliding down his back, tugging at his jacket like you're gonna die if you don't get his clothes off. Michael does his best to wriggle out of his coat without letting go of you, one arm, then the other, until it hits the ground. He vaguely hears his baccy tin fall out with a clatter, but right now, he couldn't give a shit about it. His arms are tight around your waist, and you moan into his mouth when he squeezes you closer.

Michael feels like his brain's short-circuiting. He's gotta be careful. He's wanted this for so long, thought about it enough times that he needs to go to fucking confession for it, and the way you're pushing yourself against him, he's afraid he's gonna go off like a firework if he's not careful.

He's not letting that happen. He can't ruin this.

He needs you. Needs to have you. Needs to feel you.

He manages to pull away from you, your foreheads pressed together as you both try to catch your breath.

"Bed?" he whispers in a shaky voice.

You immediately shake your head.

"No. Can't," you reply, so close he can feel your words against his lips. "Need you now."

Michael's pretty sure he's hit his head and is lying unconscious somewhere, because there is no way that you, sweet girl that you are, are looking at him right now like you want to eat him alive.

He swallows thickly, suddenly aware of how dry his throat is.

You smile up at him, placing your hands on his chest and giving him another shove, lighter than the first one, until he's falling back into the armchair.

He looks up at you, wide-eyed. He knows he must look a fucking mess right now, hair falling across his forehead from where you'd dragged your hands through it, shirt half-untucked and so hard in his jeans that it fucking hurts.

Before he can even think to say anything, you're climbing into his lap, your thighs pressing against his hips. It's a tight squeeze, with the size of the chair and all, but he couldn't give a fuck. If anything, it's not tight enough.

You're an honest-to-God vision as you are right now, eyes half-lidded as you look down at him, a smile pulling at your lips and your cheeks flushed. He's never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

You shift, pressing yourself down further into his lap, and he can't help the strangled moan that escapes him. His gaze dips down, and his mouth drops open. That fucking skirt, bane of his existence, has ridden most of the way up your thighs, and he can see your underwear.

You gently slap his chest and he jumps, looking up at you.

"Hey," you call softly, pretending to tell him off. "My eyes are up here."

Michael keeps his eyes on yours, but he can't stop his hands from wandering, dragging them across the length of your legs. His fingertips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and your breath hitches. He hesitates, still watching you.

Asking for permission.

"Don't you dare stop," you tell him.

"Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'," he replies, and before you can say anything else, he's pressing two of his fingers against the fabric of your underwear.

His eyes widen when he feels the wet patch forming there.

"Fuck," he hisses, his other hand sliding up to grip your hip.

"Shut up," you gripe, but there's no real bite to it. "As if you're any better right now."

To prove your point, you drag your hand down his chest, to where he's clearly straining against his jeans. He jolts against your hand, and a breathless giggle escapes you.

"Think you're fuckin' funny, do you?" he mutters through clenched teeth.

His hand leaves your hip, reaching up to the back of your neck. He presses you down close to him, pulling you in for another bruising kiss.

You let out a gasp, and he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands are on either side of his face, cradling his jaw, fingers brushing against his stubble as you kiss him back.

Before he can second-guess himself, he's pushing your underwear out of the way, pressing his fingers against your skin. You let out a downright sinful moan, a full-body shiver running through you.

Michael can't help the laugh that escapes him. He nips your lower lip as he pulls away.

"Christ, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low rumble as he watches you, "You're fuckin' soaked."

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

"D'you know, I think this is the quietest you've ever been," he says. "Is this all you needed?"

You look like you're about to try and argue with him, but a little moan falls from your lips instead, and that only spurs him on, his fingers still moving back and forth against you.

"Always thought you were the sweetest little thing, you know that?" he asks, a sly smile on his face. "But now? You're fuckin' filthy, darlin'."

He has no idea where this confidence is coming from, but he doesn't care. He'll do anything to keep you looking at him like that.

"Michael-" you manage to gasp out.

He doesn't let up, not for a second.

"Yeah?" he asks. "What is it?"

You shake your head, strands of hair falling loose across your face.

"C'mon, sweetheart, tell me," he insists softly. "Use your words."

He presses his fingers up into you just as he says that, and you just about manage to hold in a stifled sob.

"What's the matter?" he asks, tone patronising. "I thought you wanted to tell me something."

You manage to pull yourself back together just enough to glare at him.

"F-Fuck off," you stammer, your voice high and ragged.

God, if you aren't the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen in his life.

"You want me to stop?" he asks.

He slowly starts to pull away, and your hands are scrabbling to grab his wrist.

"Don't you fucking dare," you snarl at him.

"That's what I thought," he says, pushing right back in.

You lurch forward, planting your hands hard against his shoulders. Michael can't help the grin spreading across his face at the absolute state of you already.

"This- This isn't fair," you sigh, digging your nails into the fabric of his shirt.

"What isn't fair, love?" he asks, not at all missing how you're grinding down on his fingers.

He's hardly doing anything at this point. You're just using him to chase your own release. He can't say he minds at all.

Your fingers run down his shirt, awkwardly undoing the buttons as you go. Your hands are unsteady and you struggle with the last few.

"Oi," he laughs, as you yank the fabric out of the way.

You don't bother answering him, leaning in to kiss his collarbone. A gasp escapes him, as your teeth graze the sensitive skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, before he feels you suck what he knows will be a bruise tomorrow.

He feels your hands pulling at the button of his jeans, fumbling with the zipper. Your hand's slipping into his boxers, and he suddenly arches up into your touch, almost knocking you out of his lap altogether. He manages to steady you, even if he feels like the wind's been knocked out of him.

"You can give it, but you can't take it, huh," you say with a shaky laugh, as your hand drags up and down the length of his cock.

It's an awkward angle, and Michael's still trapped in his fucking jeans, but God, it feels better than anything he's ever had.

Because it's you.

"If you're gonna do it, do it properly, yeah?" Michael bites back, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, and your eyes widen as you watch him put them in his mouth. His tongue drags over them slowly, licking them clean, his eyes on you the entire time.

You look like you want to say something, but nothing's coming out of that pretty mouth.

"Just cleanin' up your mess," Michael murmurs, trailing his still wet fingers down your thighs.

You breathe out an irritated sigh, grabbing the waistband of Michael's jeans and tugging them down as best you can. He does his best to help, lifting himself up as he holds you steady.

He thinks about suggesting going to bed again, but the look on your face immediately shuts him up before he even opens his mouth.

You plant one hand against the centre of his chest, fingers splayed to hold yourself upright, as your other hand wraps around his cock to line yourself up.

And then you're sinking down on him, and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach. You take him so easily, and he's never felt anything like it. No one he's been with before could ever hold a candle to you.

He already knows he's not gonna last long. His hands slide up your hips, giving them a quick squeeze, before running higher, up along your waist, stopping just at your ribcage. He's almost hesitant, as if he's not fucking inside you right now.

You must notice, because you place your hands over his, pressing them hard to your breasts. A long sigh falls from your lips, and that's it, he can't take any more of this. He thinks he's given you more than enough time to get comfortable.

His hands slide around to your shoulders, pushing you back down to him. His hips move then, and the noise you make-

He thinks it might be the prettiest thing he's ever heard.

It doesn't take long before he's losing his cool - or what little he had to begin with. His pace is rough and unsteady as he thrusts up into you. You give as good as he does, pushing yourself down onto him, again and again.

Michael takes your chin in his hand, eyes never leaving your face. He wants to remember this, all of it, how fucking beautiful you look right now.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmurs lowly, "You're doin' so good. So good for me."

A whimper escapes you at his words, and Christ, he's such a goner for you.

"Michael-" you manage to stutter out, never once letting up against him.

Your eyes are glazed over, eyebrows knit together as you chase your own release. Michael's not far behind you, he knows he's not.

"Yeah?" he asks. "You gettin' close?"

You nod frantically, and he lets go of your face to slide his hand back down between your thighs. You bite back a scream as his fingers rub circles against you.

"Come on, darlin', that's it," he says, pressing a kiss to your mouth, "Let go for me, yeah?"

Your head drops down to his chest, your breath hot as you pant against him. He can feel you getting close, you're squeezing him so tight.

You try to stammer something, but you're too far gone for words anymore.

You don't need to say anything. He gets the message, loud and clear.

"That's it, cum for me, darlin'," he whispers, his own voice wrecked now too, "Good girl."

You don't last much longer than that. With a sob, you fall over the edge, and Michael's really not all that far behind you. You're practically slumped against him, letting him use you to get himself off. You press sloppy kisses along his neck as he fucks into you, his pace completely erratic.

"Come on, Michael," you murmur in his ear, "Don't keep me waiting, I wanna feel you."

You squeeze him again, and fuck, he's done for, following you over that same edge. He holds you close to him, fingers digging into your skin, before he finally collapses, his chest heaving.

Both of you stay like that for a while, trying desperately to catch your breath. You're the first to recover, slowly sitting up. Michael watches you as you push your messy hair out of your face, and he can't help but smile.

"What?" you ask, and you suddenly look so shy.

He shakes his head. "Nothin'," he replies. "You're just really pretty."

You bite your lip, not quite able to look at him.

"You won't be saying that in a minute," you say. "I need to get up. My legs are dead."

Michael can't help it, he bursts out laughing. You lightly slap his chest.

"It's not funny, Michael," you scold. "And actually, since it's your fault, you're gonna help me."

"Suppose it's the least I can do," he says teasingly. "Come on, up you get."

He takes your hands in his, holding you steady as you lift yourself up. He hisses through his teeth as the sudden air hits his skin. He doesn't miss the tiny whimper that escapes you at the same time.

You manage to stumble to your feet, and his eyes immediately spot the mess dripping down your thighs. You tug at your lower lip with your teeth, not quite able to meet his gaze.

He rights himself, pulling his jeans back up before standing. You're suddenly so shy around each other now, and he laughs again.

"You better not be laughing at me," you say, prodding at his arm, but you're smiling too.

"Nah, wouldn't dream of it," he says sincerely. "It's just..."

He makes a vague gesture with his hand between the two of you.

"State of us, after what we just did, and now we can't even look at each other."

Your smile widens.

"It is a bit stupid, isn't it?" you agree.

You both fall silent again, but it feels a little more comfortable now.

"I should go get cleaned up," you say.

"I'll come with," he replies. "Since it's my fault and all."

You make your way to the bathroom, Michael not far behind you. You perch awkwardly on the edge of the bathtub, your legs pressed together. Michael finds a clean towel, running the water in the sink for a minute until it's warm enough. He turns back to you, dropping to his knees at your feet. He gently taps your knee, and you shyly open your legs, just enough to give him room.

"Thanks, darlin'," he murmurs, running the damp towel along the insides of your thighs.

It's weird how this feels so much more intimate than-

Heat prickles at the back of his neck.

"There," he sighs, more to himself.

He stands up, tossing the towel in the hamper by the door. Now that his hands are empty, he doesn't know what to do with them.

"Right, I'll, uh, I'll leave you to it, yeah?" he says awkwardly.

He could kick himself, he really could. He's never been good at this.

You reach out to take his hand in yours.

"Where do you think you're going?" you ask.

"Well, I thought-" he starts, before trailing off. "You know, you'd wanna get changed and that, so-"

"Oh, so fuck me senseless and then just leave me?" you ask, but you're smiling. "Aren't you a charmer."

Michael's eyes widen. You're just full of surprises, you really are.

You roll your eyes at him as you stand up, gently tugging him with you into your bedroom.

"D'you...D'you want me to stay?" he asks softly, as if it isn't obvious.

You sit down on your bed, pulling him down with you.

"Yes, I want you to," you tell him. "I really do."

"Yeah...Alright," he says quietly.

He sits there for a while, not sure what to do with himself. He can feel you looking at him, but he's scared to look back. Part of him still thinks he's dreaming all of this, and he's gonna wake up any minute in his own bed, alone.

Your voice cuts through the silence.

"I really like you, you know that?"

Michael doesn't say anything, doesn't dare open his mouth right now.

"When I dumped my ex, I didn't know what I was gonna do with myself. I mean, he was a dick, but the thought of being on my own again? That was terrifying."

He feels you shift on the bed next to him. He forces himself to look at you. You're watching him so intently, and it hurts.

"But there you were. You were so kind and patient and- You were everything I needed then. You could've took advantage of the state I was in. Christ, I'd have let you," you say with a nervous laugh. "But you didn't. You just stayed by my side, through all of it. Even when I was being a complete mare."

Michael huffs a laugh at that.

"You didn't have to. You could've just left me to it. But you didn't. And I guess-"

You falter, a shaky sigh escaping you as your eyes water.

"I guess I knew then. What I know now."

Michael holds his breath.

You don't mean...do you?

"I love you, Michael," you whisper, tears finally rolling down your cheeks. "I really, really do."

Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, and you meet him without an ounce of resistance in you. It's different now - that urgency's still there, but it's changed.

He never wants to let you go.

You fit perfectly against him. Like you were made for him.

It reminds him of that very first time. You'd been in the hallway, talking to your boyfriend on the phone. He'd tried not to listen, really he had, but the door was open, and your voice kept getting louder and louder. Then he'd heard you slamming the phone down on the table, and the bang of your bedroom door.

He'd waited a few minutes before going to check on you. You were sitting on your bed, in tears, with your face buried in your hands.

"What's happened?" he asked softly.

What's he done now? was what he'd wanted to say.

You shook your head, but you hadn't told him to leave, so he sat down next to you. He tentatively put his hand on your shoulder, and you'd thrown yourself at him, sobbing into his chest. He'd pulled you close to him then, gently shushing you as he rubbed your back.

It was then that it had really hit him. How he felt about you.

And now, here you both were. In the exact same place, but worlds apart.

Funny that.

"We should get some sleep," he hears you murmur against his shoulder.

Michael reluctantly loosens his hold on you, and you slip out of his arms to change into your pyjamas. He doesn't want to leave you, so he just strips down to his boxers, leaving his clothes in a tidy-ish heap on the floor.

You climb under the covers, holding out your hand. He takes it willingly, letting you pull him into bed with you.

He just lies there while you get yourself comfortable, laying your head against his chest as you pull his arm around you. He can feel his heart hammering so fast. He wonders if you can feel it too.

"I can hear you thinking," you say softly, your cheek slightly squashed against him.

"Sorry," he whispers.

You laugh softly.

"Get some sleep, alright?"

Michael just nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His head's racing, he's never been more awake in his life.

He feels you yawn against him, snuggling closer as you eventually drift off. He watches the headlights of the occasional car pass by silently across the ceiling, holding you close to him, before he finally feels himself nodding off as well.

When he wakes up the next day, you’re still fast asleep. You’re pressed into his chest, your hair a mess and the make-up you'd forgotten to take off now smudged. You’ve never looked more beautiful than you do right now. Without your guard up, without that little line you get on your forehead from worrying.

Just you.

He hopes to God he didn’t ruin everything last night. You’d said you’d wanted it, but what if it had been the drink talking, what if you’d just felt sorry for him, what if-

You groan softly in your sleep, interrupting his panicked train of thought. He looks down at you. You blearily blink up at him.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” you croak at him, a smile tugging at your lips.

“How you feelin’?” he asks.

“Like shit,” you say with a little laugh. “But knowing I didn’t dream last night is definitely helping.”

Michael’s heart stutters at that.

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Mm-hm,” you hum, your smile widening.

Michael’s face lights up at that, a grin spreading across his face as he scoops you into his arms, pressing a messy kiss to your cheek.

A yelp of laughter escapes you, and he thinks it’s the prettiest fucking sound he’s ever heard.

“Careful! I’m delicate,” you pretend to scold.

Michael pulls back to look at you.

“Yeah? And whose fault’s that, ey?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

You bite your lip, not quite able to meet his gaze.

“Yours, actually,” you say shyly.

It takes him a minute, and then the penny drops.

"Oh," he says in an outward breath. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I shoulda been more careful with you."

You shake your head. "You don't need to apologise. It was perfect."

"Yeah?" he asks.

He still can't believe any of this is happening. To him, of all people.

"Yeah," you murmur.

You trace your fingers gently along the chain dangling from his neck.

"I meant what I said last night, you know," you say. "Every word."

Michael can feel his face turning red. Always does around you.

"Me too," he replies. "Just, y'know, wish I coulda done it better than...all of that."

You laugh then.

"Alright, now I'm curious," you say. "How would you have done it, if you could do it again?"

Michael wipes a hand over his face, pushing loose strands of hair away from his forehead.

"Well, I..."

You've really put him on the spot now, haven't you?

"I guess I'd wanna do something nice for you. Like...dinner and that."

You give him an unimpressed look, as if to say "Really? Is that it?"

"You're a regular Prince Charming, aren't you?" you tease.

He pulls a face at you, embarrassed.

"Look, I never said I was good at any of this, y'know," he retorts, a little defensively.

You lightly run your hands up and down his arms - a little peace offering. He sighs.

"I'd wanna take you someplace nice," he says, making another attempt. "Give you an excuse to get all dolled up. Wear one of your dresses you're always moanin' don't see the light of day anymore."

You laugh at that, and he can't help but smile too. There's something so contagious about how you are. When you're happy, he's happy. Like a switch flicks in him when he sees you smile.

"Might even put a bit of effort in myself," he continues, and you raise your eyebrows in mild disbelief.

"What do you own that isn't the one shirt I know of?" you ask.

Michael shrugs. "I've got stuff."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" you persist, lightly poking him in the chest.

He makes a big song and dance out of it, rubbing the spot like you'd actually hurt him. He takes your hand in his.

"Little daggers they are, I swear to God," he teases.

"Michael," you prod, knowing he's trying to distract you. "What other clothes do you own?"

"I've got a suit from my cousin's wedding a few years back, actually," he replies. "Still fits, I think."

Your eyes widen slightly.

"You own a suit? And you've never let me see it?" you ask.

Michael shrugs.

"Well, I'm hardly gonna wear it to do the bleedin' bins, now, am I?"

"I suppose you have a point," you say. "But you'd wear it...for me?"

"Yeah, 'course," he says. "Can't have my girl showin' me up."

It's a joke, but he sees your face change suddenly.

"What? What have I said?" he asks, nerves suddenly eating at him.

"'My girl'," you say softly.

Michael's face feels like it's on fire now.

"Well, yeah, I mean...if you want," he says weakly, his mouth dry.

"I do," you reply sincerely.

He smiles then, wide and so full of love, and he leans down to kiss you again. Not with the frantic energy of last night, but something far softer, gentler - as if he's afraid you'll slip right through his fingers if he's not careful.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back, as if you don't have a care in the world.

For once in his life, Michael doesn't either.

How could he? When he finally has you.

Taglist 💖: @glassbxttless @iitsmandii @getaapologist @robinbuckleywife @hikohyuuga

#if there are spelling mistakes no there are not #i can’t read through this AGAIN i’m not strong enough #god i really hope people like this!!#michael hoard x reader #michael hoard x you #michael x reader #michael x you #michael hoard #michéal #angie writes #prettycalla writes

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wishing-on-a-staranise · 1 year ago

Text

Kiss it away, honey.

(s.h. x reader)

from the river to the sea. (get in your daily clicks, read about it, donate if you can.)

summary: you have a perfect and loving boyfriend, and everything should be great but something is just not right.

word count: 6.7k

warnings: use of y/n, no pronouns used (gn!reader), use of pet names (honey, etc), codependency, dark themes, a new flavor of jealousy, horror (spookies and scawies), gore, murder

a/n: yall remember when i was yapping about clones and all that? yeah. I went a lil feral while writing this lmao✌️🤪

another banger by @procrastinationprincesses and I on tumblr dot com. Thank her for listening to me babble on and just helping me sift through the different routes this could go and also being what is basically my proofreader

i might write a part two of this. do not ask me when.

masterlist

You haven’t changed out of your work clothes yet, staring at the phone on the wall.

It was silent now but it had rung, blaring, louder than you'd ever heard it before. Five times it had rung.

5 calls– 5 missed calls. Unknown number. No voicemail.

You hadn't picked up. You had just stared, you weren’t sure why– the ringing scared you. you weren't sure why but every fiber in your being had coloured you stuck– immovable even if you wanted to do otherwise.

Now it had stopped, empty as vacuum, dead quiet left in the wake of those shrill rings.

And just when you were about to let out a sigh of relief, just when you thought you could finally get to changing out of your work clothes, it started ringing again, your temples hurt from its shrill notes.

Your nostrils flared, you will not cower, no, you huff of frustration before stomping towards the phone. Its red plastic is just as bright as it had been when you had first gotten it with Steve.

It's probably just a prank call. It's a prank call. A stupid kid doing a stupid prank call. Why the hell is your heartbeat so loud?

You pick up the receiver, gripping it tight, ready to give the prank caller a piece of your mind.

Hello? Hey you stupid shithole, find something better to do with your stupid, pathetic life, why dont ya’? Good fucking night.

“He– hello?”, your voice comes out nowhere near as fierce as you had wanted it to be.

The line is silent for a second or two. But then you hear a gasp and then some rustling, crackle. You strain your ears, the sounds seemingly impossible to decipher, “hello, who– who is this?”

You think you hear muffled crying, after a few seconds they finally speak up, “y/n”, their voice is of a woman's. “y/n–” is all they choke out before breaking out into a sob. She says your name as if she hasn't said it in a long while, as if she can't believe she’s saying it. And you don’t know why but you feel your eyes sting. You press the receiver closer to your ears, the plastic creaks under your grip. you think you recognise her. The realisation hits you that you do. She sounds familiar.

“y/n, my baby where–” you hear a click, followed by beep beep beep beep, indicating that the call has been disconnected. This time you blink, a tear finally trickles down your cheek. You stare at the receiver, the beeping barely audible. You take in a deep breath, and dial the number again, waiting for the ring or the woman’s voice.

The ring never comes, her voice never comes. Invalid number.

You stare at it. If you were to look any harder, you think the plastic would melt. Too many thoughts were running through your head. And why the hell are you crying?

You hear the jingle of keys followed by the sound of the door opening. You tear your burning gaze away from the phone to the clock. 7:08 p.m.

“Steve?”

“Yeah!” he answers back immediately, you hear the door shut, the keys in his hand jingle again followed by the clink of them landing in the ceramic ashtray-turned-bowl next to the door where you keep your keys.

Any other day you would have walked to him, and even if he’d be in the middle of taking his shoes off he’d stop, give you a loving smile, hold his arms up, ready to engulf you into a hug. Any other day, you would have wrapped your arms around his torso, kissed his shoulder before burying your nose into his neck.

He is the only one who could ever fix you, everyday you come from work, bags under your eyes, tired to your bones and everyday he comes and puts you all back together as if it was the easiest thing to do, as if he was made for it. And you want to go to him so bad. Any other day, you would have. But today doesn't seem like any other day.

“Hey honey”, he finally comes around the corner and he gives you that smile you love being on the receiving end of, all lazy and adorning, “haven't changed out yet?”

You look back down at yourself, and you see that you had still been stuck, body still facing the wall where the phone hung. you indeed haven't changed out yet. You barely shake your head before his brows scrunch up, “You okay? Your eyes look all red”

You blink before shaking your head, “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’ll go ch–”

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

What you were saying is left abandoned, your head snaps towards where the phone is.

“I’ll get it. You go change,” Steve tells you, not noticing your immediate panic. As he ambles to the phone, you slowly shuffle away– moving towards the bathroom, making sure to listen in on the conversation. “Hello?” you hear him speak into the receiver, he pauses for a second and so do you in your tracks, “..oh hey, Henderson'', you breathe out in relief at hearing the familiar name, “Yeah, yep, doing good. How’s the new place treatin’ ya?”

The audibility of his words lessens as you continue on your way to the bathroom. In the small, tiled room, your own breathing echoes, it engulfs you. you immediately regret not just changing in your room because you can't hear Steve’s voice anymore. But you have already locked the door. You weren’t sure why you did– maybe it was your uneasiness and apprehension but normally you never lock the door because your ever clingy Steve loves joining you in, majority of the time there is nothing sexual about it. Most of the time he just stands there by the door, that same adorning smile on his lips.

When you step out of your jeans, it rings in your brain, again and again. The piercing ringing of the phone, the woman’s voice. You know that voice. You know that voice. You know that woman, you are certain. It is like its on the tip of your tongue, like it is obscured behind a frosted glass, like an itch you can’t scratch.

A knock on the bathroom door breaks you out of your thoughts, “uh honey?” the voice comes muffled through the wood, “Are you done? Need to take a piss.”

“Yeah, just–” you quickly hop into your shorts, balling up your dirty clothes and tossy them into the laundry basket before unlocking the door.

And he is there, that smile blooms across his face, “there you are”, and then his lips are on yours, his wide palm comes to hold your face, thumb rubbing softly at your cheeks— he’s a tactile being, your boyfriend, loves holding your face, loves holding you, touching you anywhere.

When his fingers burrow into your hair behind your ear, you somehow manage to breathe out between the deepening kisses, “Thought you had to take a piss”

“Don't bring up pissing when I’m kissing you”

“Oh, but its okay when you wanna hold my hand while pooping?” He once told you he’d hold your hand while pooping if you’d let him– he had been absolutely drunk, maybe high off weed– inebriated, really and didn't remember saying it the next day. you love to tease him about it. he groans at the mention.

“I was high”, he whines, embarrassed, “I told you I didn't mean it.”

“Drunk words… sober thoughts, honey.”

“You said it was endearing”

“It is endearing but still a weird thing to say”, you laugh all toothy and cute.

“Whatever, I gotta piss”, he mumbles trying his best to hide his smile before moving you by your shoulders to swap places with you so it’s him who is in the bathroom. He shuts the door, the sound of the lock clicking never reaches your ears.

You’re left alone with your thoughts again, and your smile fades away– you’re anxious, you know that much. You’re not so sure of what exactly. You plop down on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing restlessly, finger tracing over the pattern of the sheets. The pillows and comforter are set up perfectly for the night– every morning Steve sets the bed while you shower knowing you always get frustrated with the task.

Your back sinks into the mattress, you breathe out, deep and slow, eyes closing on their own accord. You almost fall asleep for a second, but the bathroom door clicks open. A few seconds later, the bed dips beside you, the fabric rustles, “tired?” the question is followed by a groan. When you peak a look, you find him stretching out his arms beside you.

“Absolutely”, you answer.

“Yeah, me too,” he sighs out.

“We still have to make food.”

He lets a frustrated groan tumble from his lips, “can't we just have mac and cheese today?”

…

The night goes by in a breeze, not a lot of talking.

The love is still there though, in the way that Steve holds the corner of the open cabinet door to make sure your head doesn't hit it, in the way he lets you sit on the countertop while waiting for the water to boil over, in the way you stare at him when you think he isn't looking, in the way you pull his hand over your lap and massage the tight muscles of his palm while he stirs the pot with his other hand.

You put on his favourite show when he plates the food, he makes sure to put some chives on your plate to make it look a little more pretty for you. You watch the show in silence, eating under the flickering light of the tv. You let it play in the background while you wash the dishes, it is Steve who watches you this time, his head resting against the cabinets behind him. and he thinks he could watch you all day. Something about doing the most mundane things with you makes him feel all warm and lovely. He is sure that past anything grand and dramatic, its the everyday things that show love. He hopes in every world, he gets to hold you and love you. He thinks he'll give it all up just to be with you, just to watch you wash dishes, just to have you sit beside him while he cooks.

When the dishes are done, he makes sure the doors are locked, you turn off the lights and the TV. Before you know it you’re in bed, and before you know it, you’re already falling asleep.

…

At first you weren’t sure why you were awake. Then you hear shuffling behind you, and you barely even roll over when there is a warm hand on your hip, “honey,” he whispers– voice all scratchy and low that makes you melt, you hum for a response, “I’m sorry honey, wake up please”, his tone is slightly rushed, you’re a bit more awake at that.

Barely did you sit up when he engulfs you in a tight hug. You hold him back without a thought or hesitation. Your hand rubs his back, his arms tighten around you, nose nudging into your neck, his skin warm. your fingers find their place in his messy head of hair like they always do, you card through the strands. He pulls you closer, and then you're in his lap. He holds you like a boy holds his favourite toy– like he doesn't plan on letting go.

“Want some water?” After some time you ask softly. You feel him nod into the junction of your neck.

He loosens his hold on you enough for you to climb out of his lap. Not saying a word, he follows you to the kitchen, and he stays close when you pour him a glass. He is mid-gulp when you ask, “nightmare?”

He nods once, the rogue strands on his forehead bouncing with the movement, and downs the water before saying a soft ‘yeah’.You take the glass from his hands and place it in the sink, and lead him back to bed.

You brush aside his disheveled hair. You tuck yourself into his side, an arm around him, “wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, fringernails scratching his faint stubble.

In the dim of the room, you see his adam's apple bob. Apparently, he does want to talk about it, because he nods– the movement barely noticeable but there. You put your head back on his chest and you wait patiently, trying your best not to fall back to slumber.

It takes him a while before he starts, “You were…” his hand moves to hold yours, “you were sick–in the hospital, these wires and tubes attached to you. Y-You had been there for months. You were sick and you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't even look at me. And– and…. Then the– the damn heart monitor–”

“Honey–”

His words are frantic and uneven, “I didnt– I didnt know what to do after. I didn’t–”

“Steve—” you hold his face to make him look at you, “I'm here.”

He licks his lips, then swallows, nodding. he pushes his face forward so your foreheads are touching. “I know", his nose is hot against yours, "it was still awful.”

You both lay that way for a while. Your thumb brushing against his red cheek, he sniffles a couple times. you hate seeing him this way, with his lashes clumped together, his beautiful eyes all red. The moisture glistening under his eyes doesn't let you fawn over his freckles like you'd normally wish to.

When his skin is a little less warm, and his heartbeat calmer beneath your fingertips, you kiss him. Your hand snakes up to hold his face. Fingers, softly rubbing over the spot behind his ear that makes him melt. You kiss him all slow and purposefully, so he knows that he has all the time in the world.

When you pull away, he murmurs, “Can we go back to sleep?” he pulls you closer, face burying into your neck, warm puffs of breath against your collarbones.

You land a quick kiss on his eyebrow before resting your chin above his head, “‘course”

...

You wake up to the alarm clock on Steve’s side of the bed. He turns off the thing before rolling around in your arms onto his back and then turning his head to face you. “Hi”, he smiles that way again and you do the same, sleepy as ever.

“Hi”, you say still half asleep– you ended up not getting a lot of sleep last night. Thankfully you had the day off today, so you plan on being unproductive and sleeping it away.

He stretches, a yawn escaping him, “Jesus, I so don't wanna go to work today”, your boyfriend laments.

You hum, “then don't go” you propose, eyes still closed, “We can both have a day off”

He turns his body so it faces you, leaning on his elbow. His hand moves to your waist before massaging the love handle there “hmm, tempting. I can't though”

“No fun”, you mumble groggily.

“Hey, don't fall asleep on me”, he brushes the hair that falls on your face with the back of his hand.

"But ‘m sleepy", you mumble into the pillow.

"Aw, don't worry, I will kiss it away, honey." He leans down, a smirk painted across his features. His soft lips land on your cheeks first, then one on your nose, they follow a trail that leads to your lips.

You hide your face in the pillow before your lips could meet though, “No, No kissing!” you giggle, holding up your palm to his face, effectively blocking his attacks, “no kissing before brushing your teeth!"

“You're no fun”, he rolls out of the twist of sheets. He stretches his arms, the muscles rippling beneath the skin– he's trying to entice you, seduce you. and if you weren't so damn sleepy, you would have climbed him up like a koala. He gets up to go to the bathroom. When he notices that you haven't moved, he pulls you by your ankle. You let out a surprised shriek that transforms into giggles when you feel his fingers creeping up your torso– tickling you. ”Here comes the tickle monster!”

A fit of giggles erupts from your throat, "What are you–", your question gets interrupted by your own laughs.

"The tickle monster will not relent unless you wake up!"

“No! Okay, okay, I'm awake! Steve! I am awake!”

The two of you share the cramped space of the bathroom. It is small, but its the best you could afford. So when you brush your teeth together, you try to relish it when your elbows bump. And when you're done, he kisses you as if he waited ages.

By now, you're a bit more awake so you decide to get his breakfast ready while he takes a shower. It's simple enough, waffles with banana and some coffee. When he comes back out, he kisses you again when he sees you at the stove, this time on the crown of your head.

When he is getting his keys to leave, he gives you another peck, “drive safe", you murmur against his lips..

“I will. You get some sleep, yeah?” you hum and nod in response. You both bid your goodbyes before he turns to leave.

You decide to eat the leftover waffles and clean up a little before returning to your bed. You make yourself a plate with the bananas neatly cut and placed beside the waffles. You drizzle maple syrup, and then start eating the sickly sweet breakfast, skipping the coffee. While you're pouring yourself a second helping of the maple syrup, the expiration date on the bottle catches your eye. expired more than a year ago. ew.

Your face scrunches in disgust before immediately throwing it in the trash. And you wonder how the hell either of you hadn't gotten food poisoning yet. then it hits you, from what you remember you bought that bottle only a couple months ago. Did you buy an already expired one?

You open the fridge, the condiments and bottles staring at you. One by one, you check each and every one; ketchup, expired. Hot sauce, expired. Whipped cream, chocolate sauce, milk– expired, expired, expired.

What the fuck?

You throw it all out and make a point to call Steve later to buy everything as he often calls to ask if you had to get something from the store. And that makes you wonder, when was the last time you actually told him he needed to get something?

You try not to think too much about it. Honestly, you don't know what to make of it, so you decide to go back to sleep.

…

You hear your name. Its faint. It echoes. Like a whisper in a church.

“y/n”, you know that voice. “I– I know you’re there, y/n”, the woman says, all shaky but sure. “y/n”, she repeats. Its that voice… again.

Who are you?

“Its me, y/n! Its me!” she exclaims as if that would make you remember.

I don't ... understand.

“Baby, just tell me where you are– I'll find you.”

I’m home.

“Home? No– no baby, you’re not. You haven't been home—” her voice gets cut off. It becomes too loud. You feel as if the veins in your temple are going to explode. Its too loud to even tell what it is you’re hearing. Its a static like a radio or a TV, or maybe its wind, maybe its cars, maybe its screams. You think you hear sirens– you wonder if they’re the police or an ambulance. You hear your own breathing, your own heartbeat. Its deafening. And beneath it all, you hear….. Ringing.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Your eyes fling open and you see your ceiling, you smell the faded mixture of your perfume and Steve's cologne. You’re in your bed. You still hear the ringing. The phone.

You are up in a second. Rushing towards the origin of the sound. When you’re there, you dont wait a second, the plastic is already to your ear.

“Hell– hello?” it comes out all out of breath and broken.

“Honey, you’re– you okay?” its not the voice of that woman.

“...Steve?”

“Who else?”, he chuckles, “you okay?”

“Uh– yeah,”you clear your throat, “I was um– sleeping. I think I just had a dream..” your hand creeps up to the back of your neck, scratching there to try to alleviate a little bit of the ache.

“Oh, well okay sleepy. I just wanted to check if you need me to buy anything? Like, groceries or whatever on my way back.” you give him the entire list of everything you wanted him to get. You would've talked more if Steve hadn't been interrupted by a customer. Nevertheless, you said your 'I love you's and the call ended.

Your heart is still loud in your ears but the ache has dulled down for the most part.

that voice. that woman.

Its me.

I’ll find you.

You haven't been home.

"Home..", you say out loud to yourself. Home.

...

Hours have passed. you think you’re losing your mind because you have turned the apartment upside down. you're surrounded by boxes, most of them filled with normal things, your tattered rollerskates, shoes, old clothes. Most of it was normal, except one.

One unlabeled box you found in the corner of your closet. You haven't touched that box in ages, not since your fallout with your family, lying out of sight and out of mind. It didn't have a lot, all packed in a hurry. things you'd had in your room. picture frames, some books, clothes, papers.

You pick up a frame. The picture was from when you were a twelve-year-old. Wearing what were your favourite clothes back then, your hair in a manner that made you feel a little sorry. You're so different now, yet somehow its still you. There's your older sister, her braces glimmering under the flash of the old camera– her smile wide. Your dad, who doesn't ever know how to pose in pictures. Your mom, she holds you and your sister by your shoulders, a soft smile on her lips, her makeup done perfectly. Another picture from your high school. Another of you with your sister and cousins.

You pull out the books, the pages are slightly yellowed and they have an earthy smell to them that you love. Pages you don't remember reading, dog-eared and written in.

Then there's the papers– some doodles, some notes, a few maps, some scraps and then.... a file. the file that has your name written on it. And when you open it; medical papers. medical bills. They are a little more than a year old. This wasn't a small stay apparently. From what you can tell from the dates on the bills, it lasted months. You don't remember going to the hospital.

Okay, what the actual fuck?

You find yourself reading through all the details of the paper on the floor of your closet.

months. you had been there for months. Steve's dream.

The entire time, you read and re-read the papers. Why don't you remember any of this? Why does Steve not remember any of this? Maybe he does, he had that dream after all, right? Why are there no discharge papers?

Hours pass. It's maddening, how slow the time passes. Its absolutely maddening. What the fuck does it mean that you haven't been home? You are home. and who the fuck was that woman?

You look through the box again, its contents scattered around you by now. The photos. Your family. Your parents. You miss them. You haven't seen them in so long...

Some broken memories have come to you. You had left– run away. You don't remember why. Then you met Steve when you were stopping by in Hawkins for a few months. You fell in love so quickly. Then one day, you asked if he wanted to run away with you. He said yes and you both left Hawkins and came here.

You don't remember much after that.

Wait, where is hawkins? and why did you go there?

...

It is 7 p.m. and you are pretty sure you have lost your mind. Why isn't Steve home yet? You need Steve. He's the only one who could ever fix you. And now, you need him to fix you again. You need him to fix this, to make some sense of this.

You are sitting by the door, eyes fixated on the hands of the clock.

7:01, nothing. Your arms fidget.

7:02, nothing. Your leg bounces.

7:03, 7:04, 7:05, 7:06, 7:07; nothing, nothing, nothing.

Then, 7:08 p.m., rattle of keys and the sound of the door being closed. Steve. Steve is home. Steve.

You're up on your feet instantly, Steve comes in holding a bag of groceries in one hand and his keys in the other, “I was so worried about you!” you say all hysterical.

“Worried, why?" he says, almost chuckling, but his brows furrow before he looks down at his wristwatch, shaking his head,"I don't think I’m late.” He leans in to land a kiss on your lips, but before he could do so, you turn your head away, “whats– whats wrong?”

“Can I ask you something?” you wrap your arms around your torso to somehow collect your thoughts a little better.

"Sure", he assures before moving to put the grocery bag on the beige kitchen counter.

You follow behind him with hurried steps, "When did we buy groceries before this?"

He starts taking out the groceries, "um.. I don't–” he pauses, looking up as if trying to remember himself, “last month probably?" Confusion paints his face, "why?"

"All the stuff in our fridge had gone bad ages ago."

"What?"

“Have you talked to your friends recently? Where are they?” All your attempts to collect your thoughts are all for nought as questions come tumbling out of your lips and you don't even wait for Steve to give a response.

“Honey, why are you–”

“Okay, okay– what about that nightmare you had?”

“Nightmare?” he echoes, brows scrunching together as if he had no idea what you were talking about, “what nightmare?” he asks like he hadn't cried in your arms the previous night.

“Last night! You had a nightmare that I was in a hospital and– and then I was looking through our closet and I find these medical bills–

“Woah, honey. I didn’t have a nightmare. I think I'd remember something like that.. And– what bills?”

Your feet are moving before he even finishes his sentence, you grab the bundle of papers, you show him everything. And he just... stares at them. After some time, all that comes out of his mouth is a “what the fuck...” under his breath.

“I don't understand Steve, I don't remember, you don't remember. And there was this call yesterday–”

“Call? what– from who?”

“From– “ you pause, trying to remember, “ I– I dont…” from who? And then you feel everything you had recalled leaving you. Who called you? What was Steve's nightmare?

“I don't remember!" you exclaim, frustrated, "why do– I'm so– I'm scared Steve. I’m–”

“Hey, it's okay. you have me honey, you have me”, he holds you by your shoulders, to provide you some semblance of comfort, "we'll figure something out.”

“Steve….”, you mumble, tears starting to collect on your lash line, “something's not right Steve…”

“Its okay..”

“No, no– I dont– I keep forgetting stuff. Why don't I remember anything?”

“Hey, honey—”

“And whatever I do remember; none of it makes sense– nothing makes sense!"

“Its okay–”

“Do not tell me to breathe–”, “breathe for me–” you warn him the exact same time he says it.

You have lost it. You have lost your mind. Eyes wide, you ask, “Why do I already know what you’re going to say? How is that– “

“Hey, hey look at me”, he holds your face in his warm palms, “Breathe for me”, he instructs, “please honey.”

“Steve”, you pull his hands away from your face not because you don't want him to hold you. You do, you want him to hold you forever, but dammit, you feel like you’re going crazy, “where did we meet?”

“Honey–”

“Where did we meet?”

“Family video! We met in Family Video! You just came in one day and asked if I could help you pick out a movie to lift your mood up”

“Where is family video? Like, what town? Wh– what state?”

“..Hawkins, Indiana”

“Steve.. There's no town named Hawkins in Indiana”

“Of course ther–”

“No– no. You can look in a map steve. There was a map in one of those boxes. No town named Hawkins. And then– those papers...” you gesture towards the papers in his hand. You stand there, impatiently so, as he scans over the papers once again. For a split second, you think you see a tinge of recognition in his eyes.

“What does it mean, Steve? Then your dream last night–”, he hands you the papers before turning towards the door.

“Steve, hey, steve!” He heads towards the apartment door. “Steve, come back here!” he doesn't stop, doesn't even spare a glance, his movement robotic. Your voice gets louder, more authoritative, angry “Steve! Come back here right the hell now.”

He doesn't stop, not for his keys, not to tie his shoes. Not for you. Tears cloud your vision and your words come out all desperate and weak, “Steve please! Please don't leave me..”

The door slams shut. Its loud, the silence after it.

“No..” you whimper to yourself. Tears, finally streaming down your face.

He'll come back, you know he'll come back, sooner or later. He’ll come back to you. Steve wouldn't leave you. He couldn't.

You wait by the door. hours pass. You fall asleep waiting for him.

…

You wake up to the smell of something sweet in the air. When you open your eyes, you’re on the couch. But you don't have time to think about whether your neck will hurt for the rest of the day because Steve is there, standing over the stove– his back facing you.

“Steve?” your voice comes out croaky.

“Y’wake baby?” he turns to take a glance at you. The furrow between his brows you saw the previous night gone. He smiles softly when you nod dumbly at the rhetorical question, “Well brush your teeth I’m making pancakes”

“Steve..”

He notices that you don’t move, your gaze fixed on him. “Hey, what's wrong?” he leaves the batter he was working on on the counter before walking towards you, “You okay?”

“I’m sorry”

He kneels down infront of you, holding your hands in his– he smells like vanilla from up this close, “Sorry, for what?”

“Yesterday… I didn't mean to upset you. I just– I was–”

“What would I be upset for?”

“Last night.. I–”

“baby, I’m not upset”

“But you just left and..” you sniffle, “when did you come back?”

“I didn't leave. I was here the entire time”, he shook his head, confused.

“But– I… “

“I think you had a dream honey. Freshen up, kay? I’ll bring breakfast. I think we should rot in bed the entire day today. Get some sleep. How’s that sound, honey?”

You nod, he smiles as he pulls you in for a quick kiss, “Good thing we both have the day off– thank jesus for sundays”

…

7:08 p.m. that is what Steve's wristwatch reads and he is standing at your apartment door. Steve isn't sure why he is back. He isn't sure why he left. Maybe he needed some time. And spending nearly an entire day alone... he remembers things. things he wishes he could forget again.

Although Steve is unsure about a lot of things. one thing is for certain. He loves you. He loves you like he was made for it... and he was.

He was made for loving you and not loving you is not living. He's been there before, not having you to love, he remembers the torture of it. You still don't recall it yet and he doesn't want you to, but he does. He remembers it all. All the hurt, the loneliness, the grief, the silence.

The grief that was too much to bear. Silence was unbearable when it wasn't mixed with your heartbeat.

When he turns the door handle– the door isn't locked. He steps in slowly.

He can hear the TV playing, you're on the couch. there's someone else with you. Its him.

Steve watches as he sits between your thighs on the couch– his place, your fingers playing with his hair. He readjusts his head as if can’t quite find a comfortable spot, “You okay?” you ask as gently as you always do.

“Uh, yeah its just–” he sounds just like him, “I just have this nick in my neck”, he says rubbing the back of his neck.

“Here, let me…” you mumble sweetly as your expert fingers move to where he said it ached.

He sees you dig that spot a little with your thumb, “Ah, thanks honey” he almost melts, and it makes him groan the way that always drew a groan out of Steve.

Steve doesn't mind you made him, you probably didn't even know you did, you're powerful like that. But Steve feels something bubble inside him– maybe this is what jealousy feels like. Steve watches, watches as you touch him. He digs his nails into his palm, he feels the urge to touch where you are touching him. He wonders what he would feel when his thumb would run over that area.

His fingers rise on their own accord. Skin barely touching skin, almost hovering. And then he feels… a bump. He isn't sure how to describe it but he knows that that isn't supposed to be there. Not normally, anyway.

He watches as your expert fingers move up into his hair, he always loved when you did that to him.

His own fingers move higher into his hair. He feels another– another protrusion, another bump.

Steve knows what those are, he knows not to press down on them. You have them too. You have them where he holds you when he kisses you. Its the reason you don't remember, its the reason he didn't remember. Just for a day, he didn't have you to hold him like the way you always do and now he remembers.

Steve watches as he leans down to kiss you. And all Steve sees is red. He doesn’t have control over him as he stomps over to where the two of you were. Your heads snap towards the sound. Confusion flashes through both your features.

“y/n”, Steve says. He watches as your eyes flick between himself and the other. Your eyes land on his. Of course you know he is the real Steve. You made him.

He holds a protective hand infront of you, “y/n”, he sounds like him, “y/n, get inside”, he nods towards your bedroom door.

“Look, man I dont know who the fuck you are. But you need to leave”, Steve hates him, he sounds nothing like him. objectively that might not be true, but he isn't him.

“You don't know who I am? Fucking look at me"

“y/n get inside”, Steve doesn't like how he says your name, how he shouts it. It sounds nothing like him.

Steve lets you go, he doesn’t want you to see this.

You can't look away despite not being able to see much through the sliver of the slightly ajar bedroom door. It is only when he lands a punch on Steve, that you move away from the door– eyes closing on themselves.

You hear shouts. Then thuds, knuckles hitting jaws. Some more thuds and then a loud crack. Then nothing. Its becomes too quiet.

You quietly step even further away from the door when you hear footsteps approaching, until you feel your back hit the wall.

The hinges of the slightly ajar door creak. and he is there. Your Steve.

He has a split lip, bruises blooming on his cheekbones. Blood splattered on his jeans, on his hands, his arms. He lifts his arm to wipe his bleeding lip, more so smearing the blood in the process. Your eyes water, heartbeat too damn loud in your ears, eyes wide as a doe.

“It's Steve. your Steve”, he reassures you, holding your face by your chin. From up this close, the blood on him doesn't look quite like blood. Its too dark, too shiny, more viscous than it should be and it doesn't seem to clot. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But you already know that. dont you, honey?” Steve coos oh so gently as he thumbs over your cheeks to rid you of the tear stains. He feels sorry when the action instead makes the blood on his hands smear across your skin. He regrets it immediately, to have tainted you with it. He is sorry you have to see all this, to see him like this.

Steve knows he'll give it all up for you. If he ever had something to give, he would give it all up, just like you did.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

“It's for you, honey.”

He moves aside so you can go to the phone. It rings loud as it did earlier. You move past the kitchen, you don't see him– not entirely. He is on the floor, you see his hand around the corner of the kitchen counter, lifeless, a pool of that blood surrounding him. The corner of the kitchen counter drips with the liquid, forming a stark contrast against the light beige.

You move past the kitchen counter, eyes not daring to look at him or Steve, you don't turn around to see if Steve is there watching. You know he is.

You move to the bright red phone that is still ringing, blaring. You pick it and hold it up to your ear, “hello?”

“y– y/n? y/n its– it's me”, that woman says. And somehow, now, you know who she is. “it's me, do you��”

“Mom?” you say it before you even realise you did.

“Oh my goodness! Yes baby, it's– it's me!”

“I’m sorry mom, I had to.”

“y/n, what–”

“I have to go now.”

“y/n, no– no. Please don't hang up–” click.

“There you go honey", you feel Steve's warm hands on your shoulder, he rubs into the tense muscles there– surely staining your shirt with the liquid, "there you go."

You turn around and you see his eyes-- beautiful coffee coloured things, moles littered across his skin just the way you've memorized to heart. That smile, adorning and warm as ever. He holds you like he always does, thumb on your cheek, palm holding your face.

He holds you like he was made for it. Your cheek fit perfectly in his palm as if you were made for him. You were made for each other.

You lean in closer and then your lips meet. It isn't hard and fast. Its slow and deep. Like you have all the time in the world, and you do.

When you pull apart and look at him, its just him. Your Steve.

You don't even remember what it was you had been worried about. All you see is Steve, all you feel is Steve. Your lover, your home, your family, your everything. It's all Steve.

You smile up at Steve and everything is right. The blood he had smeared on you was gone. The counter was clean. He was gone. Everything is right, once again.

"So", he starts, walking towards the stove, "what are we feelin' today? pancakes with blueberries, strawberries, or plain ol' choco-chip?"

"Is there an ‘all of the above’ option?"

"For you? always."

...

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington hurt/comfort #stranger things #dark!steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x gn!reader

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areyoudreaminof · 7 months ago

Text

I’m so over this trashy ass fandom.

Great and creative people are being chased out so you can have clout on tumblr dot com.

I know you little girls are still in high school or whatever, but grow up, touch grass, get a hobby, read another book. Death threats over pretend characters? Leave your fucking house, please.

Get a life, get a grip, and get over yourselves.

#fuck off forever #ACOTAR

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different-wonderland-sweets · 6 months ago

Note

Can I request a Underfell Grillby with a water spirit/elemental SO?

Anon. Of course you may.

I never thought this day would come. I had to pause and be like "do i... write fanfic? Do people know I DO that on Tumblr dot com?". Then I realized it doesn't matter, because they will. I still don't know why everyone loves my intersex reader one-shot but I'm happy to do more lmao

Sorry that it took me several eternities to see and write this, I never thought I'd have this opportunity. It would be funny, though, if you accidentally sent the ask to me instead of your fav writer lol

Favorable Conditions– Underfell Grillby x Water Spirit/Elemental S/O Oneshot

Warning(s)/General Tags: Description on how a Water Elemental/Spirit Eats, Strangers to Friends, Mutual Pining, I forget how I initially characterized this AU Grillby so sorry if it's inconsistent, maybe OOC Grillby but I like to think not

He was closing the bar per usual and taking the time to stretch. 'Fuck, my back hurts,' he thought, flames crackling brighter.

-- -- --

From safe kitchen doors, I peak my head out to investigate the noise. The purple-flamed monster turns his head disinterestedly to see the water spirit that's been staying with him aboveground.

And he smiles at me, making my form melt.

"Looking for more work?" He teases, giving a wicked smirk. I point to the kitchen to tell him what's wrong, which garners Grillby's attention. He, also quietly, approaches me and leans close to see what I'm pointing at. He's so close, it kind of distracts me. So close, I can feel him without hurting anyone...

And Grillby realizes the problem. I was not very compatible with his grill and hoped to clean it, but I don't have any gloves that would fit me for this task.

The gloves he usually wears while cleaning his grill wouldn't work either as I usually can't grip larger accessories—

Ugh, he just knew this day would be a pain in the ass.

"The grill isn't going to burn you and it shouldn't be hot anymore. You could probably still wash the grill if you wanted to," he muses, "with you being made of water. You know where I keep the dish soap, and the baking soda is..." He trails off. And blinks at me, owlishly.

"What?" He askes, rather confused by my face.

"...I can't exactly touch dish soap. Tasting it wouldn't hurt, but it would be a hard taste to be rid of, and it can get everywhere—" "You what." He just. Blinks again at me.

Now it's my turn to look at him with confusion.

"Don't you eat with your fire?" I ask. He chuckles at that. "No? And come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen you eat!" He thinks aloud. Then he rushes into the kitchen and grabs something out of the fridge, wincing at the coldness and moving it between his hands. He moves it to the countertop and places some chicken nuggets in a pan under a grill grate, closest to where the fire will be.

Then, there's fire.

I watch, quite dumbfounded at his excitement to make these chicken nuggets, that I leer closer at the flames and the way his body moves. It's enthustic, wanting to bubble with laughter, but that same care is always there. No matter what he makes, who he makes it for, the love of his craft and especially the love of who he might make it for is obviously there.

It can be easily seen that he's not just heating up chicken nuggets as a joke towards some stranger— he seems genuinely excited about our time after working hours. Even if he clearly wants to play it off as a joke to laugh at me.

No, Grillby was much more good-natured than he let on. His willingness to engage with me, despite the cultural oddity of verbal speaking or mixing things up with an elemental that could easily dust him...

Were I not the same elemental who hide in waterfalls and ponds, maybe I would have minded more.

And like that, his chicken nuggets are done. They are in the shape of monsters I don't recognize. Those human stores have them— 'dinosaur nuggets'? Maybe the King's Favorite Human orders them occassionally?

Grillby playfully hums a tune and unceremoniously dumps my snack on one of his personal plates.

He then clears his throat and keeps a straight face.

"So, before you show me how it's done, we have some things to discuss."

Then his face seems more strict, and I remember that this is Grillby.

"Like how you didn't tell me you needed gloves. Were you just avoiding the soap and dirty water this WHOLE time?" He asks, fire crackling much louder than what I'm used to.

Well, I'm going to be honest.

"Most people don't consider how water elementals can taste or eat. The workarounds are fairly convient and it's not too much fuss to quietly find them, anyways," I add, which softens Grillby's features. Actually, he seems... quite regretful. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew what I meant, being a fire elemental himself.

"And you took my offer anyways? You didn't have to do that." He sort of grumbles, absentmindly watching as I grab one of the chicken nuggets he made.

I look at it with a sort of bored gaze. "I wanted to. And for the record, I wouldn't have cared if you never noticed or asked. You're a great company to be around." I bite into chicken nugget, which sort of floats into my head before being magically dissolved into the water that makes up my body.

I catch Grillby staring into my eyes before conjuring an argument.

"But I'd help you anyways. If you were just desperate to leave that pond, I would have helped you find something else!" Grillby seems more frustrated. That's right.

I found Grillby with the rain was pouring outside this store. Being so new to the surface, we were both caught off guard when the rain could just. Appear anywhere? So he had no umbrella but the guy inside kind of pissed him off, so he wasn't going to buy an umbrella. He planned on waiting, until I gave him my umbrella.

I only ever carried one because Waterfall had them aplenty and the taste of cave ceiling condensate gets repetitive and repulsive with time. Lucky for Grillby, I kept it out of habit and saw the perfect opportunity to leave it with someone who would actually need it now.

Grillby (very reluctant and suspiciously) took the umbrella, checked it for holes or intentional slashes. Keeping an eye on me for any sudden or lethal movements.

When he determined that the umbrella was actually perfectly fine, he took the umbrella with more poise.

"Thanks," he muttered, and tested how well it kept off rain. Then walked with it, marveling at the shelter it provided, before he turned around. "If you don't plan on keeping it, I wouldn't mind having it," he (sort of) joked, which you calms waved off. "Keep it," you insisted. Then you walked off, continuing past the building for the one you actually came for.

Grillby could never forget how odd and kind the interaction was. This was the surface, huh?

Not a bad place to open shop, if a monster like YOU was here, too.

And when you ran into each other again, living at this new pond on the surface, you found yourself in a bit of situation.

Winter was approaching, which means you'd be trapped under the ice. And bear in mind, your pond was small and empty of fish. But if you left, you would probably have to go back underground and how would you work? What if another elemental took your pond?

Well, you were just going to have to figure something out.

On your way to work, you came by your bus stop. We'll, who would uave known? A familiar elemental showed his face, umbrella on hand in case of emergency.

Both of you talked, he joked, you laughed. It was a nice moment on a mundane day, between two unsuspecting elementals that crossed paths again. You told him your struggles for winter, he offered a job. You know, as thanks for valuing his time.

At first, you rejected. Didn't know the guy, who he really was, but he held the offer out in case you needed it.

You talked some more the following days. You got his number and met at all sorts of places. When you came to his bar, well... it was better than a pond. He laid his offer out.

That wasn't very long ago, but the time you've known him has certainly been something.

Back to your current situation, Grillby was more than sure he wanted to make out with you right here, right now. It didn't matter that the shop only just closed, or that you were both friends, or that he swore that it'd be a miracle if anything happened between you. His fear of water was there, yes, but there had to be some magic that allowed him to kiss you. To hold you. To craddle your face as you looked up to him with those watery eyes.

And it wasn't fair. It's not fair that he has to yearn like this when you were so close, so impossible close that he wanted to just lean in and risk it anyways. But even if he truly believed you felt just as strongly about him (which he doesn't), he would be at risk of hurting you, too. And he didn't pummel a few customers for making fun of you, because he didn't care.

Gods, if he could have one wish...

"I was in a bad spot, but I still choose to take your offer. So far, I still think you'll be one hell fo a roommate." You give him a little bit of a winning smile and he's reeling back to reality.

Right, of course. He nods.

"Just don't think you have to do everything yourself. We're roommates for a reason," he complains, which you blissfully tune out as you eat the rest of your nuggets.

'Roommates', you say? That's what you both agreed to. And as long as he's near you, maybe 'roommate' will be good enough for now.

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