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headkiss · 3 months ago

Text

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

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Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you thing!! it helps more than you know <3

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Note

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint. A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none.

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any.

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute.

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need?

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir.

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven.

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago.

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus.

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy.

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away.

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home.

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard.

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube.

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her?

And god, how he would fuck her…

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob.

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of.

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things?

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all.

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job.

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up.

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb.

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for…

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically.

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present.

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear."

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways.

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying.

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?"

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too.

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty.

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening?

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress.

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin.

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries.

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams.

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin.

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined.

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds.

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for.

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child...

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...?

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft.

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go.

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove.

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…"

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness.

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had.

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely.

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog.

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck.

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content.

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity.

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women.

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one.

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in.

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs.

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him.

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?"

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy.

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes.

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets.

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his.

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise.

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness.

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #yandere könig #tw: dark content #könig smut

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chaos-in-deepspace · 3 months ago

Text

LADS Zayne: Dirty Shave | 18+

This fic took me a solid week and a half to write. It was so much fun though. This is dedicated to my little meow meow because I'm waiting patiently for him to finish writing an Omega Zayne fic. Based off Hidden Motive however I started writing this before the card released so really it's just MC shaving his face and then fucking him. It doesn't follow the plot of the card so you can read it without needing to see the original.

For an easier time reading this, I put it on AO3 as well! I prefer reading long fics on there in case tumblr refreshes while I'm trying to finish.

♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Pairings: Zayne x Reader ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Warnings: Overstimulation, Showers, Unsafe Sex, Creampie, Riding, Facial Shaving, Caught having sex on the phone, Teasing, Jealous Reader, AFAB Reader, Gender Neutral Reader, Penis in Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Top Reader ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Synopsis: You and Zayne were just relaxing in the shower together when you felt the stubble on his face. An innocent request to shave his face results in you sitting on his lap, teasing him until he's desperate and needy. ♡(ᓀ‸ᓂ)♡ Word Count: 15k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

Dirty Shave

The music seemed to gently caress your ears as you swayed to the beat, enjoying the acoustics that the shower so willingly provided. It bounced wonderfully off the walls of the shower at the resort you had found yourself in with your beloved Zayne.

The man whom you held in such high regard was currently rinsing out shampoo from his hair, his back turned to you as you hummed the melody and watched. The water dripped off those raven locks and you couldn’t help yourself as you leaned up against his back, relaxing into him. Zayne stopped for a moment, turning his head to look down at you.

“Having fun?” His voice echoed out in the warm shower and you let out another content hum as you looked up at him. You had no idea how, but under the lights in the bathroom he looked even more breathtaking than usual.

“Yup, just enjoying this. Think we can renovate the shower at your place to be this big?” you asked and looked up. The shower had a wonderful waterfall feature, meaning both of you were under the spray of the showerhead and weren’t left in the cold. It was one of the few reasons you two didn’t often shower together in the mornings. You two had certainly tried, but Zayne always felt guilty when it was his turn under the sprayer and you were left almost shivering. You honestly had never minded since it was the perfect time to admire his form outside of sexual contexts.

“I can certainly look into it once we’re back,” he said, turning around so he was facing you properly. You shouldn’t have been surprised with how easily he accepted that, he had always been one to go with your whims. If you asked him for something he would make it happen within a few weeks normally. Renovating an entire room in his house? Of course he’d readily agree if it meant he could hold you in his arms like this. That and you could see he was clearly enjoying the feature judging by how this was the third time you’d showered together since you guys had come to this town for his medical convention.

“Come here,” his hand reached for your hip, pulling you closer. You felt your heart speed up for a second at the proximity before your eyes followed his hands. After you were closer he trailed his hands upwards with a gentle glide on your body that had a small shiver wrack down your spine. He reached over and got some shampoo and put a generous dollop into his hands. He then was running those large hands in your hair, scrubbing away anything that might’ve been in there.

His hands worked deftly as he massaged your scalp, applying the right pressure right where you needed it. You were absolutely melting into his grasp, closing your eyes and just letting him do whatever he wanted. His hands always felt amazing and now was certainly no exception to the rule. You swore if he kept this up then you’d find yourself falling asleep standing in the shower. Zayne smiled to himself as he saw how your head leaned into his touch out of habit; you always leaned into his touch like a small kitten the moment you had become more comfortable around him.

He then went and dipped your head back, letting the suds of the soap run down into the drain as he worked his hands a little more, tangled in your locks and then the base of your scalp. He was working you thoroughly and you let out a small, happy moan at the attention. Your hands reached up to gently hold onto his forearms, fingers gently tracing over a few of the scars.

You could hear him chuckling as he then leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You finally opened your eyes, staring into his hazel ones that always seemed to drink you in. The way he looked at you sometimes made your heart stop, the absolute love and affection was more than you could ever hope to find in a partner. You were certain that the look you gave him was similar since you were utterly in love with the man and everything he did.

No words were spoken as he worked the conditioner through your hair in a similar way, instead you just placed your hands on his chest and leaned closer to him. As he rinsed you off for a second time he tilted your chin up for a kick, chaste kiss. You giggled against his lips, leaning forward to capture his mouth again and savoring the feeling of him. He took good care of himself thankfully, and his body was the physical embodiment of that. You couldn’t help but drag your fingers over his chest, feeling how the muscles tensed slightly from the sudden contact. Even his lips were soft and plush against your own as you tilted your head, deepening the kiss for just a moment longer.

“Something I can do for you?” You murmured against his lips as he placed his hands on your hips. You felt him swaying you to the beat of the music that still echoed in the shower. The moment was sweet and serene and you briefly wondered when you could have this every day. Your hands reached up to wrap around his shoulders as you allowed him to move you however he wished.

His forehead pressed against your own and he closed his eyes, “Just stay here with me, it’s all I need,” you felt yourself blushing at his words, but you wouldn’t deny him. Just as he could hardly say no to you, you were also whipped. He said the word and you’d come crawling to him and doing whatever it was he asked of you.

“I think I can handle that,” you smiled, your eyes also closing. For just a moment it was the two of you in your own little world, swaying to music with the gentle fall of water surrounding you. You smiled at the scene you two were surly creating, wondering which book you read that had this exact moment. The man you called your boyfriend, hopefully one day husband, was one of the most romantic men you had ever met.

Most people would never assume that the Dr. Li could be the romantic type, but moments like these always proved the world wrong. The way he held you like you would slip from his fingers if he so much as let up his grip made you feel so damn secure.

You reached up to cup his cheek, intent on bringing him down for another sweet kiss before you two left the shower. Then you felt it. The slight prickly feeling of stubble on Zayne’s face. The man was meticulous about shaving his face, and thankfully it didn’t grow very fast. He’d normally shave every other night to clean up anything that had attempted to grow, and it appeared that tonight was one such night.

The thought occurred to you in just a second as you opened your eyes. You watched as Zayne was leaning into your touch and it reminded you of a sweet and cuddly cat. You then cleared your throat and got his attention, those soft eyes peering down at you.

“Zayne…you have stubble,” you started and Zayne raised an eyebrow in question. He took the hand that was cupping his face and turned his head, kissing the palm of your hand as he spoke.

“I am a man,” he reminded you, “It’s only normal that I have stubble at the end of the day,” he pressed another kiss to your palm before letting your hand drop. You placed it on his chest and looked up at him. Despite how it had grown, it was barely noticeable unless you looked closely. You guessed in a sense Zayne was lucky in that regard since he seemed to dislike the hair anyway.

“Can I shave your face tonight?” you asked, wanting to reach up and touch his face again. Your fingers twitched against his chest as you looked up at him curiously.

Zayne’s eyebrows furrowed as he seemed to think over the idea. Probably debating if it would be a good idea or not. He cleared his throat, “I don’t think that’s necessary, I’m capable of doing it myself,” he said and you frowned at his response.

“Just because you can do it yourself doesn’t mean you have to,” You reminded him, “I can wash my own hair, but it’s way more enjoyable when you do it,” besides you really wanted to try it not, being able to move his face around without any complaints from him seemed intriguing.

Zayne nodded, “That’s true, but the situation is a bit…different,” he began and you clearly weren’t entertained by his excuses, “Razors are sharp and dangerous. If you don’t know how to use it correctly it can lead to cuts which can later evolve into possible infection,” it was almost like he forgot you were a hunter and knew all the dangers of untreated cuts, as well as how sharp objects could actually harm someone if you weren’t careful.

“I know how to use a razor, Zayne,” you huffed, “I’ve shaved my legs before, you know,” you reasoned with him, now batting your eyelashes.

“Using a safety razor and using a straight razor are very different,” he attempted once more to reason with you, but alas it was going nowhere. You had an idea in your mind and you wanted to follow through with it. You knew it would only be a matter of time before he gave in…besides you weren’t totally clueless on how to use a straight razor.

You had seen it lying around in his bathroom, watched him shave his face, and once upon a time was really bored and decided to shave a single arm with it to see how it was done. You hadn’t even cut yourself when you did it. It wasn’t even that hard to use since the blade was so sharp; you were confident you could shave his face without nicking him.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said and you could see it, you could physically see his resolve melting under your gaze. You decided to finish him by sticking out your lip into a small pout and that was really all it took. He sighed, shaking his head and looking down at you.

“Alright, fine…” he began, “but only the sides and chin. I’ll handle the detail work,” he said and honestly that was fine by you. The thought of shaving his upper lip was perhaps out of your comfort zone. If you cut his perfect lips you’d probably cry for a week. Not to mention if you saw him flinching whenever you kissed him you might as well dig your own grave and toss yourself in.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling, “Thank you, babe,” you coo as you swayed a little with him. He sighed, shaking his head as he reached behind him to turn off the shower. The stream of water died down as soon as he did so and the steam from how hot you had kept the water managed to keep you warm for the time being.

“I’m happy you seem so excited, but first we need to get out of the shower,” he reminded you with a gentle smile directed at you. He began walking you backwards and out of the shower, one hand never leaving your hip as you went along with him. It was clear you had no intention of leaving his embrace anytime soon; his arms were your safe space at the end of the day.

In response to your clinginess you felt Zayne’s hands cupping under your thighs. Your grip around him tightened as he lifted you with ease, walking you over to the towels and grabbing a few of the fluffy white ones the resort had. He worked one of them around your body then sat you down on the counter. You watched with interest as he then grabbed one and loosely wrapped it around his own waist, his eyes glancing up at your obvious staring.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked as he grabbed another white towel from nearby and brought it over to you. You were about to say a smartass comment when the towel was thrown over your face. You let out a small, unamused noise as he worked the towel over your hair, soaking up a bulk of the water from your shower.

When he moved the towel off to reveal your face he leaned in, cupping your cheek and dragging you in for a proper kiss. Despite how much you wanted to get back at him you found yourself melting against him, closing your eyes and enjoying how he led the kiss.

His hands weaved through your hair, his tongue gently prodding at your mouth and you easily opened up, allowing his tongue to press against your own before it began exploring. You moaned at the taste of him, the subtle taste of chocolate macaroons lingered on him from your dessert after dinner and it made him only more decadent than normal. Your hands gripping his shoulders as you let out a gentle moan into his mouth. You didn’t know when he got so good at kissing you; you still recalled your first kiss and how uncertain he had been. Now he dove in and took your breath away every single time, lips pressing against your own perfectly with that tongue that knew exactly how to get you worked up.

You were disappointed when he finally let off, leaning back with his thumb swiping your lower lip to clean off the small trail of saliva. Your heart was thrumming in your chest as you frowned for a moment, “Why’d you stop?” you didn’t mean for it to come out almost whiny, but it did get a smirk out of Zayne. You were about five seconds from grabbing the back of his head and dragging him back down to continue making out with you when he decided to speak up.

“Shaving should be done right after a shower,” he stated simply, “Unless you wanted to skip that over,” the way he leaned against you, pressing himself against your thigh had you swallowing the lump in your throat. You could feel his cock pressed against you, only slightly hard which was unsurprising judging by how he always seemed to pop a boner the moment tongue was involved. So that was his angle, trying to distract you so you’d drop your quest in shaving his face.

Too bad you weren’t a complete dumbass.

Instead of replying you just grabbed one of the many towels he brought over and tossed one around his neck and used it to pull him down. He let out a small surprised gasp as he quickly grabbed the edge of the counter on either side of your thighs. You took the towel and put it over his head and began drying his hair with a hum.

“You’re so right, Dr. Li, we should probably hurry up here so we can make sure your face is nice and smooth for your conferences tomorrow morning,” you said and watched the small glimmer of mischief in his eyes dim a little bit as he realized his plan was failing horribly. You held back the smirk that threatened to give away that you had caught him red handed.

You two work together toweling off and making yourself relatively dry. You chuckle as Zayne once again picks you up and places you down on the ground. It felt like ice with how cold the tile was on your bare feet and you noticed how amused Zayne was at your small flinch. You shot a small frown his way to let him know how unamused you were at this. If he had just kept holding you then you’d be content, but apparently that wasn’t an option at this time.

He grabbed the silk robes the resort provided and handed you the smaller size, helping you wrap it around your body and tie the knot in the front. You were very entertained with how he seemed to secure yours so well, covering everything you had as though he had never seen you naked in his life. You then watched as he put his own on and noticed how it was so loose around him. The chest was wide open on it, it barely covered his nipples. He was trying to be enticing whether he knew it or not.

He rummaged around the bathroom and grabbed a few things you’d need for shaving his face, “That’s not as much as I was expecting,” you comment as you see the shaving cream, razor, a bowl of water, and aftershave in his hands. Not to mention two small hand towels that he had draped over his forearm.

“I normally need less than this, however I assume it would be more comfortable for you to shave my face on the couch rather than balancing on the counter,” he said, his tone was calm and neutral, but you could tell he was teasing you about your height. It wasn’t your fault that the man decided to be born overly tall and broad. Besides, at least with your height you had the perfect vantage point to squishing your head in his chest anytime you hugged him.

“Well then come on, mister,” you said and grabbed some of the things from his hands, but noticed how he kept the straight razor. You two made your way to the large living space and you looked around. The couch had a perfect side table where you could set down all your supplies and still be able to reach them whenever you needed to.

“How’d you like to do this?” Zayne had leaned down so his breath ghosted right over your ear. An involuntary shiver went down your spine as your head whipped back at him. Zayne had his normal lack of expression on his face and if you didn’t know him so well you’d think he was innocent. Still you had learned to look in his eyes since they always told exactly what he was thinking. He definitely knew what he was doing, from kissing you in the bathroom to how he wore his robe, and even now. He was seducing you right now and it was working, but probably not in the way he was hoping.

“Sit on the couch, Dr. Li,” you instructed him, motioning with your head where you wanted him to sit. Zayne did as instructed, adjusting himself on the couch as he looked up at you. His eyes were now sharp as he took in your every movement and it was almost nerve wracking as you set the supplies down on the table next to him. Still you were schooling your expression and pretending you hadn’t noticed what he was doing, acting as though you weren’t currently turned on from his antics. As long as you kept your cool he would assume his hints didn’t work and it would be easier to tease him later on.

“It won’t be good for your back if you bend down for this,” Zayne commented as he realized the current angle you were at. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips and you had to force it down, wanting to seem like you held all the authority at the moment.

“And how do you suggest I do this then?” you begin, your voice almost a purr, “If I’m not mistaken I’m the one in charge here, aren’t I?” you could see the shift in his demeanor at that exact moment. How his posture seemed to straighten up a little and he looked at you with a small challenge in his eyes. He was normally submissive for you, a perfect boy, but that was only after all the teasing was over. You had to work to get him into that state, and honestly you adored every second of it.

“What are you then?” he asked, “The Chief Surgeon?” oh so that’s how he wanted to play it for the evening? If so, you’d happily indulge him as you tilted your head and smirked. You did notice how he deliberately didn’t give you a solution though, but in the back of your mind you had a feeling you knew what he wanted to suggest.

“That’s correct, and tonight you’re my dear patient,” you went to cup his chin and forced his head up to look at you, “And the operation will begin very shortly. I’ll need to begin preparations and I would very much like it if my patient was compliant during this part.” you watched how he squirmed at your words.

It was teasing, sure, but you knew deep down he loved this way more than he was willing to admit. He thought he had been coy about it in the past, but it was clear as day he had a thing for medical roleplay. What amused you was the fact that he really preferred it when you were the one in charge and he was just a bystander. It was honestly cute how willingly he gave away his power and let you do whatever you wanted to him.

“Of course, I’d be an idiot to not follow a Dr’s orders,” oh that was a jab and you knew it. Especially with how your smirk fell into a frown at the same time Zayne’s own lips twitched in a knowing look. You huffed as you grabbed hold of the shaving cream and got some on your hands then wet them in the bowl of water he had grabbed. As you worked it into a lather in your own hands you turned to your ‘patient’. You were now standing between his legs as you peered down at the man.

“Tilt your head back a little bit,” you said, watching as he did just as you asked without any smart remarks. Your hands went to cup his cheeks, working the lather into his skin. Your hands massaging his cheeks and just enjoying the fact that you got to touch him all over his face for once without him complaining.

Your thumb swiped right underneath his bottom lip as you looked between his mouth to his eyes. He seemed to almost be waiting for you to give in and kiss him, but you held back. There was too much shaving cream at the moment and you were fairly certain it would taste horrible. Instead you opted to grab hold of the towel next to you and began wiping your hands off.

Once they were clean you grabbed hold of the straight razor. You could feel Zayne tense from your stance between his legs; it was adorable how he both trusted you to do this, but was also terrified of you having such a sharp object close to his neck. You did see what he was talking about earlier with the angle not being the best, and you decided to quickly fix the situation at hand.

You used your knees to make Zayne put his legs together and then threw one of your own over his waist. You adjusted yourself on his lap, making sure to be more centered on his thighs rather than his crotch. You didn’t want to reward his bad behavior of teasing you by sitting directly on it, and from this angle you’d be able to see the effect you had on him.

“So this is your solution?” he finally said as you adjusted the razor once more in your hand, opening it up to reveal the glint of the sharp blade in the light. His eyes went between your position on his lap then over to the dangerous object in your hands.

You looked at him with a questioning gaze, “Are you going to lie and tell me this isn’t what you had in mind when you commented about how this wouldn’t be good for my back if I had to bend?” your voice was almost mocking and he looked at you with narrowed eyes. “If I’m not mistaken, you never pass up an opportunity to have me using you as a chair,” the innuendo was there, but you wondered if he’d even notice with how his eyes were transfixed on the razor you held.

“I was thinking you could come behind the couch and lay my head back, or perhaps pull up a chair,” he said calmly and you rolled your eyes. The way his eyes shifted slightly was the only indicator you needed to tell he was lying. After knowing him for so long you knew his tells; generally you didn’t press him about these things, but in situations like this you didn’t mind calling him out.

“I’m sure you were thinking that, weren’t you?” you said, tone still mocking, “However I am the Chief Surgeon, Mr. Li. You have to understand that my methods might be unorthodox, however they yield good results,” you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back for being able to say that without needing to stutter or think over your wording. All those hours of watching horrible medical dramas were finally paying off it would seem.

“I’m just surprised you haven’t received any malpractice suits for how you treat your patients,” he said as you finally grabbed hold of his chin. You moved his face to the side to get a good angle and looked at him with an entertained gaze.

“I have very good lawyers, sir,” you began and slowly brought the razor up to his face, “Now for this part I need you to be absolutely still, and no smart remarks,” it was clear he wanted to say something more, but he was tense under you as the razor finally met his skin.

It was a simple swipe, getting the small bit of stubble off as well as a lump of the shaving cream. The towel you had previously used for your hand was now resting on his shoulder for you to wipe the razor clean on. You used one hand to stretch the skin and did another swipe, following by a third in quick succession. Being a hunter did mean you had to have a lot of skills with weapons, and in your mind you were thinking of the razor like you would a dagger, applying just the right amount of pressure to get rid of the hair without cutting into someone.

You wiped the razor clean again and smirked, running your thumb over the now shaved part of his cheek, “There we go, so far so good,” you cooed, looking at Zayne. He seemed to have relaxed a lot after the first swipe, realizing that you weren’t about to filet his face with the razor.

“I’m curious, have you ever shaved someone’s face before,” he said as you adjusted your angle once more, letting the razor glide gently across his cheek. His eyes met yours briefly as he asked this, seeing how concentrated you were, however, your body was also completely relaxed.

“Would you be surprised if I said this was my first time performing this procedure on a patient?” you teased, a playful smile on your lips as you quickly swiped another section and finished that side of his cheek.

“You’re doing an outstanding job so far, so I thought you might be experienced at least with the tool,” he was implying something, but like hell you’d rise to the bait. Did he know you played with his razor before…no there was no way he would’ve figured that one out. Playing dumb seemed to be the best solution as you took in a deep, calming breath.

“Sir, I need to remind you to be still for me,” you said as your gaze met his. You noticed a subtle glint of something in his eyes and you forced down the smirk threatening to break your professional demeanor. He was definitely starting to get off with the powerplay that was happening and you wondered how much you could tease him while doing this.

“Understood, I won’t move,” he said as he glanced at you then turned his gaze elsewhere. It was enough for you to relax as you moved his head so you could begin on the other side of his face. For a moment he was being good, letting you move his face however you needed him. His eyes were closed as you worked the razor on him and shaved his face so it would be smooth once again.

When you were wiping the razor clean for the umpteenth time he deemed it necessary to open his mouth, “Is this your exclusive service?” He tried teasing you, but it was clear what the brat was currently doing. Obviously defying what you had just said to see the reaction he could get from you.

“Mr Li…” you began, your voice soft and gentle. The grip on his chin right now was anything but as you looked down at him with a sneer, “Don’t,” you moved his face more to the side, “Move,” you finished as you pressed the razor against his skin.

You had to wait a second as you saw a shiver going down Zayne’s spin and you smirked. His breath had hitched at the tone of your voice you had used and you licked your lips at his reaction. Thankfully he was now looking away from you, probably trying to process his own thoughts, and didn’t catch the lustful gaze you had as your eyes raked up and down his body.

You watched as his cock literally twitched, the movement not subtle in the slightest when the only thing separating you was the silky robe. He clearly was hard underneath it, but from the looks of it he was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Going back to work in cleaning him off, you work on his chin. Your face was now close to him as you made sure you got everything and he was clearly trying to avoid looking at you. You were currently leaning a little more into him, but not touching where he clearly needed some stimulation. You then felt your body shifting a little as he tried to adjust without actually touching you.

You let him, noticing how he was trying to adjust so you couldn’t see how obvious his erection was. You decided to keep stern and cleared your throat, “You’re moving again,” it was hard keeping your tone cold as you said this. He froze, his eyes darting to you like a child who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

He cleared his throat, “My apologies,” he murmured as he looked away from you again. He went back to being still, but you just stared at him for a moment, wondering exactly what was going through his head. You knew he was getting all hot and bothered, but normally he wasn’t trying to hide it from you. Then it dawned on you as a grin grew on your face.

One thing that never got tiring was how Zayne got turned on so easily when it came to you. You knew that before you had gotten together he hadn’t slept with anyone, and the poor man had seldom even touched himself. That meant at the start he was getting hard just by staring at you for a little too long. It was a cute quirk of his, at least you thought so.

Zayne however didn’t think it was all that amusing and often had to hide his erection because they would happen at the worst times. He also sucked at noticing when you were trying to get him hard on purpose, even in the most obvious of settings like this one. You were literally sitting on his lap, using a stern voice, and playing into his medical kink slightly…and the man probably was thinking he shouldn’t be getting this hot and bothered right now.

Or perhaps it was due to the fact that he didn’t want to accidentally grind into you while you had a razor to his neck…it could be either or. All you knew for a fact was how cute he looked right now with the most subtle blush on his cheeks as he tried his hardest to pretend like he wasn’t bricked up just by you sitting on his thighs and shaving his face.

You couldn’t help yourself, adjusting yourself to find a better angle and making sure to grind your ass along his length. You watched his throat bob as he held back a moan, getting a nice reaction out of him from the most subtle stimulation. You did it again, allowing it to be a little less subtle as Zayne’s hands went to clamp down on your thighs, making you stop. His eyes frantically found your own as he went to open his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

“Zayne?” you asked, leaning your body back enough to get a good look at him. He went back to avoiding your gaze, looking off to the side with flushed cheeks that you were tempted to pinch, “What’s going on? Did I hurt you?” you said next, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek and running your thumb over the smooth skin.

“I…no you didn’t,” his voice came out a little hoarse from his aroused state, his own hand grabbing yours and holding it against his face. He finally looked at you and you noticed how far gone he already was. If the twitch of his cock underneath your ass wasn’t telling enough, the way his pupils seemed to swallow a lot of the hazel in his eyes was your sign that he was losing his composure.

“Then why did you move? I’m almost done,” you said, leaning back in, “Just tip your head back and be a good boy for a little longer,” you breath now fanning over his cheek. A shiver went down his spine as he did so, leaning his head back as you worked the razor against it. After the cheek was finished you began in the underside of his neck which was probably the easiest part.

You slowly finished dragging the razor and then wiped it on the towel, “There we go…” you trailed off as you looked around. You sat up on your knees and leaned over Zayne to grab the towel next to him, your chest brushing against his face. The hands he had kept on your thighs squeezing as you grabbed what you needed.

You soon sat yourself back down, this time your ass now directly over his straining erection. He let out a sharp exhale of breath at the sensation and stared at you. He knew very well that you could feel him at this point, and with how you shifted on his lap to get comfortable he was groaning against you, attempting not to roll his own hips into you.

“Babe, you need to be good, we’re not done yet,” you scolded as you took the towel in your hand and began wiping off any excess cream on his face. You could see with the way his eyes narrowed that he had a small pout on his face, not that he’d ever admit to such a childish thing. It did have you smirking as you finished up and grabbed the next item on the list.

“What else needs to be done,” his fingers were twitching along your plush thighs, the robe you wore didn’t do much as it had ridden up to reveal most of your skin. Even the opening of your robe had fallen open to show some of your chest, the cool air of it making you shiver as you looked Zayne up and down. He wasn’t faring any better really with how he never even bothered tying his robe properly. The slightest shift could unravel the entire thing.

You took the tube of aftershave in hand and applied some to your hand, “Aftershave, of course,” you smirked as you adjusted once more. He gasped out a moan, closing his eyes as your ass continued teasing his hardened length. You held back your own noises as you felt some wetness on your thigh from how his cock was leaking through the silk robes. Your hands made contact with his jaw and cheeks as you caressed his face and smoothed the after shave onto him.

“You seem distracted, Zayne,” you comment as you shift again. Every subtle movement sent a spike of arousal through Zayne as he tried focusing on your hands instead. The way they trailed so delicately over his face and the slightest sting from the aftershave balm you were applying. Your thigh brushed more onto his leaking erection as you felt just how wet he was getting and you relished in knowing it was all because of you.

He grit his teeth and took in a deep breath, attempting to calm himself down, “I’m not distracted in the slightest,” he said. He knew you could feel him with your movements, it was kind of hard not to. Zayne was well endowed and even in a pair of baggier pants it could be seen when he got riled up. Sitting directly on top of it with nothing more than two flimsy silk robes meant you could feel every single vein along his shaft.

“You sure?” you teased, adjusting once more and hearing him unable to hold back a moan which made you chuckle. It’s like it finally clicked in his mind that this entire time you have purposefully been teasing him. He was too adorable for words sometimes, especially with how he always gave you the benefit of the doubt. Seeing that mental click in his brain as he looked at you with his eyes widened had you rewarding him with another drag of your hips against him.

Your hands went back to gingerly rub in the aftershave and he was looking at you with knowing eyes, almost calculating your next move, “You’ve been teasing me this entire time,” it was a statement rather than a question.

“How nice of you to finally notice, my love,” you said, pinching his cheeks slightly. You leaned in, capturing his lips in a quick kiss while holding him in place, “Don’t forget you were the one teasing me in the bathroom earlier. Kissing me like that, making my head spin, and then saying we needed to hurry up and shave. You tried distracting me earlier, didn’t you?” you said, now obviously rutting onto him and using more pressure.

The grasp he had on your thighs now moved over to your hips, squeezing the skin there as he helped you along with grinding on him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he groaned out, rolling his hips into your ass and closing his eyes. His mouth was opened as you leaned in, your grip on him changing from holding onto his cheeks to one hand on his bare chest and the other on the nape of his neck dragging him closer.

You let out a groan of your own into his mouth, feeling how his cock was sliding perfectly against you with every thrust upwards. You knew you’d be soaking through this robe in no time as your tongue played against the roof of Zayne’s mouth, drinking him in and making sure his head was spinning just like he had done to yours earlier.

After a moment of kissing him you leaned away, making sure to lick his lip first teasingly. He was already panting as he looked at you, his hips still rolling up. You sat up and placed yourself back on his thigh and you could hear the pitiful whine that left him. His rosy cheeks only grew darker after he realized the noise that left him, but he opted to pretend like it didn’t happen.

He was about to say something when he noticed where your eyes were trailing to. You could see the clear outline of his cock through the robes, the member standing proudly and creating a large bump. The most intriguing part was where there was a very obvious wet mark where the head of it would go. You had felt it earlier, sure, but now you could see a bead of precum that was on top of it that shined slightly.

You licked your lips and grasped his dick then thumbed over the head of it through the robes, feeling the precum seeping through the material, “Fuck Zayne, you’re already so wet,” you said as you teased his cock. Zayne’s hips bucked up into your touch as he sought out more friction, his head rolling back at finally feeling something wrapped around him. Hearing those filthy words leaving your mouth was doing something to him as he felt his entire body getting hotter.

“Fuck Zayne, you look so good like this…” your free hand went to the tie of your robe, quickly undoing it and letting the material fall and pool around your hips and thighs. Zayne’s eyes were now on your body, trailing up and down before he landed on your face. He seemed to have melted the moment his eyes met your own.

He made a good attempt at steeling himself, “You look breathtaking right now, darling,” he sat up and used his grip on you to pull you closer. His lips collided with yours as he deepened the kiss, he never could get enough of your taste as he groaned at the sensation of your hand never leaving his hardening length. His hands now on your bare skin as he cupped under your ass and lifted you enough to drag the rest of the robes away, discarding them to the ground.

When you parted you began peppering kisses all along his jaw and neck, “I think I’m going to ride you tonight, Zayne,” your hand left his cock and trailed up to his robe tie now, playing with the silken material before slowly undoing the sloppy knot. Zayne’s breath hitched at your words, the mental image of your cunt wrapped around his cock while you bounced on his lap was more than he could handle. As the robe left his body to expose him you could see just how hard his cock had gotten; the head of it was red and dribbling with pre over the rest of the shaft.

“Please don’t forget,” he swallowed, “I’m on call tonight,” he threw his head back as your hand went to wrap around his length without any barriers between you. You tugged on his cock, letting your hand glide easily over him as you teased him and listened to the pretty noises leaving his mouth. His warning came far too late with how fucked out he already was; you found the entire situation amusing as you rose an eyebrow to look down at him.

“They’re just phone calls,” you dismissed it easily with your grip tightening and making him whimper, “You can answer them while I’m riding you. You just have to not moan like a whore into your phone and it’ll be fine, right?” it was impossible for Zayne not to be vocal while you were on him. He normally was so good at masking his emotions and expressions, but when it came to you he became an open book. You could read him so easily and draw out emotions he thought were long gone.

His breath caught in his throat; with either anxiety or arousal was to be seen. You riding him while he took a work call was surely going to end horribly and he knew it, but he couldn’t help the way his body reacted to your words. His cock twitched in your grasp and you could see another bead forming on the tip which your thumb swiped over and used to slicken up your hold on him.

“That wouldn’t be a good-ah,” he groaned with how your pace picked up in stroking him; his words lost on his tongue as he stared up at you. His hips jerked up into your touch in a feeble attempt to fuck your closed fist and get more stimulation.

Of course this reaction didn’t go unnoticed by you as you looked at Zayne with a smirk, “Really babe, you’re leaking everywhere and you’re trying to tell me this isn’t something you want?” You took your hand away and licked your thumb, never breaking eye contact with him. You watched the turmoil in his eyes as he observed your pink tongue licking at the precum that had dribbled out.

“I…ah!” his words died again as you went to stroke his length faster, your grip tighter than before. Your chuckle echoed in the room as you tilted your head to the side, waiting for him to continue, “Don’t think…mhm,” he was losing his own wits at the moment, opting to just let you do whatever you wanted. He knew it was a losing battle, the way you felt was always too good for him to simply pass up.

It was only when you lifted up and began hovering over his cock, positioning it at your entrance that he stopped you. His grip tightening as he looked at you, “You know you can’t take my length without preparation,” his tone was near scolding as he looked at you. For the first time since he made out with you in the shower, the stern Zayne came out and looked at you with hard eyes.

You let out a small and annoyed whine, “You’re on call for consultations and meetings, Dr. Li,” you began with a pout in hopes he’d just give it up, “Do we really have the time for all that?” you just wanted to feel his length stretching you out already. With all the teasing and cute reactions you had gotten from Zayne, it had also left you feeling wet and needy for the man. You just happened to have better self control at times…or perhaps your need to make him whimper overrode your own need to fuck him.

Zayne’s grip didn’t lessen at all, “We always have time to prepare you,” now it was your turn to blush. He said it with such finality you had to groan a little bit.

“Alright, fine, have it your way,” you guessed this would be fine, at least now you had a chance to walk tomorrow. Zayne was huge in every sense of the way, and normally even with preparation if you took his entire length you sometimes wouldn’t be walking straight for a day or two. He always tried to stop you from taking all of him anytime you two fucked, but the moment your pussy was wrapped around him all of his sensability went out the door. You loved feeling all of him every single time you fucked him, which is why you preferred being on top. It was teasing whenever he was on top and he only fucked you with part of his length.

“I just have no idea why you’re so fascinated with being put in a wheelchair,” you gasped at his words and then looked away. A small smile was now working its way onto your lips though at the horribly made joke. He wasn’t wrong about needing a wheelchair part. If you fucked him without prep that might actually end up happening. Last time it had happened you ended up calling out of work because you literally couldn’t walk without an obvious limp.

“Come here,” he said, lifting you up until you were now balanced on your knees. He dragged you closer to him as he adjusted himself in his spot, leaning his head back onto the couch. You then realized the position he had grabbed you in, your cunt now right in his face, almost dripping onto his chest, “Just like that,” he murmured, tugging your thighs apart so he'd have easier access.

The moment his tongue licked up your folds for the first time you knew you were going to be putty in this man’s hands. The amount of times he had eaten you out is immeasurable at this point. He had your body down to a science and he was more than happy to use it in situations like these.

You groaned as he lapped at your wet cunt, his mouth forming a small suction around your clit as he worked to get a good taste of you. One hand coming up to prod a finger into your entrance which made you gasp. Your hips rolled into his face as he slipped it inside, crooking it into your pussy as he began leisurely pumping into you. Despite how you knew he had things to do he seemed intent on taking his time to do this correctly.

You groaned, noticing how he was going too slow, his tongue simply playing with your clit as his single finger fucked up into you. He was doing this on purpose now, you knew you were wet enough for a second and probably third finger inside of you. His eyes glanced up at you in that moment, taking you in and you could see the look in his eyes that told you he was planning on keeping up with this pace and bringing you to a slow orgasm tonight.

With a small, annoyed groan your hand went to his hair, tugging harshly to get his attention, “Zayne,” your voice came out low and threatening, “Don’t tease me unless you want me to edge you for the next few hours,” if he wanted to be slow with eating your cunt, then you’d happily just sit on his cock and warm him for a few hours, moving the moment he began relaxing to get him riled up again. You had done it several times in the past when he decided it would be fun to be a cheeky bastard. Normally by the end of the second hour he was so fucked out he could barely think and begging you to just move already.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes for a moment and feel him taking in a sharp breath at your words. Zayne is admittedly a slut when it comes to your whims, and something you noticed about him is that he enjoyed being edged. He also knew that now wasn’t the time. Not when there was a possibility of getting a work call at any moment. While you doubted anyone would be calling him at this time anyway, there was still a chance.

Zayne let out a low moan, his tongue now working properly on your pussy, lapping at your juices and you could hear the smacking noises of his lips against you. He slipped a second finger inside, quickly scissoring into you and working you open for his cock. Your head was thrown back as he finally began giving you what you wanted. The slow build up was sometimes nice, but you were far too needy at the moment and his cock was the only thing on your mind.

The grip in his hair stayed consistent as Zayne began getting lost with the taste of you, your juices dripping down his chin as his free hand gripped your ass to drag you closer to him. He was groaning and you could see how he tried rolling his ups up into nothing as he worked on bringing you to the brink. You rewarded him with a loud moan that echoed off the walls of the room, looking down at him with a smile.

“Fuck,” you groaned out, now rolling your hips into his face as you felt yourself getting closer, “Such a good boy,” your breathing became labored and Zayne could definitely feel how your cunt pulsed around his fingers. You were getting closer by the second as you looked down at the man. He looked utterly disheveled at the moment, his eyes closed as he got lapped at your pussy like a starved man.

You ground your hips against his mouth a few more times before letting out a cry, your cunt tightening around his digits as you came. The tension in you snapping as you rode his face, feeling how he was angling his fingers to graze against that sensitive spot inside you as he worked you through it. Your juices now trailing down onto his chest, and the noises in the room were nothing but your panting and the loud slurping noises of Zayne drinking you in.

By the time you came down your thighs were almost shaking. You loosened your hold on Zayne’s hair and moved away for a moment. His chin was shiny and wet as Zayne brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking off the rest of your essence. He groaned at your taste, his eyes never leaving yours and a shiver went down your spine as you adjusted yourself back into his lap. You grabbed the back of his head, dragging him close until you were crashing your lips against his.

You could taste yourself so clearly on his tongue and Zayne melted into your lips right away. His tongue playing with your own as he groaned, clearly already fucked out and he hadn’t even cum yet. He was so content though as you explored his mouth, moaning as the taste until you were pulling away with a gentle nip on his lower lip.

“I think you might’ve enjoyed yourself more than I did,” you said, your voice coming out a little labored still as you went to wipe away some of the slick on his chin. Your eyes trailed down between your bodies and you could see a small pool of his pre cum on his abs, his cock head red from how turned on he was at the moment.

Zayne looked down to see the mess he had made on himself then back up at you, “I always enjoy making you feel good,” he said as he cupped your ass, his eyes were needy and filled with longing that it caught you off guard, “If you want to use me, you have my permission,” his cock twitched once again and you smiled. You leaned in quickly, capturing him in a quick kiss and nuzzling his nose with your own. He was so vulnerable with you now and days, and words like this always set your heart speeding.

“Did you want me to use you, pretty boy? Ride you and use your cock until I cum again?” you asked, your voice coming out gently as you press your lips against his skin. Your mouth trailing kisses along his neck, leaving a few small nips in your wake. He could wear one of his turtle necks tomorrow for all you cared, you just wanted to see him littered in marks right now. You were sucking harshly at the junction between his neck and collarbone and managed to leave a pretty red mark there that you kissed gently as you rose up.

Zayne could clearly see what you were doing but at this point he didn’t care, all rationality was lost, “Yes, please,” his voice quivered as he admitted his desires. It sent a shiver down your spine as you went in to suck another nice red mark on his collarbone and let off, looking at him with a lascivious gaze.

You grasped his cock in your hand, pumping it then placing the head right at your entrance. You could feel the bluntness of it and shivered, knowing the stretch would probably sting only a little bit since he had worked you opened. One day you swore your pussy would become accustomed to his size, molded to it. Still the intimacy between you two was still relatively new, only going on for a handful of months. You hadn’t fucked him in two weeks before this due to conflicting schedules and you were dying to feel him again. Zayne’s eyes didn’t leave yours as he watched as you slowly began taking his cock into you.

Zayne grasped the back of your neck, dragging you to his lips as he began kissing you. It was sloppy and hurried as his hips bucked up into you as he tried getting you to take more of him. His cock slid more into you and managed to hit your sweet spot and you took in a sharp inhale of breath. It was clear how much he wanted to feel your pussy clenched around his length as you smirked against his mouth. You let out a moan yourself, feeling how his cock was almost nestled all the way inside of you. You wondered briefly if it would be a good idea to take all of him tonight. Two weeks wasn’t that long ago, you could probably take it this time around.

You braced your arms on his chest as you sat up to get a good view of him. You didn’t even have a chance to begin moving when you saw Zayne’s arm coming up to cover his face. He let out a loud groan while he rolled his hips up into you. You could feel his cock twitching and then the warmth filling you up. Your eyes widened as you realized he was coming just from having you sitting on his cock. He had been more worked up than you originally thought, and it sent jolts of pleasure through you as he continued bucking up into you to ride it out.

His thrusts were shallow while he let out pretty moans that were muffled as he tried biting into his own arm out of embarrassment. That clearly wouldn’t do as you grasped his arm suddenly and moved it away from his face, pinning it to the couch above you. His eyes were wide as he stared at you, jaw hanging open as he let out a whiny moan.

“Don’t hide yourself, sweetheart. I wanna see you,” you rolled your hips into him as you helped him through his orgasm. His freehand went to grasp your ass and squeezed it harder than he intended as he tried moving you along his cock. He was almost shaking from how good it must’ve felt and as he slowly started to come down he looked down between your bodies.

He could see some of his release coming out of you, dripping onto his lap and coating his cock in the substance. The creamy mixture of your joined fluids was almost too much for him as his cock gave a final spurt into you.

“Did it feel that good to be buried in my pussy that you came instantly?” You asked as you brought your hand to his still wet chin. You made him look at you and he could see the mischievous glint in your eyes as he tried looking away. You chuckled, dragging him in for another kiss and grabbing his discarded robe next to you to wipe away some of the mess on his chin. He was panting into your mouth as you bit down hard on his lip.

Instead of leaving marks in your wake you were content with just leaving sweet kisses all over his face as he caught his breath. He was clearly enjoying himself with how his eyes closed and he relaxed into your touches. After a few more moments he was finally able to speak, “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyes opened to look at you. The embarrassment at coming the moment his cock was put into you was clearly there, but you found it more adorable if anything.

“Don’t be sorry,” you said gently, cupping his cheek. You watched as he leaned into your touch and smiled, “Besides, I’m not done with you just yet, Zayne,” you said and his eyes shot over to you. You felt his cock move inside of you and you smirked, “Looks like you’re not done either,”

His cock might’ve been softening inside of you right now, but you were intent on keeping him inside of you as long as possible. Before Zayne could protest you began rolling your hips onto his sensitive cock; a gasp left his mouth as he watched the way you were moving. Zayne had always been so easy to overstimulate, and the time it took for him to get hard again was always so fast it sometimes surprised you.

His grip tightened as he watched you lift off his dick slightly then roll back down, taking his softening length back into you. He hissed and closed his eyes, “W-wait…” he groaned, needing a minute before you properly began fucking him. You let out a hum, your hand on his chest as you pushed him back so he was pressed into the couch. You leaned up onto him with your hips still moving at a slow and agonizing pace for him.

“Wait? Zayne, you’re in call dear, we don’t have time to wait,” you teased him. You could see the cogs in his head turning at that and he bit his lower lip as he attempted to control himself, closing his eyes as he tried to not focus on the uncomfortable feeling of his sensitive cock being squeezed by you.

“Please…” he whimpered out and you chuckled at how breathy his voice was at the moment. You cupped his chin, forcing him to look at you. His cock was slowly starting to harden again, but it still felt too sensitive to be wrapped so tightly inside your pussy.

“Please what?” you cooed, your thumb pressing on his bottom lip. He tried to say something, but words were lost to him as he felt you squeezing around him, instead a small gasp left him as his hips moved up into you. You clicked your tongue and shook your head, “Remember earlier when I was shaving your face?” he was silent again and you applied more pressure to his lip, “Zayne, use your words,”

“Yes,” he said, swallowing thickly as he looked up at you, his adam's apple moving with the motion. His eyes were starting to get a little wet from the overstimulation and you groaned at the sight of him.

“You said you’d stay still,” you reminded him and he nodded in response, “Can you stay still for me again?” you cocked your head to the side and waited for him.

“I can…but why?” he said; as soon as the words left he realized what you had implied. Instead of placing your hands on him you put them on the couch behind him. You used it as leverage and raised a singular brow while smirking down at him. The way you seemed locked on meant only one thing.

You began riding him in earnest, your ass bouncing on his lap as you used the couch as leverage to help you. Your loud moans started filling the room as you felt his thick cock stretching you out. You still hadn’t even taken all of him yet but you were already feeling like you were getting close as you pressed your chest against him. Every single vein of his dick felt heavenly as you threw your head back to let out loud moans that allowed him to know just how good he was making you feel. He did say you could use him as your own personal toy if you really wanted to, so you were simply taking advantage of the offer.

Despite how he said he would sit still he couldn’t help as he began kissing your chest. They were bouncing right in front of him and he groaned, the wet smacking noises of his lips against your chest joined in with your moans. You felt his warm mouth latch onto one of your nipples making you keen, pressing your chest closer to his face.

“Fuck, Zayne, just like that,” you groaned, not bothering to scold him for being disobedient when he was making you feel so damn good. He was managing to keep his hips from fucking up into you at the moment so that would have to be good enough. Zayne moaned against your chest, his tongue laving over your hardened bud before popping off and kissing between your chest. Zayne swore if you allowed him he would stay like this, just kissing and sucking at your chest. He was starting to leave marks all over your skin without remorse, loving how the red seemed to bloom like roses on your skin.

You clench tightly around him as he presses gentle kisses against your skin and you feel your pace faltering a little bit. You were getting so damn close to coming already just from how he stretched you out so perfectly. You bit your lip as you tried picking up the speed to help reach your orgasm sooner, angling so your clit hit his pelvis with every stroke.

You felt his cock twitching again and you were so close to the cusp of getting to cum, and you were certain he was almost there as well. Then it was absolutely ruined the moment you heard a familiar ring tone coming from the side table next to you. You both paused, your cunt halfway on his cock as you both slowly looked over at his phone. It was flashing with the caller ID of one of the doctor’s you recognized from the convention.

The blonde female’s name popped up and you turned back to Zayne. It was nearly ten at night currently, and you didn’t know why the fuck someone would be calling. You could see the look in Zayne’s eyes as he truly debated if he was going to answer it. He did say he was on call for things regarding the conventions, meetings, and even emergency patient consultations. Still, at this time of night unless it was a patient or a coworker, did anyone really have a right to be calling him? If it was that important they could’ve sent him an email about the events of the convention rather than calling him at a time where most people should be asleep.

Zayne looked back at you, “I have to…answer this…” he sounded defeated as he looked back at his phone. You let out a sigh, reaching over and grabbing his phone. His hand was already out for you to place the device in his palm. He looked at the phone then back at you, “I’m…” he was about to apologize but you shook your head with a small smile. Even if you felt a little bubble of rage inside of you, you quelled it. You knew how important his job was. Hell if your Hunter’s watch went off you’d probably be jumping off his dick and grabbing your guns.

“Just answer it,” you said, knowing that in two rings it would go to voicemail. He finally swiped up on the phone and put it against his ear.

You could hear the female doctor’s voice on the other line who seemed surprised that Zayne had actually answered at this time. You frowned at how peppy the woman sounded and you could only barely hear her at the moment. Your eyes narrowed at the device and Zayne began giving short replies to the woman and attempted to keep his breathing even.

“Yes, tomorrow at eleven,” you heard Zayne murmur into the receiver followed by a, “Before the meeting?” and now your eyes were widened. You could tell that this phone call clearly wasn’t an important one, which you had suspected. That woman was from a different hospital, however she had met with Zayne at a previous doctor’s seminar about two months back. When you two had been walking around the convention center earlier today she had seemed overly friendly with him, going so far as to touch his arm while speaking. You had almost broken her hand at that since Zayne had tensed up the moment the woman had touched him.

It didn’t sit right with you, especially judging by how Zayne was speaking to her while balls deep in you. You made a motion for Zayne to put it on speaker and at first he shook his head, but one glare from you and he was moving the phone away from his ear and clicking the button so you could hear the conversation. You gave him a smile in response for listening to you.

“Yes, since the panel tomorrow was a little bit later in the evening I was wondering if you’d like to perhaps grab some coffee before it. I heard you have a sweet tooth and I know a place close to the convention center that has amazing milk tea,” the peppy woman on the other end began saying and you looked between the phone then over to Zayne. She was calling at ten so she could…ask him out on a coffee date for tomorrow morning? She…she had seen you two together. Sure PDA wasn’t something you guys partook in at events like this. You were certain that Zayne had made sure to introduce you as his partner though to everyone who had asked, including her. She knew he was a taken man.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to decline,” Zayne began but the other doctor seemed very persistent when she was speaking to him. Her voice even dropped to be a little more…seductive perhaps?

“Are you certain? They also have some items for breakfast we could try. I heard their cinnamon rolls were to die for, and I think they make fresh macaroons every morning,” how did this bitch find out she could tempt him with macarons? Who fucking told her? Greyson was at this convention too, wasn’t he? You swore up and down that if he had told this woman about Zayne’s preferences in food you were going to give him an earful tomorrow when Zayne wasn’t looking.

You gave Zayne the look as he seemed to think over the offer for a brief moment. You absolutely would not be having him thinking about going to breakfast with someone who was clearly trying to get into his pants. You decide to squeeze yourself around him and Zayne let out a small gasp at the sudden stimulation that he hadn’t been expecting.

His wide eyes looked at you, shaking his head as if pleading for you to not do this. You smirked though, clearly satisfied with how he reacted to just a little bit of teasing. Your hands left the back of the couch so you could rest them on his chest, your fingers going around his nipples, but not touching them; a small warning for him to tread carefully and probably end the phone call the moment he could.

“Zayne, is everything alright?” hearing this woman calling him by his first name instead of Dr. Li sent a spike of hot rage through you. You thought to yourself that perhaps you weren’t an overly jealous person, but that solidified that you could be downright nasty when someone was trying to hit on Zayne. Especially since the man didn’t seem to think anything of it, probably assuming it was just a casual conversation and she wasn’t flirting with him. Even you had to be extremely forward before he realized you were actually trying to flirt with him.

You looked at Zayne with a loving smile, your hand trailing up his chest and into his hair for a brief moment. He looked at you confused before letting out the loudest moan as you slammed down fully on his cock, taking all of him suddenly. You could feel the sting going through you as his cock slammed into your cervix, but you managed to school your expression as you had priorities.

The other end of the receiver was silent for a moment as there was no way the noise of you dropping down on his cock, and then his moan could’ve been mistaken for anything else. You knew damn well that you were caught having sex during a phone call, but honestly you didn’t care. You weren’t about to sit idly while someone flirted with your boyfriend while you were sitting on his dick.

“He’s busy right now,” you stated bluntly, “And he’s going to be similarly busy tomorrow morning as well,” your voice was clipped. The woman began stammering out a reply as she processed what was going on, but you had grabbed the phone and hung up on her. You tossed the device somewhere on the couch where it was out of sight and out of mind. You didn’t care who else tried calling him tonight, you refused to let him answer another call…and honestly probably after he fell asleep tonight you were going to block that other doctor’s number from his phone.

Zayne looked at you with both shock and something else hidden beneath the depths of those gorgeous eyes of his. He licked his lips and furrowed his brows as he cleared his throat, “You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his cheeks very red now. He always was a stickler for keeping up his reputation, but at the moment you really didn't give a damn. If that woman wanted to spread rumors about Zayne getting laid over the phone, she’d have to admit she was flirting with the man in the first place. Besides, it might send a message to everyone else that he was very much taken.

“Well she did see us together at the convention center,” you began as you rose up on his cock. He groaned at the feeling of your slick walls gliding on him, “So she knew you were a taken man yet she still wanted to try and get you to go on a date with her,” you slowly descended back down on his dick until it was fully nestled into you. You leaned forward and pressed kisses behind his ear as you whispered, “Honestly if she tries that shit again I’ll fuck you right in front of her next time so she can see what a needy mess you become for me and me only,”

Zayne wasn’t prepared as you began bouncing on his cock quickly, accentuating every roll of your hips when he bottomed out. He had his head thrown back as he groaned loudly into the room, not prepared for you to go so fast again. His dick was twitching like crazy and you knew he was getting close and you were thrilled at the thought of him filling you up again. His neck was on full display and you began sucking a mark right on his jaw line where he wouldn’t be able to hide it unless he wore a scarf up to his damn mouth.

You squeezed his cock so perfectly, and the way that your body looked above him did things to Zayne he had never thought possible before meeting you. His eyes never leaving your face or chest, depending on which one came into view as you fucked yourself on him. It was like you were using his body as a toy, an instrument for your own pleasure. The sweat pearled on your skin and slid down the valley of your breasts and he leaned in, licking the salty mess and groaned.

“I’m close,” it was a warning from Zayne; to help you decide if you wanted to slow down and prolong your own pleasure, or to let him tumble over that perfect edge and paint your insides. With how your pace didn’t falter he decided it was the later, “Ah ah ah,” his panting against your chest made you chuckle. Your hand threaded into his hair and pressed him closer.

“Baby, play with my chest again. Want to feel that mouth of yours,” you groaned and he didn’t hesitate. His tongue quickling found one of your nipples and bit down around it. You jerked your hips on him and he knew he was done for.

He hid his moans into your chest, playing with your nipple as he came inside of you. The warmth spread over you and you bucked your hips, rolling them against his perfectly as he came inside of you. You were moaning alongside him, the noises mingling perfectly together as you settled on his lap and just ground yourself on his cock to help him through his second orgasm.

You felt him bucking up into you again, his body moving on his own. His hand twitched on your ass and then grabbed a fistful of it and tried dragging you closer and you chuckled. You watched him pop off your breast with a wet noise and he looked up at you panting.

His head was fuzzy and he couldn’t think of something to say, but it looked like he didn’t have to. For the second time that night he watched as you began riding his sensitive cock right after his orgasm. This time he let out a sharp gasp. His hands were on your hips in a weak attempt to hold you down, but as a hunter you managed to have a little more strength than him, especially after he had just come and was still blissed out from it.

“Zayne, lemme cum too, fuck I’m so close lemme ride you for a little longer,” your voice was so melodic as you said this, your hips not letting up in the slightest as you literally used him as a dildo at the moment. There wasn’t much he could do but help you work through your pleasure, so that’s what he did. He sat up and you felt his cock moving in you, dragging against your sweet spot as he managed to get a new angle inside of you without even trying.

He placed one of his hands into your hair and dragged your head closer to him as he began leaving wet kisses all over your neck and collarbone. His other hand was going between your bodies and pressing down on your clit before rubbing in the way he knew made you go crazy. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last long with how you felt around him, and he knew if he came again before you did he would be too fucked out for the rest of the evening to do anything.

The added stimulation had you gasping, pussy squeezing so perfectly around him that he was whimpering. His cock never had a chance to get soft as it was still hard inside of you. “F-fuck Zayne, mhn ah so so fucking clo-close babe,” you said as he groaned against your neck and left a red mark in a place you also wouldn’t be able to hide, essentially giving you a matching hicky.

You wanted to say something witty about how fucked out he was that he didn’t care if people saw the results of your romps, but your head was swimming right now as you let out a series of sweet moans. Zayne’s hips rolled in time with your own and you felt how he twitched inside of you, “Z-Zayne,” you whined, “C-can you cum again, sweetheart?” you gasped out as you felt his teeth grazing that soft spot between your ear and neck.

The way you felt his cock moving inside of you was enough to let you know he could. His refractory period had always been so damn short and one day you swore you’d explore just how fast and many times you could make him cum in an hour. Right now though you just wanted to cum yourself as you worked your hips perfectly on him and chased your high.

It didn’t take much, not with how his hand was working your clit and his cock abused your g-spot every time you impaled yourself on him. Your pussy clenched tightly like a vice around him and your thighs quivered as you cried out. You came hard, your juices flowing on his cock and it was enough to send him into his third orgasm of the night.

The combination of your tight pussy and the overstimulation had him spilling inside of you, filling you to the breaking point as his release flowed down out since you couldn’t contain it all inside. He was whimpering as you rode out your high, closing your eyes and holding his shoulder so tightly you were certain there would be bruising. His whines went perfectly with your own panting as you finally found yourself coming down to earth, sliding down on his cock weakly.

Zayne’s head was still nestled in the crook of your neck and you worked on shrugging him off. When he finally looked back at you his eyes were glassy and you leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. He went on autopilot, accepting your affections as he opened his mouth. It was lazy as you made out with him, tongue pressing against his own in a slow and sloppy kiss. Neither of you cared at the moment though, just savoring the moment of being like this.

Your chest was heaving as you parted, pressing your forehead against his own and closing your eyes. You were both sweaty and absolute messes, making your previous shower absolutely useless in hindsight. You chuckled at the thought, your hands running through his hair and playing with it as you smiled against him.

“What’s so funny?” his voice was husky and quiet as he asked this and you opened your eyes to stare at him.

“We made a mess right after our shower,” you commented and he let out a huff. He was clearly coming back to his senses as you just sat there instead of moving and overstimulating him again. His hands now laid on your thighs again, giving them a small squeeze.

“Who’s fault is that?” he murmured, making you laugh again and pressing a kiss against his forehead.

“You’re the one who got hard from me shaving your face,” you remind him calmly, “Didn’t know you had a kink for sharp objects being pressed against you,”

“I do not have that kink,” he grumbled, but his argument was invalid after you felt him twitch inside of you. You let out another laugh and leaned back a little to cup his face.

“You sure about that?” The way his eyes avoided you was all you needed for an answer. You shook your head and decided to rest against his chest for a little longer. He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer and placed his chin on top of your head. The moment was serene as you basked in the afterglow.

Instead of giving you an answer he just cleared his throat, “We need to clean up,” now it was your turn to groan at his words. He always was so anal about doing things properly with aftercare when all you ever wanted to do was cuddle with him and fall asleep. Of course if you fucked him to the point where he couldn’t think properly you would take the mantle, but it seemed today he was still well enough to have common sense…you’d fuck him senseless next time.

“Just a little longer,” you tried convincing him by using a whinier voice than normal. You looked up at him through your eyelashes in a silent form of begging, hoping he’d just let you have your way like he normally would in situations that didn’t involve your actual health.

Zayne shook his head, “If I give into you now then you’ll just fall asleep, and I can’t have that,” okay well he might’ve been accurate in that assessment, but it didn’t mean you were about to give up on your goal of cuddling with him right now.

“Counter argument…I cock warm you and we go to sleep like this right here on the couch,” You tried to reason, but clearly Zayne was not about to let you do that.

“That’s not good for your health,” he watched as you groaned, “We need to clean up, you need to use the restroom, and after that we can lay down in a proper bed and go to sleep,” he made an attempt to reason but you were still pouting at the thought.

“Aren’t you tired?” you mumbled, “You came three times,” you reminded him as your hand trailed over his chest gently. You tried looking innocent despite the fact that you had been riding this man and overstimulating him for around an hour at this point.

“I’m still fully capable of standing…” he said and you watched the corners of his mouth twitch, “Besides, you’ve done worse in the past,” you gasped and looked at him with an open mouth. Okay just because you’ve fucked him to the point of crying in the past and had him shooting blanks meant nothing.

You then smirked, “I mean…I can make you cum like four more times and then we’ll see if that statement pans out,” you chuckled at the thought. You wouldn’t mind wrapping your mouth around him and making him cum a few more times if it meant he’d be tired enough to not bother with getting off this couch. You just wanted to relax into him despite how tired you were and how your muscles ached. You knew damn well that you wouldn’t be able to ride him much longer if you tried, you already ached between your legs. It might’ve also been the reason you didn’t want to get off his dick at the moment, you knew that sore feeling would only fester the moment you did.

“Nope, not tonight, I have to do things tomorrow,” he said and he went to lift you up, but watched the small flinch the moment he slid you up on his cock. It seemed the real reason you wanted to couchrot finally clicked in his brain, “You took all of me…” he finally muttered as he looked down at you.

“Was I...not supposed to?” you asked and it was clear as day that you were guilty. Just like how he had things to do tomorrow, you did as well. Mainly accompanying him since you had insisted on joining him for a convention as his plus one. You had a full day of walking around a convention center.

He sighed and shook his head, “While I might be able to walk right now…can you?” he asked and you looked away and bit your lip.

“I mean…with a limp I could,” okay maybe slamming down on his cock during that phone call wasn’t your best decision, but you were feeling a little jealous and needed the bitch to know he was yours. You tended to make stupid decisions when it came to your jealousy. It didn’t happen often since most people understood they shouldn’t be flirting with a taken man, but when it did you never made smart decisions.

You let out a hiss as he finally lifted you off his dick and you could see the trail of your combined releases coming out of you and onto his lap. You’d have to clean this couch before it stained or else you’d be getting a nice little bill from the resort when you guys left. You could feel the ache so clearly now and it was written all over your face.

Zayne stood up with you still in his arms, making you lock your legs around his waist as he began carrying you into the bathroom. Your arms wrapped around him as you leaned closer to him, placing your chin on his shoulder as you let him carry you.

“Shouldn’t I be the one taking care of you right now?” you murmured, letting out a small yawn afterwards as you nuzzled into him.

“Your argument would be more valid if you could walk,” he said with an amused huff. The bathroom was now cool, a stark contrast to how warm the living room had been after your session. The air was significantly less thick and not smelling of sex which you weren’t sure if you loved or hated right now.

“Again, I can walk…just not well,” you stated as he placed you down on the counter. You leaned your back against the cool mirror as you watched him walk to the shower and turn it on again. You were certain this time around the shower would be quick and almost clinical as he took care of your needs, “Seriously this should be reversed,”

“You’ve already taken care of me, snowflake, now it’s my turn,” the sound of the nickname made you flush and you looked away for a brief moment. Zayne seemed amused by your reaction as he made his way back to you. His hands now on the back of your thighs as he got ready to pick you back up, “Do you think you’ll be okay for tomorrow? I can go out and buy some heating pads. I already have pain relievers in my bag,” he commented as he placed a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“I don’t think I need a wheelchair if that’s what you're asking…” you then smirked, “Although if you wanted to wheel me around in one tomorrow I won’t say no.” it would send a pretty good message to that one doctor…

“If you’re in that much pain tomorrow then you’ll be on bed rest,” he warned and you let out a groan.

“You know, Zayne,” you said as you pulled him closer to kiss him quickly, “It’s a good thing I love you,”

The way he looked at you was filled with so much affection it made your breath get caught in your throat. Even though he seldom was able to say the words himself you could tell in the way his eyes looked into your own that he loved you with every fiber of his being, “The feeling is mutual,” he leaned in again for a soft and sweet kiss that would always make you melt like snow. You smiled into it, allowing him to care for you once more for the night.

Aight it's here. It's finished. @anxiousgoddest I know you were excited for it so here is it. The fic. It's done. Also @zayne-li helped me a lot with coming up with some ideas for this so a big thank you!

#loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace #Zayne Love and Deepspace #Lnds #Lnds Zayne #lnds x reader #x reader #reader insert #zayne x reader #l&ds #l&ds zayne #l&ds zayne x reader #lads x reader #lads zayne #lads zayne x reader

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 4 days ago

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How do you think Nanami would announce your pregnancy to Gojo and the jujutsu high cast…. Possible fic idea?

Rainbow Baby

Tags: Nanami x fem!Reader, ANGST, HURT/COMFORT, TW- mentions of a previous miscarriage, (is not described, but it’s heavily referenced), grief, tooth-rotting fluff at the end, happy ending that you and nanami deserve.

An: This is def not the fic that I accidentally wrote about the wrong character for. I definitely did not write this entire fic about Satoru before rereading your request and seeing that you clearly wrote for Nanami.

Nanami is a private man — not secretive, just private. While he loves when you visit school to see him because your presence eases his weary mind, he doesn’t flaunt you around to his coworkers. It’s honestly just a known thing around the school that Kento has a very pretty wife who he doesn’t introduce to anyone.

There is only one exception to the rule: the man who isn’t afraid of anything and has no concept of social boundaries, Satoru Gojo.

Nanami watched in utter disdain as Satoru always found a way to inset himself into yours and Nanami’s conversations. He never bothered to hide how much Gojo gets on his nerves.

However, Satoru gets a pass. Nanami may shoot him death glares and give him short, irritated responses, but Nanami will never shoo him away.

Satoru gets a pass because he was the one who made sure you and Nanami didn’t drown in grief when you two lost your first little one.

Nanami hadn’t even told anyone that you were pregnant yet — it was so early on. You two were still enjoying keeping it a small secret between you two. However, Gojo picked up on it immediately after seeing you. You weren’t showing, but he could see the small bundle of yellow and orange energy radiating from your tummy with his six eyes.

To Nanami’s surprise, Satoru didn’t make a huge deal out of it. He shook Nanami’s hand while whispering a quiet congratulations into his ear. Nanami laughed as he realized that Satoru knew, and he pulled the white haired male into a hug.

Satoru immediately knew something was wrong when Nanami didn’t show up for work the next week. Deciding to check up on his friend, he stopped by yours and Nanami’s house.

Nanami looked like a wreck compared to his normally put together self when he answered the door. His skin was pale, dark bags under his puffy red eyes from crying. He was wearing a shirt and grey sweatpants. You looked even worse…

Satoru didn’t need an explanation whenever the small bundle of energy was no longer present in your tummy.

If it wasn’t for Satoru, Nanami was sure that the grief was going to consume both of you. You were… you were understandably a wreck, and Nanami was so heartbroken himself that he struggled to hold you together. He was the man of the relationship, but he lost a child too. He had to witness his wife go through the worst pain imaginable, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Satoru checked up on you two often. He never mentioned what he knew, which was comforting. He was just always there with a kind smile and food plus desserts. Even though you and Nanami barely would eat anything, Satoru would come over anyways.

He was the only thing constant and stable in yours and Nanami’s lives. He was the only one who knew, and he helped you two out with a level of empathy and care that Nanami didn’t know he was capable of. The house would get cleaned. Food would be served. Different bills and other miscellaneous items ended up being paid.

Soon, the grief became easier to deal with. You and Nanami learned how to cope with the loss and start living again. The grief books lie by the way. You never truly get over the loss of a baby. You just learn how to live with the subtle ache in your heart.

It sneaks up on you sometimes. You see a small baby on tv, and you’re in shambles. Nanami watches Kusakabe announce his wife’s pregnancy, and he has to excuse himself to the restroom for a breather.

Satoru spent father’s and mother’s day with you and Nanami. It’s not like he had any family to celebrate with anyways. He brought you two gifts - making sure to remind you two that you are still parents. Your little one just isn’t on this earth.

So when you see those two pink lines on a test a year later, you feel your heart stop. You can’t take another heartbreak. You’re so scared; you don’t even want to tell Nanami. You two weren’t exactly trying for another baby, but you weren’t preventing one either.

You and Nanami celebrated, cried, laughed, rejoiced, mourned, grieved, every emotion hit you two like a truck when you revealed your pregnancy to him.

You don’t stop by the school for a little while. You and Nanami are both not ready for Satoru to find out… especially not during the first trimester when it’s possible that miscarriage can happen again…

Once you hit 20 weeks and know the baby’s gender, you finally think it’s time to let Satoru know. Nanami reluctantly agrees — also because Satoru has been hounding Nanami for weeks about where you’ve been. Satoru misses the cookies you’d always bake for him.

“Do you have plans for dinner tonight?” Nanami asks the white haired male at work that evening. Satoru immediately perks up, knowing this is basically an invitation to come over.

“Nah, I was thinking about getting hot pot. Why?” Satoru asks, trying not to sound overly excited, but it’s a rarity when Nanami formally invites him over. He also hasn’t seen you in so long. He wants to spill all the new tea to you since you like that sort of thing, unlike Nanami.

“My wife baked those cookies you love so much. You should stop by tonight.” Oh, and Satoru was getting sweets? Hell yeah.

Though, the cookies wasn’t the biggest treat of the night. When Satoru enters your home behind Nanami, he walks to the kitchen where you’re standing over freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Your tummy is rounded, and there’s a strong accumulation of golden energy residing in you.

“You’re-!?” Satoru’s eyes widen and he flicks his head quickly between you and Nanami. Your husband playfully rolls his eyes, but his smile tells you everything you need to know. He’s proud to be announcing your pregnancy.

“Yes, she’s pregnant.” He answers with a laugh, and Gojo pulls him in for a tight hug. Even if Satoru lacks some social skills, he’s able to read people like a book. He knows that this is all you and Nanami have ever wanted — a little family to call your own.

Now, imagine his big blue eyes welling with tears when he sees the cookies have writing on them.

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Toru!”

Now, imagine how fucking ecstatic Nanami is when he finally gets the privilege to announce your pregnancy to the rest of the school. He’s private with his life, but after everything you two have been through, he happily announces your pregnancy to anyone — everyone.

Oh, and your baby girl, Satori, was born happy and healthy. Besides you and Nanami, Satoru was the first one to meet your sweet baby. Yes, he cried like he was the baby when he found out about her name.

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solelifauna · 9 days ago

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So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.