#my pumpkin looks better than yours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hoshigray · 1 year ago

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𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 | choso kamo

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Finding out your boyfriend's a vampire was far from the chill evening you planned with him. But you can't lie, imagining those fangs sinking down on and sucking on your skin....it's kinda hot.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: vampire bf! Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern! au - oral (m! receiving) - handjob - fingering (f! receiving) - nipple play (licking, sucking, tweezing, fangs grazing) - piercings (nape and frenum) - biting (wrist, shoulder, breast, implied more afterwards) - Choso got a long schlong, rip - missionary position - overstimulation - clitoral play (swiping) - cervix fucking - the first time you and Choso have sex + you two being nervy/cute - pet names (angel, baby, princess) - Choso takes blood supplements + drinks pigs blood - Yuuji is his half-brother - mention of blood (duh) and saliva/spit - proofread but will check for more l8r.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.4k (bro, wtf???)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: y'all watched that new ep, right? right. anywaysss, in celebration of choso [and yuuji]'s big fight being animated, i was thinking of vampy bf! choso for a few days and how cute/hot that would be! soooooo, enjoy~~ ☆ and tysm for 2.6k!!

“Sooo, you two gonna like fuck tonight?”

“Whatever happened to ‘How’s your day,’ ‘You doing okay,’ or ‘You still haven’t offed yourself after midterms,’ Nobara?”

“Yeah, my day is going fine, but answer the question.”

“I swear to Christ…” you sigh heavily as you walk down the sidewalk.

The month of October brings more dread to your being than anything else. As much as you want to be festive, order a pumpkin latte, and chill watching the leaves fall gracefully with the autumn times, college life does whatever it takes to prevent that. And what better way to do that than have you suffer with midterm exams.

You and your roommate, Nobara, have experienced the worst, especially this week. Having to study and pull all-nighters so much that you two can count with four fingers at max how many hours of sleep you get daily. Whatever gets the work done. However, it shouldn’t cost you your necessary slumber. Even your other best friends, Yuuji and Megumi, are victims of the tests. Hell, Yuuji found out he had an exam the day BEFORE and had to come in clutch by spending the entire day finishing the two-page study guide!

All four of you are depleted of fun; it’s non-existent as you try to navigate out of this academic hell…Despite that, though, there’s one thing you’re always looking forward to during the week: the weekend! Oh, yes, today is finally Friday. You’ve been anticipating this day throughout the week, finally done with your exams and ready to relax with your friends after so much schoolwork. But that’s not the only thing you’re looking forward to…

Because this weekend, you’ll finally be with your boyfriend, whom you haven’t seen since the start of midterms. Choso Kamo, Yuuji’s older half-brother and the man of your life, is the only person you’d love to see sweep you off your feet and take you in his loving arms, away from all the stress and discomfort from your college life. The two of you have been dating for almost a year, and he’s, without a doubt, the sweetest guy you ever got lucky with.

Since the start of this semester, it’s been hard for you two to meet at one place, let alone get on the phone. With you on campus and he outside with his job as a piercer, there have been times when you thought you’d never see him until winter break. Yet, it is now fall break, and Yuuji invited you and the gang to have a relaxing weekend at Choso’s place (with his permission). You accepted the invitation with a gleeful heart, practically bouncing and giggling at the thought of being in the same place as your partner again. And that’s where you’re heading now, walking down the sidewalk to his townhouse with a duffle bag full of your stuff, and you on the phone with Nobara to keep you company.

“All I’m saying is,” the brunette starts on the other side of the line. “If there’s ever a good time for you two to get it on, it would be this weekend.”

“I’m sorry, since when has my sex life been on your mind instead of studying for the exam you have in ten minutes?” You hear your roommate suck her teeth, and you grin with satisfaction. “Besides, he and I are waiting for the perfect time to do it, no rush. And seeing as you, Megumi, and Yuuji will be in the same place as us, I highly doubt we’d ever think of having sex.”

“Hmm, fair point —KNOCK KNOCK— WHO IS IT!!?” You almost remove the device from your ear from Nobara’s abrupt yelling. “Sorry, Y/n. Megumi is here and says we gotta head to the classroom right now.”

“That’s fine. I’m already at Choso’s place, anyway. See you guys later, and good luck with the exam.”

“‘Kay, see ya later.” She bids you farewell. “Also, if you two ever do it this weekend and you don’t tell me, as your best-est friend, I have legal rights to make sure all your cute underwear gets thrown out next time I take out the trash.”

“Good-fucking-bye, Nobara.” You scoff, your thumb already pressing the end call button and stuffing the phone in the pocket of your leggings.

In just the nick of time, you make it to Choso’s townhome and climb up the stairs to knock on the door. Within seconds, Yuuji opens the door and greets you with a hug.

“Y/n!” He’s always so eager and chipper when he sees you. “I was just about to text you; gotta run to the grocery store, then head to the pizza shop to place the order.”

You enter the foyer to remove your shoes while the salmon-haired other rushes to put his on. “Oh, how come?”

“The phones and websites seem to be down, so I gotta head there in person to place the order. But don’t worry, I’ll be right back before Megumi and Nobara.” He stands to open the door again before grabbing his car keys from the rack. “Choso’s up in his room right now, so you can say hi and chill with him while I��m gone.”

“All right,” You watch Yuuji run down to the sidewalk before he stops to shout something in your direction.

“Don’t do anything too crazy, ya lovebirds!” He sends you a cheeky grin, and you give him a playful glare with puffed cheeks.

“I won’t; go get the pizza!” He laughs at your response as he jogs down the street to his car, and you close the door when you see him drive off.

Alone with Choso…The thought of being alone with your boyfriend for a few hours has the butterflies in your stomach become active, fighting the urge to smile with warm cheeks. It’s been a hellish month thus far. Finally, after all this time, being in your boyfriend’s arms is enough to wash off all the stress you’ve pent up for the past couple of weeks.

With glee in your steps, you tip-toe up the stairs with wholesome thoughts of you and your boyfriend. I wonder if he’s been eating right these days. Same with getting sleep, he has a bad habit of sleeping at ungodly hours…Oh my God, wait, are we going to sleep together? If so, it'll be the first time we share a bed together. Does that mean—

You mentally slap yourself out of your delusion when you stop at his bedroom door. Oh, snap out of it, Y/n! That’s just Nobara getting into your head. Plus, it’s not like you two will be by yourselves for the entire night — the other three will be here. Hell, his own younger brother will be across the exact hallway! Don’t think such horny shit, for God’s sake…

You shake your head to abolish the impure thoughts, raising your fist to knock on your boyfriend’s door. “Chocho?" You greet with a nickname. "It’s me, Y/n. I just got here and—“

CRASH!!

The sound makes you jump, halting you from finishing that sentence. Rushed footsteps and another noise that something was bumped into follow along. “Ch-Choso? Everything all right?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good,” you can tell even from outside the room his voice had an unsure tone; he was, in fact, not good. “Just wait, I gotta—Ow!!”

You know you shouldn’t have done what you’re about to do as it goes against basic etiquette; however, when you hear sudden cries of pain from your boyfriend, how in the world would you stay still!? With a chewed lip, you grab the door handle and bust it open to enter his room.

You know you shouldn’t have done that. Because what you see before you is way beyond your comprehension.

The carpeted floor had items all over the place. There are packets filled with what appear to be red liquids and tiny red pills contrasted with the white carpet. They must’ve been knocked over and made that noise. Suddenly, you notice a stain on the white mat in a bright red color. That was the thing that alerted your nerves, immediately searching for the figure standing behind the bed. It was your boyfriend, Choso Kamo.

But was it him? Because what on earth were you looking at!?? He still had the same face, light brown hair that was usually tied up now fell to his neck, his black “tattoo” on his face now red and leaking down to his chin. And his mouth was agape, your eyes noting that his canines were extended out more than usual with red fluid at the ends. Not to mention that the man was now shirtless! His bare chest and abdomen out for you, covered with smeared….Is…Is that blood?

Choso slowly moves his hands up in defense. “Y/n…Just stay calm for me, okay?”

The entire scene was too much for your brain to grasp, your breathing increasing to an unstable pattern, and your eyes looking at every jarring detail doesn’t help ease the thoughts going way too fast for you. The worried expression of your boyfriend has your body at a standstill, and your limbs quiver as if you’re about to give way. So, what are you left to do?

You faint.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

He stares at you, and you stare at him.

He averts his gaze shyly away from you, and you keep yours fixated on his.

Brown orbs teeter meekly to your figure sitting on his bed before reverting back to the other side, and yours refuse to leave his face, practically sinking holes into his forehead.

This has been going on for five minutes ever since your consciousness returned, and Choso cleaned up the mess in his room and himself — now, he wears a black tank top after cleaning the red stains off his body. After giving you an explanation as to what happened, you haven’t said a single word to him. You only stare at him while pondering questions of your own. And you can tell the lack of communication makes the poor man uncomfortable in the confines of his bedroom. So, for his sake (and your headache-inducing curiosity), you eventually uttered something.

“So,” you say the first word with a long pause, treading carefully on which questions to ask. “Those pills…are filled with blood?”

“Yes…” He admits with his gaze still not away from you.

“And you take them every day?”

“Twice a day…”

Okay…Next question, “And those small packets,” you point to the dresser where a pile of said red packets stack upon one another. “Also blood?” He nods slowly. “Human blood?”

He finally brings his eyesight to you but with a hurried shake to the head. “No, no! It’s pig’s blood.”

Is that worse or better?? Never mind— You then point to your set of canines. “And your teeth, I’ve never seen them that long...”

“They only get like that when I don’t drink blood for a while. So, when you knocked on my door, I was just about to open a packet. But then I heard your name and kinda panicked…”

“Oh my God…” Everything comes together and hits you all at once. From his pale skin contrasting yours, the unusual tattoo across his face now revealed as a blood mark, or all those times you caught him drinking his super red "beet juice." It all comes down to the only acceptable truth that feels foreign to leave your lips. “…..My boyfriend is a vampire.”

Choso cringes internally at the words you uttered. The truth has finally come, and he didn’t even mean for it to happen, at least not like this. Who in their right mind would want to reveal to their partner that they’re a blood-sucking monster? It’s the most dreadful talk of his life that Choso has done all his years avoiding. And now you, his sweet, perfect thing, have discovered his abnormal existence.

“That’s…” He cringes harder when you say more words. “So...” Anxiety pools his stomach, mind filled with uneasy guesses on what you’d think of him now. He could only assume the worst; it’s only natural. “...Cool!!”

Wait, what? That’s not what he expected. Way off, actually.

He feels the dent of the bed when you move closer to him, your face merely inches away from his as you examine every single feature of him. It takes the vampiric man aback, holding his breath while watching your face stare at him intensely with your beautiful eyes, beaming with excitement and wonder. And his vision slowly drifts to your lips, watching them move as you ask questions. And he keeps staring until, “—so…Choso!!” He snaps his orbs back to yours, his cheeks blossoming pink. “I’m asking you a question. So, since you’re a vampire, how come you’re not melting or sparkling when the sun touches you? Is that why you wear black all the time?”

“You mean that stuff from the books and movies?” He questions your logic, but it’s not your fault; he’s sure many others would’ve asked the same. “I don’t know about melting, but my skin gets dry if I stay out too long.”

You hum along to his answer, nodding as if you were in a lecture. “How come Yuuji isn’t a vampire, or at least half? Wait, does he know!?”

“No! No, he doesn’t. I became a vampire because my father was a vampire and turned me and my mother into one. I think I was around the age of twenty. After she died and my dad found Itadori’s mom, he didn’t change her into one. So, with that luck, I guess he isn’t fully a vampire. But I wouldn’t blow past it if he has some characteristics…”

“I see.” Again, you nod along. That might explain some things, like why he’s so fricken fast when he plays sports and that crazy-like strength he has… “So, how long have you been like this?”

“Almost a hundred and thirty.”

Woah. “And when have—I’m sorry, how long have you tasted human blood?”

Choso ponders on that question for a few seconds before answering. “I started when I became one. I try not to have it as I did back then; the last time I had it was around two years ago. But even then, I switched more into donated or pig’s blood for the past four decades.”

“Do you ever have cravings for human blood?” Was that too much to ask? It possibly was because Choso makes a face that conveys slight objection. Yet your mind genuinely wanted to know.

“I do, but I try not to act on them. Especially now that I have a human brother, and you…I guess it doesn’t feel right that I do so, ya know.”

His response replays in your mind, not because you were confused but because you understood where he was coming from. You’re sure it wasn’t easy for him to go around and sink his fangs into human flesh back then; modern times should make the task a lot easier with so many people on this earth. Although, you can imagine how hard it must have been for Choso to ignore an urge like that, specifically when it caters to his whole being. Alternatives such as pills and blood packets can only do so much.

“..…Have you ever thought of biting me?”

The question came out on its own as your curiosity got the best of you. Yet you don’t regret asking because it’s not impossible to think of ever happening.

Choso’s brown eyes look into yours sincerely, releasing a heavy sigh as if the truth was weighing him down. “…Yes.”

Your expression doesn’t change, remaining neutral. There’s no point in asking why because you can practically answer that yourself: he doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s very considerate, so no wonder he’d put your health and well-being above all else. So, why not do the same for him? “…Would you like to taste mine?”

His eyes widen at your proposal, surveying your face to see any twinges or crack soft a smile that entails a joke. There were none, your expression exhibiting nothing but honesty. “A-Are you sure??”

You nod with a smile. “Yup. I mean, it’s not every day someone gets to have a vampire taste their blood — let alone see a vampire, period. Besides,” you stretch out your arm, your wrist stationed in front of Choso. “If it were any other random vampire, I’d probably throw garlic their way.”

The man scoffs at your comment. “Something also you see in books and movies, Y/n.”

“Whatever,” the two of you laugh at your silliness. “But I’m serious, Chocho. I’m fine as long you’re the one doing it. So, go on.”

A moment of hesitation keeps him in his thoughts, the mental cogs of his brain deciphering what course of action he should take. But he does take your wrist with a large hand, bringing it towards his mouth. And before you know it, the vampiric man unsheathes his fangs out for display and sinks them into your flesh, tearing the skin as they pierce through.

The sharp pain was expected, but you still forced your eyes shut and took in a big inhale. Choso watches your reaction as his fangs take in a sample of your blood for him to taste. The familiar texture of the body fluid courses through him, and drips of it slide down to his tongue. You exhale through your mouth, pursed lips blowing out cool air. It felt as though two needles were simultaneously stabbing your wrist, your hand forming into a fist to situate yourself through the hurtful sensation.

And Choso just keeps watching you as he drinks your red fluid, taking in your graceful reaction. He knows it hurts, but you don’t say anything, pushing through it for the sake of him. He examines your steady breathing, eyes sewn shut, and plump limps agape for inhalation. You looked so good like this — tasted good as well, very sweet with a floral scent; it must have been your signature perfume. It intoxicates him, thinking of your body and fragrance on him and your sweet taste on his tastebuds. It ignites something inside him. Something that he hadn’t experienced in a long time…

“Choso?” You call out to him as his blinks signal that he heard you. “You done there? Don’t want you sucking my arm dry.” You jest to him.

He takes the hint and removes his teeth from your wrist, licking the two pierced holes of excess blood that seeps out. “My bad.”

You tease him some more. “Do I taste that good to you?” You didn’t expect him to give you a curt nod, a silent compliment from your boyfriend. “O–Oh…That’s good to know…” You say timidly, gaze averting downwards. Then, you notice something in the crotch of his pants. You gasp: a pinched tent. Choso follows your sight, finding out about his predicament to his horror. He opens his mouth to explain himself, but you beat him. “Can I take care of it?”

Again, Choso tries to say something, but no words dare to come out as you crawl up towards him. His brain short circuits at your movement, his back hitting the headboard of his bed. His blush creeps around to his ears, contrasting his pale skin and chocolate-colored hair. You smile at him; he’s so adorable and shy about this. “Mind I take the lead for a minute?” You ask for permission, even though the answer is quite clear when he peers at your lips. He nods, your face drawing inward and your soft lips landing on his.

One kiss. Two kisses and a moan. Three kisses pass, and it’s at this point that you two can’t get off each other. As his hand snakes to the back of your head to deepen the kiss, he takes your mewls with his lips, the insertion of his tongue making your toes curl.

Taking the lead as promised, you bring a hand down to the zipper of his ripped jeans, bringing the zipper and the clothing down to throw on the floor. Your fingers curl around the band of his black boxer briefs, pulling them down to reveal his lo— WHAT THE FUCK!!??

His erection springs out from his underwear, and what you’re met with is a fucking behemoth. For one, the thing was way longer than you anticipated — most definitely the longest you’ve had within reach. And because of its length, it looked so pretty to look at. The way his precum trickles down his glans to the underside is so magnificent to your eyes that you’re practically stuck looking at it. And…Is that a piercing right at his frenulum? Oh, wow. Vampire dick, huh.

“Heh, you like what you see, princess?” Suddenly, you feel so small from being called out with that little tease from your boyfriend. You give him a condescending expression, making him chuckle to himself. And who told him to call you that cute nickname!?… Keep going.

Back to the matter, you ogle at his dick again and mentally prep yourself by slowly moving your hand toward it. Your fingers curl around the base and unhurriedly stroke him to figure out a good pace to start. A moan from Choso entails that you know what you’re doing, so you dial up the speed and go further up, stopping your strokes from his piercing down to the base.

He becomes more vocal as your friction becomes more confident, spitting on your hand and tightening your grip to make it easier for his rough skin to slide across your palm. Sticking with a firm and consistent rhythm, you watch your hand go to work on his shaft, watching more of his precum leak and slide down to your fingers. It was so lewd yet so arousing; you feel the throbbing heat between your legs begins to form, swaying your ass to ease the pleasurable sensation while instructing a pornographic act.

“Ahhh, ahhnn, oh shit…” He stammers to give you a proper response, your hand feeling too good. “Oh fuck, your hand feels so good, angel, so goo—Nhhhh!!”

“Really?” You can’t deny the pride you feel for yourself, so you move down to situate between his legs. “That’s all that matters, then.” You bring your free hand to massage his testicles and cover more surface, and more of Choso’s whines and croaks fill the space, his hips bucking to ensure more friction and pleasure on his end.

With the rate this is going, more of his essence leaks out from his urethra, and the raunchy image playing right in front of you has your lips quiver. An intrusive thought roams around your brain while looking at his pink glans. You chew on your lips as you decide on what to do. And when you finally do, it’s now or never.

With a gulp, you bring the tip of his cock to your lips, and the man sharply gasps at the wet sensation of your tongue on his glans. The precum leaves a salty aftertaste on your tastebuds, proving that this is happening: you’re giving your vampiric boyfriend a blowjob right now. Deciding to take things to the next level, you intake more of his inches as much as you can. Not the whole thing because you know you’d probably choke, so you take your time inhaling his length at a comfortable pace and manner. And once you bob your head, the hisses and groans from Choso should give you an idea that he’s feeling elated.

“Haahh…Mmmph…Y/n, your mouth feels so good—Oh shit…” He brings a hand down to the top of your head, a sign you can guess that he wants you to keep going. And so you do, speeding up your motions. Your mouth sucks and teases the underside of his dick, your tongue curves and licks around the piercing of his frenulum, and he jerks when you slowly teasingly lick from the base to the tip. You bring your hand to the rest of the inches you couldn’t cover, your pretty fingers sliding up and down his dick while your free hand comes to his balls for you to massage. The sudden contact of your hands wasn’t expected, his body jolting to the sensations of your tongue and fingers around him, kneading his scrotum as you playfully lick on his cockhead. “—Khhh, ohhhh, fuck…Y/n, baby, I’m—Ahahhh!!”

From the sound of it, he was bound to release his load. So you prepare and bring the tip back into your warm mouth, urging the man to climax. With a few more pumps from your hands coinciding with the laps and sucks of your plump lips, he ruts his groin to your face as his essence spreads inside your oral cavity. And you take it like a champ, sucking every pump to your throat, not letting the tip go until he finished. So, once his body calms down, you release him, wiping off the trail of saliva from your mouth.

Yet it doesn’t stop there; of course, it doesn’t. Because Choso’s cock is very much still sprung and active from your blowjob, meaning it’s inevitable that you’re going to move on to the next phase. And judging by the sheer length of this thing, you have no idea how that shit is gonna fit inside of you. Damn, vampire dick sure is something…

“Y/n?” You snap back from your thoughts when Choso calls out to you, noticing you gawking at his size. “You don’t have to do the rest if you don’t want, baby. I can take care of it.”He’s so sweet looking out for you as he’s aware that you’re a little worried.

But you surprise him when you exit off the bed for a quick second, removing your leggings and underwear for the carpet to keep for you. The same thing goes for your matching bra. And as you crawl back to bed, his wide eyes never leave your lower figure, watching you lie on your back with your head on a pillow and your legs spread wide. “As long as you take the lead, I’ll be fine, Chocho.”

It’s his turn to gulp and ease his dry throat before getting on his knees and positioning himself between your legs, dark brown orbs intaking every detail of your cunt that’s exposed for him. You chew on your lip, “It’s embarrassing if you stare so hard at it, ya know…”

“S-Sorry,” He apologizes while getting back to the task. He grabs ahold of his length and aligns the tip to your wet entrance, and your breath hitches at the contact. “I’ll go real slow, okay?”You give a couple of honest nods for confirmation, and he watches your breathing. When he notes your inhales and exhales, he pushes into your folds. With every inhale you take, he nudges further into you. The pain gets bitter and bitter by the second, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you. “Relax for me, angel, relax.” He comes down to whisper those words to ear; swear to God, you could’ve moaned right there and then. However, you switch your focus to following his advice, reminding your body to stop resisting the unfamiliar limb making entry. The pain is still present, but you count your breaths to distract your mind until the tip finally makes it in, a sharp gasp sneaking past you and a hiss from Choso when you involuntarily grasp around him while he pushes more of him inside.

However, he doesn’t move right away, giving you as much time as you need to catch a steady pattern to breathe along with. Your head already feels too hot, and your chest feels too tight to breathe. You peer down to find that he is only halfway in, and there’s no amount of words to describe the disbelief you’re experiencing at this moment. “I feel…so full already…” You nearly choke on your words. You can practically feel his piercing scrape your insides.

“I know, princess,” he comforted you with a kiss on the forehead while lifting your shirt, your chest meeting his cold, slender fingers that massaged your mounds. All the while, he pushes his cock further into your chasm, and your breathing goes shaky as you try and take every inch of him. Then all of a sudden, your body jolts upward when you feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix; you can only guess now that everything’s entirely inside you. Oh yeah, vampire dick is most definitely something else. Tears start to water your eyes, and your hands come around Chos’s neck, the coldness of his nape piercing greeting your skin. “—Mmmm, fuckin’ Christ…I’m gonna go start moving now, Y/n.”

You appreciate the warning because, with the way his hips start to create a motion to and fro from your entrance, it’s surreal that his shaft is churning your inner wall with minimal effort. Shivers crawl up your spine every time the base meets your southern lips, grazes to your most tender spots result in you chewing on your bottom lip, and God, the occasional jab to your cervix is something you’ll have to get used to. He sucks on one nipple while the other hand tends to the other, the laps of his tongue on the bud of your breast feel so good, and you gasp when his fangs lightly graze it. So exhilaratingly dangerous.

“Choso—Ohhhh…” you coo, your head thrown back when he tweezes your nipple simultaneously with the jab to your cervix. The pace of his thrusts increases a tad, and your voice becomes more vocal than before, filling his bedroom with your breathy whimpers. “So big, you’re so big for me—Ohooo!”

“—Mmfhh!! Fuck, you feel so good for me, princess…Shiiiit—” The way your cunt wraps around him so tightly causes him to rut into you harder and faster, evoking spine-chilling whines from your puffy, bitten lips. Your disheveled figure squirms on the sheets, holding onto Choso for dear life as he churns your tummy insides. Your fragrance attacks his nose when he kisses your neck, nibbling the skin to listen to your cute gasps more. Then, the urge rises. He opens his mouth for his fangs to scrape your neck.

“Ahahhnn!! Ch–Chosooo!!”

Your voice halts his unconscious, realizing what he was about to do and quickly withdrawing his teeth from your neck. No, not now… He thinks to himself, moving his fangs to your shoulder instead. The bite elicits a sharp shriek from your unbeknownst self. Your nails dig into his shoulders, the pain motivating him to explore more of your body with your mouth.

You can feel his kisses trail down your collarbone and breast, sucking on your nipples once more before leaving a tiny bite. You clamp around his girth as a response, which jabs into your cervix repeatedly with precision. More kisses and licks later, and he leaves a bite mark by your collarbone, sucking on the spot to taste more of your sweet blood. Your mind goes dizzy with the constant of his lips and teeth, and the commotion down south has you wrap your legs around him, caging him in as your climax is soon to come.

“—Nnaahh! Ahaahhnn!! Oh, God, Ohmyfuckin’Go—Hhmmff!!” Choso leads a hand down to your clitoris, and you see stars in no time. “Chosooo!! Yer handsss, you’re gonna make me cummm!! Ooooh, shhahhh!!”

Choso listens to your pleas with attentive ears, his fingers swiping rampantly on your clit. Your choked sobs are so beautiful to hear. The way your walls grasp around his length entails you’re about to come on him any second now. “Go on, my angel. Ring me out—Hnnghh!! So fuckin’ tight…”

Erratic ruts to your sloppy cunt cause wet noises to fill your eardrums, and the heat in your face is unbearable while your head pounds harshly. With the swipes on your clit and him grinding his cock to your tender spot, it’s apparent that you two come concurrently. He fills your cunt with his anticipated load while your velvety walls contract around him euphorically, and exchanged pants fill the space between your sweaty bodies.

The two of you experience shocks of your own as your heaving bodies rest on each other, Choso nuzzling his face to your neck as his hand softly massages your breast. Your body calms down, gradually exiting your blissful haze. But it tenses again when you feel another sharp pain in your shoulder, and you snicker while pulling his ear to tease.

“Let you have a taste, now you’re already hooked, huh…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Choso uses a washcloth to dab on the bite marks around your body, gently pressing down on it and wiping off any blood that leaves your newly added markings. The warm cloth feels good on your cold skin — as if the stinging sensation subsides in seconds.

“You know,” You hum along as he takes care of your body. “I didn’t think you’d be that much of a biter.”

“Sorry,” he moves to your front, dabbing the teeth marks on your breasts and shoulders. You can see the hint of pink that flushes his cheeks and ears. “Got a little carried away…”

You giggle. “No need to apologize, Chocho.” The nickname has him blush harder. He’s so cute when he’s flustered. “Just goes to show that you were enjoying the moment.”

His hands suddenly stop moving, the washcloth now around your wrist. “…Did you?” Caramel eyes dare to peek at yours. “Did you enjoy it?”

You could tell that the question carried a deep-rooted meaning. Not only was this the first time you and Choso had sex, but it was also within the same day you found out he was a vampire. If you were in his shoes, you could guess he’d probably think you didn’t like the experience or found it heavily discomforting. Yet that wasn’t the case at all. So, you have to communicate that to him.

With a warm smile, you let him know, “Yes, I did. I had a great time.” Before you can say more, a random thought prompts you to ask a question. “Hey, I felt you were about to bite my neck, but you didn’t.”

“Hmm? Oh, umm, yeah, I did. The only way for someone to become a vampire is by biting the neck,” He confirms, his gaze drifting down to your wrist as he uses the wet cloth to dab on the mark. “But I don’t want you becoming one now. At least, not without you telling me.”

“Wait, you don't want me to be a vampire?”

“I mean, that’s up to you, honestly. As much as I love you and would love the idea of spending my life with you, that’s only my selfish wish at the end of the day. The choice should be yours to make, not mine.”

You remove your hand from his hold and place it on his cold cheek. The other hand comes up to cup the other, provoking your boyfriend to look directly at you.

“You’re so sweet, you know that?” You have never seen his face change into a flash of pink so quickly; it makes you giggle at him. “Chocho, I appreciate you telling me the truth about yourself. I’m sure it’s been hard on you to carry this burden of pretending to be something you’re not, especially with me. So, again, thank you…However, I can’t really see myself as a vampire, at least right now. My life seems to be at a good place right now, and I want to experience it first-hand, ya know. With you by my side.”

You know Choso is listening to you word-for-word; his brown eyes never leaving your face is evidence of such. So you continue: “So, until then, let me be human for a while longer. When the time is right, I’ll let you know. Sounds good?”

The brown-haired man gives you a smile before answering, resulting in yours broadening. “I’m cool with that.”

You nod. “Cool.”

“…”

“…You want more of my blood, huh.”

“…..I’m sorry,” you laugh at his awkwardness. “You just smell so good. And you taste sweet…”

“In that case,” you withdraw your hands from his cheek and extend an arm out for him. “Have one last taste.”

There’s hesitance when his hand grabs ahold of your wrist. But when he knows you’re complying and on board with this, Choso brings your wrist to his lips, his fangs pierce down on your skin, and he sucks your blood. The pain this time around wasn’t too excruciating. Maybe with all the bites you have on your body right now, you came around and got used to it.

And who knows? Perhaps you’ll grow to love the sensation soon enough.

“Yo! I’m back!” The two of you freeze. A familiar voice from the other side of the hallway brings you back to the present moment. You then remember that Yuuji promised to return from the store and pizza place. And seeing as though time has passed enough for him to be done, the warmth of your body shifts to a disturbing shiver when the bedroom door opens up. “I got the pizzas and left them on top of the oven—“

The salmon-haired other stopped mid-sentence when his eyesight landed in your direction. You can only imagine what’s going through his mind when he looks at you and Choso because that was the same experience you went through a few hours back.

Yuuji looks at the two of you on top of the bed. Clothes decorating the carpeted floor, both your bodies free and nude, your tits out for him to see crystal clear. One of your hands holds a washcloth that harbors red, bloody stains. The other hand stretched out towards Choso’s mouth, where the younger notices fangs withdrew from your wrist. The newly drawn blood from your new mark connects to the sharp teeth of his older brother.

Thirty seconds go by where no one says anything, just three pairs of eyes and figures falling victim to the discomfiting silence of this situation. Until Yuuji starts to uncomfortably laugh at the sight before him for a few seconds. And then suddenly, he stops, and his balance gives way for his body to meet with the floor beneath him.

He fainted.

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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roosterforme · 3 days ago

Text

California Autumn | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was drawn to you the minute you moved onto his street. You seemed to bump into one another everywhere, and each time he saw your smile or heard your laugh, he knew he had to ask you out. He wasn't expecting the answer you gave him, just as you weren't expecting to wish he could be the man for you.

Warnings: angst, fluff, adult language, mentions of accident/death, guardianship of child

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more

Early September was brutal in southern California. Each day seemed hotter than the one before it, and even the smallest bit of yard work was enough to leave Bradley sweaty and miserable. He stood in the middle of his front yard, eyes closed, thinking about how beautiful autumn was in Virginia when he was a kid. He leaned against the handle of the rake, picturing a pumpkin patch, a corn maze and all the things he would never find in San Diego.

The sound of something bigger than a car coming down his quiet side street had him cracking his eyes open against the Saturday afternoon sun. A U-Haul lumbered to a stop in front of the house across the street and one door down. The engine settled to silence, and he craned his neck to get a better look. The property had been sitting there with a red and white SOLD sticker over the realty sign for what seemed like months, and now it would appear as though he finally had a new neighbor.

Bradley dropped the rake and had to lunge to grab the handle before it clattered against his stone pathway. The woman who climbed out of the truck, hopping down onto the street in some beat up sneakers, was beautiful. The sun seemed to illuminate her from the inside, and now Bradley was setting the rake down softly as she walked around the truck and slid the back open. It was filled with furniture and boxes, and he watched as an avalanche nearly flowed out as she tried to move one item.

"Shit," he grunted, running across the street as he wiped his dirty hands on the hem of his undershirt. "It looks like you could use a hand," he called out, hoping he wouldn't scare you when he came up behind you just in time to catch a dining chair that was teetering above your head. Then the neatly stacked boxes started to give out as well, and his left hand went to steady them.

You were ducking slightly, preparing for the worst when Bradley realized your back was pressed against his chest. If he moved, there would be a lot of broken furniture to contend with. But then you glanced at him over your shoulder as you stood to your full height, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise.

If you looked beautiful from across the street, then you looked stunning up close, trapped between his body and the truck. "Welcome to the neighborhood," he mumbled like an idiot, but he was rewarded by the smile that curled along your lips.

"Hey, you're pretty good at being neighborly," you replied, gesturing to his right hand holding the chair and his left securing the stack of boxes. His heartbeat quickened at the sound of your voice and how close you were as you told him your name and asked which house was his.

"I'm Bradley. The white cottage across the street." He nodded toward his mess of a front yard with his chin. "I moved in about six months ago."

What he didn't mention was the fact that he often still felt like a bit of an outsider in town, even though he attended all the neighborhood potlucks and still had some blond in his hair from hanging out on the local beaches all summer. At the moment, all he could do was fight the urge to tell you how pretty your eyes were.

"And you like the neighborhood?" you asked, fully facing him now with a smirk on your face.

He shrugged the best he could without moving too much. "I might like it better now."

Your eyes widened a bit before you ducked your head, looking up at him with a surprised smile like you couldn't quite believe what he'd just said. And that's when Bradley heard another vehicle pull up behind him. "That would be my friends. Here to help me unpack."

He wanted to joke that it looked like you needed all the help you could get with your furniture avalanche, but he heard several voices calling your name and rushing over to help. He was invited to stay, but when he was finally able to safely back away without anything falling, he realized four other people were there to help you out.

Your eyes were still focused on his as he started to back away. "I'll see you around?" you asked before chewing on your lip.

"I would count on it," he confirmed, turning back toward his house so you could get settled into yours.

But he did hear one of your friends ask, "Who is he?"

"Bradley," you replied, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "From the white cottage."

--------------------------------

After that first encounter, he saw you everywhere. You were pulling into the parking spot next to his Bronco when he came out of the grocery store. When he asked how you liked your new house, it sparked a conversation about hardwood versus porcelain tile flooring, and Bradley's ice cream was completely melted by the time he got home.

Then there was the day you bumped into him coming out of the salon next to his barber, and he complimented your colorful nails at the same time you told him his haircut looked nice. He blushed, and you smiled before turning toward your car, glancing back at him a little expectantly.

Then he ran into you at the farmer's market where you were buying vegetables for the upcoming neighborhood potluck. You asked him what he thought you should make.

"Well, I'm the wrong person to ask," he replied, feeling a little lightheaded as his brain begged him to ask you out on a date.

"Why's that?" you asked, placing your hand on your hip while you held up a head of cabbage. "You're a picky eater?"

He shook his head and took a step closer to you. "The exact opposite. I love food. I will eat literally anything that is edible."

Your bright laughter cascaded across his skin as your head tipped back. The expanse of your neck looked smooth and perfect, and Bradley wanted to have your permission to put his lips there. And that was a startling thought since nobody had really caught his attention like this since he was first stationed in San Diego. Nobody made him feel like he was at home in his house before you started waving to him whenever you saw him outside.

"I guess it makes sense that you love food," you told him with a smile. "You're a big boy." Your gaze drifted down along his shoulders and chest before you started to look a little embarrassed. "I... yeah... I think I'll just grab whatever looks good and take it from there. See you on Friday night?"

"Yeah," he grunted as you walked toward an eggplant display. He would see you on Friday night. And he would be prepared ahead of time to ask you out.

----------------------------

"No," you gasped. Bradley recognized your voice and turned around to face you in Mrs. Diaz's kitchen. "That's what you brought to the potluck?" You sounded appalled, but you were clearly smiling as you looked at what he was holding.

"I told you I liked to eat food, not that I knew how to cook anything."

"Bradley," you groaned, shaking your head at the bag of chips and jar of salsa in his hands. "This is bad. Next time, I'll prepare two dishes so you can pretend you made one."

His heart skipped a beat at the idea of handing you things in his kitchen and watching you make something as nice as the lasagna you were holding. "It's useless," he replied with a frown. "After six months of bringing restaurant style tortilla chips and medium salsa, nobody would believe I cooked anything."

Once again, your laughter had him ready to drop what he was holding and reach for you. He had to ask you out tonight. It had been weeks already since you moved in, and you were definitely giving him a green light. He could think of a dozen different restaurants he wanted to take you to, and maybe you'd like the artsy little movie theater.

But he watched you get swept up in conversation after conversation, and then the opportunity slipped away when you ducked away from everyone to answer a call. You had a concerned look on your face with your phone pressed to your cheek, and then you were rushing out of Mrs. Diaz's house and along her front path before you disappeared from view.

Suddenly it was well into October, and he'd barely seen you at all. There were a few mornings that felt cool enough to coax him to buy some pumpkins for his front porch. He thought about taking one over to your house as an excuse to finally ask you out, but he figured you must be pretty busy right now. Maybe work got a little crazy. He tried not to imagine that someone else had asked you out and that was the reason why you were so scarce.

"Damn," he grunted when he drove his Bronco past your house on his way to get some takeout for dinner on a Saturday night. He just couldn't stop thinking about you. Why didn't he ask you out that first day when he saved you from your dining chair? He ran his hand over his face and groaned, parking in front of the restaurant and yanking his keys from the ignition. If he'd just asked you out that day, maybe he'd be picking up twice as much food and sharing it with you tonight.

A minute later, when he turned to leave the restaurant with his bag, he could not believe his luck. You were walking inside. "Hey."

You glanced up, and for the briefest second, you smiled at him like you always used to. "Bradley." But then your smile started to fade away slowly, and he would do anything to bring it back.

His heart was pounding, and his brain was screaming at him, so he squared his shoulders and did the only thing he could do. "Hey, if you're free tomorrow night, I was thinking maybe you and I could get dinner? Or hit up the movie theater on Pomona? The seats are uncomfortable, but they show some indie stuff which could be fun. Or maybe another night might work?"

The air was silent except for the muffled sound of food being prepared in the kitchen behind him. Your eyes looked so sad as you shook your head and pressed your lips together. "No. No, I'm sorry, Bradley."

Well, fuck.

He backed away from you until he bumped into the wall, and then he focused on getting to the door. "Right," he replied after he had a few more feet between your body and his. "Well, I'll see you around the neighborhood."

For the first time since he moved to California, the air outside was too cold. There was an uncomfortable knot in his stomach as he glanced over at your car. He shivered miserably as he saw the shadow of someone waiting in your passenger seat. Then he drove home and ate alone in his kitchen before going to bed.

---------------------------------

Bradley tried his best not to think about you. One day last week, when he saw your front door swing open, he waited to step down from his porch so you wouldn't have to wave awkwardly to him. And yesterday, for lack of anything better to do, he bought more pumpkins, and he waited in his driveway to unload them until you carried all of your groceries inside your house.

Today was Halloween, and he spent over an hour carving some of the pumpkins to look like soccer balls before dressing in his usual costume. Handing candy out to the neighborhood kids and trying to guess what they were dressed as sounded like fun. He was determined to have a good night, even if he did have to angle the folding chair on his porch so he was facing slightly away from your house. He would enjoy himself no matter what.

Bradley lit the candles inside his pumpkins and dropped down into the chair with a bowl of candy as the afternoon sky turned dusky. It didn't take long until a toddler dressed as a witch made an appearance with her dad, and Bradley had a good laugh when she reached for three pieces of candy.

"Trick or treat!" shouted three kids dressed as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"Where's Raphael?" he asked as they collected their candy.

Leonardo laughed and said, "Nobody wants to be Raphael. He's the lamest one."

"I would have to agree," Bradley replied, about to help himself to a piece of candy as they started to run to the next house.

But then he saw you. And you weren't alone. You were dressed as a soccer player, complete with knee socks and a soccer ball, and you were accompanied by an approximately ten year old kid who looked a lot like you. He was also dressed as a soccer player, and he smiled at Bradley as he said, "Trick or treat."

Bradley stood up, still holding onto the bowl of candy so the child could make his selection while he got a better look at you. "Hey."

"Hi," you replied immediately, looking from his mustache to the whistle around his neck and back up to his visor. "Are you seriously dressed as Ted Lasso?"

"I always dress as Ted Lasso," he told you, and he was rewarded with a smile that made him want to follow you around the neighborhood like a lost puppy.

"Of course you do," you said, letting your gaze drift toward the child who was currently looking closely at the soccer ball pumpkins while holding onto a Snickers bar. "Somehow you match with us."

The boy looked up at Bradley and asked, "Did you carve these yourself? They look pretty good."

"Yeah," he replied, wishing he actually had taken the time to drop a pumpkin or two off on your porch. "I have perfected the soccer ball technique, kiddo."

The kid nodded but said, "You need to call it a football."

Bradley found himself agreeing. "You're completely right. It's only proper."

When the kid turned back to explore the rest of the pumpkin display a little more, Bradley took a step closer to you. "I didn't know you had a son," he said softly.

Your eyes were alert, scrutinizing his expression as you said, "His name is Max. He's almost ten."

"He looks like you."

You went silent for a few seconds, fiddling with the soccer ball in your hands. When you finally spoke, you were looking at Bradley's feet. "I knew you didn't know about him. I mean, you did ask me out after all." You laughed even though nothing was funny and finally looked up at his face. Then Max started to walk back the way you and he came, and you followed him.

Bradley called your name. When you turned back, he said, "To be clear, I would have still asked you out if I'd known."

And then you looked so sad again.

------------------------------

To Bradley's amazement, the weather finally cooled to the perfect temperature in November, but he found he didn't want to be outside as much. It was a shame, because if he stood in the middle of his yard and closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was in Virginia.

One Friday after work, he cleaned the slightly rotten pumpkins from his porch and dragged his trash bin to the curb. Your front door was open, and he paused to see if you or Max happened to walk past it before heading back inside his empty house.

There was another potluck tonight, but he just didn't even feel like going. He had the usual chips and salsa on his kitchen counter, but he had no desire to socialize with the neighbors. He was about to change into gym shorts and surrender to a cold beer and a basketball game on TV when there was a knock on his door.

When he glanced through the front window, he saw that it was you, and his heart seemed to drag him toward the door. He was turning the knob before he thought better of it, and he was met with your wide eyes and a crock pot in your hands.

"Hi. Bradley."

"Hey." He swallowed hard before he said your name, and your lips turned up into a soft smile. "Is that for the potluck?"

"Yeah," you said, reaching out to hand the crock pot to him. "Well, I actually made it for you to take. Max and I will be bringing lasagna again."

Whatever Bradley was holding smelled so good, his stomach started to growl. "I can't take this. Nobody will believe I made it," he murmured, nudging at the lid with his thumb.

"It's a spicy buffalo dip," you replied, smile growing. "I literally made it with chicken from a can. I'm pretty sure you could trick them into thinking it came from your kitchen. You can even take your tortilla chips, too."

His fingers tightened on the handles when you took a small step closer to him. This was agony, being so close to you when he really wanted to touch you, but knew he couldn't. He whispered your name at the same time you looked up at him and started talking.

"Max isn't my son. He's my nephew. But I'm his legal guardian now." Bradley's lips parted, but you shook your head and quickly added. "The night of the last potluck, I got a phone call that my brother and his wife were in a car accident. They both died before they reached the hospital. I had to pick Max up from soccer practice that night, and he's been with me ever since."

Tears were welling up in your eyes as Bradley tried to shuffle your crock pot to one hand. He knew how badly this kind of thing hurt from his own childhood. "Shit. I'm really sorry the two of you are going through this. But Max is lucky he has you." When you nodded and shrugged, you looked resigned to the way things were. "I'm also pretty sure Max prefers it when you call it football. Not soccer."

You laughed, maybe in spite of yourself, but Bradley still loved how it sounded. You briefly glanced over your shoulder toward your house and swiped at your tears as you said, "He absolutely does. He also keeps asking me about Ted Lasso across the street and his football pumpkins. I told him you're nice."

Bradley's heart had him dragging his feet closer to you, holding onto the warm pot of buffalo chicken dip for dear life. "Is that so?"

You nodded and stared at Bradley's chest for a few seconds before meeting his eyes again. Your lips parted several times before you whispered his name, and he leaned in a bit closer. After a few seconds, he started to step back, but your hand settled lightly on his shoulder, stopping him. Before he could react, you closed the remaining space, pressing your lips to his in a tentative kiss.

It was over almost as quickly as it started, and Bradley was ready to drop to his knees and beg you for more. But you were rambling now, and he was trying his best to focus. "I wanted you to ask me out so badly. But then everything changed, and I had to tell you no. Max has a lot he still needs to process, and I don't really have time to date someone who just wants to mess around with me."

For the first time in many weeks, Bradley felt lighter than air. He reached out with his free hand and let his knuckles trail gently along your cheek and down to your softly parted lips. "I'm forty years old. I'm kind of over the messing around stage," he promised. And then you were kissing him again.

The three of you walked to Mrs. Diaz's house together that evening. Bradley carried the crock pot, you carried the lasagna, and Max carried the tortilla chips. The conversation was mainly focused on how badly Max wanted to learn how to carve a football pumpkin.

Almost a year later, Bradley was standing in his front yard, smiling at the SOLD sticker placed on a realty sign in front of your house. It made sense to have you and Max move into the white cottage with him, because the porch was bigger. It was the perfect size for an elaborate Halloween display.

----------------------------------

Thanks for reading this angsty yet fuzzy little fic. I hope your Halloween is sweeter than Bradley Bradshaw. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @thedroneranger

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v6quewrlds · 19 days ago

Text

❝ my little love, j. burrow. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: the afc championship game is around the corner. thankfully amara burrow is more than happy to make sure her daddy is ready to bring it home.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: a little game dey fic based on an anon request for good luck. might make this a series possibly bc i'm in love with this concept <333 ty anon for requesting!!

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: mostly fluff and an adorable toddler. joe's a little out of character but pls let me be a little delusional.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x wife!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 4.5k.

The morning light painted the room a soft shade of gold as your eyes slowly opened to the sound of Joe's quiet footsteps. His honey-blonde hair was still damp from the shower, and you felt a pang of loss as his body heat retreated from your shared space. You watched him from the bed, his strong arms moving with the ease of routine as he pulled on his clothes. His Bengals hoodie hung from the chair, a silent reminder of the day ahead.

"You're leaving already?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

Joe looked up from tying his shoes, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Got to get to the stadium, babe." He walked over to the bed, planted a kiss on your forehead, and whispered, "Early morning practice before the game tonight."

You sat up, your heart racing as you realized the significance of the day. "It's AFC Championship day," you murmured softly, your lips pulling into a lazy smile. "Amara's going to be so disappointed she slept through your send-off."

Joe chuckled and leaned over to kiss you again, this time his lips lingered on yours. "It's okay. She'll probably be asleep for another few hours." He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "But I'd better get going." He turned to leave, but your hand shot out, grabbing his arm.

"Can I make you some breakfast?" you offered, pushing yourself up on your elbows. "Just something quick?"

He looked at you with affectionate amusement. "Nah, I've got it covered. You just rest up. Enjoy your day off, baby." With that, he stood up to his full height.

His blonde head turning to look at the door as it cracked open. Amara's curly hair appeared first, then her sleepy eyes peeked through the gap. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on her dad. "Daddy," she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe's smile grew wider as he crouched down to scoop her up in his arms. "Hey, baby girl," he greeted. Amara giggled, her cheeks pink with the excitement of being woken by a surprise. She snuggled into his embrace, her small arms wrapping around his neck.

"Why are you leaving?" Amara asked sleepily, her voice muffled against Joe's chest.

"I've got a big game today remember, pumpkin?" Joe replied, his voice gentle. "But I'll be back after practice to get ready for the game with you and Mommy, okay?"

Amara nodded, her eyes half-closed as she drifted back to sleep in her father's arms. You watched them with a mix of love and amusement. "Looks like she's not going anywhere," you said with a chuckle. "Let's get her back to bed before she decides she wants to come to practice too."

Joe carefully laid Amara back on the bed, her curly hair fanning out around her on the pillow. He kissed her forehead before standing up. "Alright, I'll be back soon. You stay here with Mommy," he whispered.

You watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and a hint of sadness as he disappeared from the doorway. You knew this was his moment, and you were determined to make sure everything was perfect for him. After a few minutes of cuddling Amara back to sleep, you slipped back into your own slumber. The warmth of your daughter's body and the quiet whispers of the morning lulling you into a peaceful doze.

When you woke up, the sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting bright beams through the windows. Amara was playing quietly with the edge of the bedspread, her eyes glued to the side of your sleeping face. You kissed her forehead, "Good morning, sunshine," you murmured. "Daddy has his big game tonight, remember?"

Amara's eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously. "I'm going to help him win," she announced.

You chuckled, "Well, you've got to get ready for the game too, baby girl. Let's go brush your teeth and get dressed." You picked up your daughter, who was now fully awake, and carried her to the bathroom. The smell of minty toothpaste filled the air as you bent over the sink, supporting Amara's little frame as she brushed her teeth herself. Afterward, you made your way back downstairs to find a surprise waiting for you: two plates of steaming pancakes with a side of cut and washed strawberries and a sticky note that read, "For my two favorite girls."

"Look what Daddy made us," you exclaimed, pointing to the breakfast spread.

Amara's eyes grew wide with excitement. "Can I have syrup?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

"Of course, you can, honey," you said, pouring a little pool of syrup onto your daughter's plate. "But not too much, okay?"

You sat down at the kitchen table, the pancakes steaming up the windows. You took a bite of yours, savoring the sweetness that Joe had managed to capture perfectly despite his rush. You could almost taste the love he'd put into it. As you ate, Amara chattered away, her excitement for the game contagious.

Once breakfast was done, it was time to get ready. You washed and detangled Amara's curls, applying a generous amount of coconut-scented conditioner. The scent filled the bathroom, mixing with the humidity from the hot water. Most days it was a struggle to get Amara to sit still for hair brushing, but today she was surprisingly patient as you worked through her curls. The TV played the pregame show in the background, with the sounds of commentators and cheers from distant crowds setting the atmosphere.

"Mommy, can I wear my special shirt today?" Amara asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Of course," you responded, referring to her tiny, custom-made rhinestone jersey that read 'Daddy's MVP' in glittering letters. It was a miniature version of Joe's home game attire, and Amara absolutely adored it. He had it made for her third birthday months in advance, and it had been a staple of her wardrobe during the football season.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as you continued working through the curls, your fingers moving with practiced ease. You couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Despite the excitement of the day ahead, there was something so grounding about these quiet moments with your daughter.

As you worked, the jiggle of the doorbell echoed through the house. "Who's that?" You gasped dramatically, knowing full well that your husband had returned from practice.

"It's Daddy!" Amara shouted, jumping off the chair and sprinting towards the door.

You couldn't help but laugh as you followed her daughter, calling after her, "You know you can't just run off like that, young lady!" But the sound of Joe's laughter as he walked through the front door told you he didn't mind. When the two of you entered the living room, Joe was there, freshly showered and dressed in a casual outfit. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, and he scooped Amara up, twirling her around until she squealed with delight.

"Are you getting ready for the game?" Joe asked Amara as he set her back down, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Yes!" Amara exclaimed, bouncing in his arms. "Mommy's doing my hair right now." She pointed to the chair you decided to carry with you downstairs. You had learned the hard way that once her father was home, it would be hard to get Amara away from him.

Joe's eyes met yours, and you could see the warmth and love in them. "You're doing a great job," he said, planting a kiss on Amara's forehead. "Why don't you finish up with Mommy and then you can help me get ready?"

You nodded, "Let's get those curls looking perfect for the game." You sat back down with Amara on your lap, continuing the meticulous task of styling her hair. The sound of the TV grew louder as the commentators discussed the upcoming matchup. The excitement was palpable, and even you felt a thrill of anticipation.

While you worked your magic with Amara's hair, Joe took a seat on the couch, his eyes glued to the screen. His gaze would occasionally drift to the two of you, a soft smile playing on his lips. Despite the nerves that were surely bubbling beneath the surface, he looked relaxed and at peace. You knew that seeing his family happy brought him comfort, a nonverbal pep talk before the battle ahead.

As you patted her head to signal she was done, Amara looked up at you with wide eyes. "Done?" She asked, her voice filled with excitement. You nodded, and Joe hit the pause button on the TV. "So, Coach," Joe began, gaining Amara's attention as she skipped over to him. "You gonna help me watch film?"

Amara nodded excitedly, her head bobbing up and down as if she were at an interview. You watched them with a warm smile, the love in Joe's eyes for their daughter was something you never got tired of seeing. As Joe carried Amara upstairs to his office, you took a moment to appreciate the quiet house. You knew that once your in-laws arrived, the calmness would be replaced with the buzz of pregame energy.

Your phone vibrated with a text from Robin, Joe's mom. "Be there in 20!" it read.

You hurried upstairs to finish your own makeup and hair. You had decided to go with a sleek bun, throwing on your 'Burrow' jersey and slipping on a pair of leggings just until Joe's parents arrived. As you applied a coat of mascara, you heard the doorbell ring.

Rushing downstairs, you threw open the door to find Robin and Jimmy standing there with arms full of Amara's favorite snacks and juice boxes. "We come bearing gifts," Jimmy said with a wink.

"Thanks," you said, taking the boxes from them and setting it on the kitchen counter. "Amara's upstairs with Joe, watching some last-minute game film."

Robin and Jimmy exchanged surprised glances. "On game day?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's new."

"Amara's the only one who can get him to break his routine," you said with a chuckle. "I'm married to the man and I'm not even allowed in there on game days. Forget the day of the AFC Championship."

Robin laughed as she set down her bag and looked around for somewhere to sit. "Well, she's definitely her daddy's little girl."

"You have no idea," you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "But it's cute. And honestly, it keeps her out of my hair so I can get ready in peace."

You all shared a laugh, the tension of the impending game momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your family dynamic. Jimmy leaned against the kitchen counter, his eyes gleaming with pride. "It's good to see him loosen up a bit. The game's going to be intense enough."

You nodded in agreement, your eyes flickering to the stairs where you could hear Joe's low voice explaining plays to Amara. "You guys grab whatever you want," you offered, gesturing to the fridge. "I'm just going to go get dressed properly."

In the bedroom, you were surprised by the sight of your daughter, now dressed in her rhinestone jersey and sitting cross-legged on your bed. She had her dad's playbook open in front of her, her little hands tracing over the diagrams with a serious expression.

"Where's your player, Coach?" You asked with a smile, stepping into the room.

Amara looked up at you with a grin that was all Joe. "He's getting ready," she replied, her eyes bright with excitement. You couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at your daughter's enthusiasm. You quickly changed into your own game day outfit, swapping your leggings for straight-leg jeans and low top Jordans that matched Joe’s cleats.

As you finished up your makeup, Joe emerged dressed to perfection in his game day outfit. He picked up Amara, who squealed with delight as she was swept into his arms. "What do you think, Coach?"

Amara studied him intently, her eyes roving over his outfit and the matching shoes. "You look like a winner, Daddy," she declared with the confidence of someone who had never seen him lose.

Joe chuckled, his eyes shining. "Thanks, Coach." He leaned over and kissed you. "You too, beautiful."

Your cheeks heated up with a mix of love and excitement. You had picked out the perfect outfit to match your daughter's jersey. The three of you made quite the trio: Joe in his tailored outfit, you in your jersey, and Amara in her mini-me version of Joe's game day look.

You made your way to the stadium, the energy in the air electric. Fans in black and orange jerseys lined the streets, their chants echoing off the buildings. The anticipation grew stronger as you approached Paycor Stadium, the towering structure a beacon of hope for a victory that would take the Bengals to the Super Bowl.

As you walked through the tunnel leading to the sidelines, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. This wasn't just any game; this was the AFC Championship. You held Amara's hand tightly, her eyes scanning the field as Joe went to join his team. The players warmed up, their movements an anxious show of power, each one focused on the task at hand.

Amara's grip grew tighter as she finally spotted her uncles, Joe's teammates, and friends, Ja'Marr and Tee. "Look, Mommy, there's Uncle Tee and Uncle Ja'Marr!" she squealed, pointing. You laughed and nodded, your eyes finding the two men who looked over and waved. They broke away from their warm-up routine to come say hello, their smiles wide as they approached the little girl in the sparkling 'Daddy' jersey.

"Look who we have here," Tee said, bending down to give Amara a high five. "Little Miss MVP herself."

Ja'Marr chuckled, ruffling her curls. "You ready to help us win today, Coach?"

"Yes!" Amara exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement.

"That's what I like to hear, Coach," Joe said, coming up behind his teammates, his eyes crinkling with pride as he looked at Amara. "You two keep the good vibes coming, okay?" He kissed you and Amara on the cheek.

"You got any tips for us, Coach?" Tee asked, playfully bumping fists with Amara.

Amara nodded solemnly. "You gotta catch the ball, Uncle Tee," she said, her arms resting on her hips. The spitting image of her father's mannerisms.

"Just me?" Tee feigned shock, his smile growing wider. "What about Ja'Marr?"

Amara giggled, her eyes shifting to the other player. "You too, Uncle Ja'Marr. You gotta run really fast!"

The two men laughed, their ease a testament to their years playing together. "We'll keep that in mind," Joe said, hoisting Amara up and spinning her around. She squealed with delight, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest, watching the love between your husband and daughter.

After a few more minutes of conversation with the teammates, Joe set Amara down and kissed her cheek. "I got to go, pumpkin. But I'll see you after the game, okay?"

"Good luck, Daddy!" Amara shouted as Joe jogged back to the field, her voice carrying over the noise of the growing crowd.

You took a deep breath, your eyes following your husband until he disappeared into the sea of players. Then you turned your attention to your daughter, who was now bouncing up and down with excitement. "Come on, let's get to our seats so we can watch Daddy play," you said, taking Amara's hand and leading her through the bustling corridors of the stadium.

The two of you made your way to the luxury suite reserved for the families of the Bengals' players. The walls were adorned with photos of past games and memorabilia, differing from the chaotic energy outside. The suite was filled with other families, their laughter and excitement creating an infectious buzz.

You and Amara found your seats, the plush couches offering a cozy spot to join Joe's parents. The view was breathtaking, the field stretching out before you like a green canvas waiting for history to be painted upon it. As you settled in, your phone buzzed with a text from your sister, asking if you had arrived and if you had seen Joe yet. You replied with a photo of Amara in her jersey, her cheeks rosy from the excitement, and a thumbs up.

The game kicked off, and the roar of the crowd filled the stadium. The players on the field were mere dots of color moving swiftly, their movements precise and powerful. Each play was met with cheers or gasps from the spectators, and even Amara, with her limited understanding of the sport, knew to clap when the crowd did. You held your breath every time Joe took the field, your heart racing in sync with the clock. The tension in the suite grew with every pass thrown, every tackle made.

Throughout the game, Amara remained glued to your side, her eyes rarely leaving the screens broadcasting the action. She munched on her snacks, sipped her juice, and whispered questions about the game that you did your best to answer. Despite the excitement, you noticed her daughter's eyelids growing heavy. The excitement of the day was taking its toll, and the warmth of the suite only added to her sleepiness.

As the fourth quarter approached, the game grew tense. The score was close, and every play could be the deciding factor. You held your breath, your heart in your throat. The other families in the suite mirrored your anxiety, your faces a mix of hope and fear. The air was thick with anticipation, the only sounds the occasional murmur of a prayer or a shout of encouragement for the players on the field.

Amara leaned heavily against you, her eyes drooping. You knew it was only a matter of time before your little girl succumbed to the call of slumber. You cuddled her closer, whispering reassurances that Joe and his team would pull through.

On the field, Joe played with a fiery determination that was palpable even from their lofty perch. Each pass thrown, each yard gained, brought them one step closer to victory. The clock ticked down, each second feeling like an eternity. With less than five minutes left, the Bengals were 2nd and goal, the crowd anxious with anticipation.

Amara's eyes fluttered closed, lulled by the steady rhythm of the game and the warmth of your embrace. You held her tightly, whispering words of encouragement to Joe through the glass, as if he could hear her. You watched as Joe took the final snap, his eyes scanning the field, his body poised and ready. The crowd held their breath as Joe threw a Hail Mary pass, the ball soaring through the air with practiced precision. It was caught by Joe's favorite target, Ja'Marr, in the end zone, sealing the Bengals' win.

The suite erupted in cheers, the sound deafening as confetti rained from the ceiling. Amara stirred in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. You felt a mix of relief and elation as the scoreboard flashed in victory. They were going to the Super Bowl. The final whistle blew, and the players on the field hugged and high-fived, their faces a blend of exhaustion and triumph.

You made your way down to the area outside of the locker rooms. Amara's head resting on your shoulder, sleeping peacefully. As Joe emerged from the lockers, his eyes searched the suite until they found your eyes. He waved, a grin stretching across his face. You felt a surge of love and pride as you returned the gesture, your voice lost in the mess of the crowd. The other players dispersed to their families, but Joe's gaze remained fixed on you. He made his way over, dodging well-wishers and reporters.

When he reached you, he leaned in to give you a kiss. "We're goin' to the Super Bowl, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse from shouting on the field.

Your eyes shone with unshed tears. "I'm so proud of you," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Joe's grin grew wider as he turned to Amara, whose eyes had snapped open at the sound of her father's voice. "Did you win, Daddy?" she asked, her sleepiness forgotten.

"We did, baby girl," Joe said, scooping her up in his arms. He held her close, the joy of the moment reflected in both their faces. "Couldn't have done it without your help, Coach."

Amara giggled, her tiny hands clapping together excitedly. "I'm proud of you, Daddy," she said, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Your heart swelled with love as you watched them, feeling the warmth of their bond.

As Joe started to transfer her back to you and walk towards the podium for his post-game press conference, Amara tugged on his arm. "Can I go with you?" she asked, her eyes hopeful.

You looked at Joe, a hint of uncertainty in your gaze. "It's okay," Joe assured you, setting Amara down. "Let's go, Coach." He took his daughter's hand, and she beamed up at him.

The press conference room was a whirlwind of flashing cameras and eager reporters. Joe sat down at the podium, and Amara climbed into his lap. She looked around at the unfamiliar faces with wide eyes, but she remained still and silent, as if she understood the gravity of the situation. You took a spot at the back of the room, your heart beating a little faster than normal. You knew your daughter was a little star, but you didn't want to steal the spotlight from your husband's moment of triumph.

As Joe fielded questions about the game-winning play and his thoughts on heading to the Super Bowl, Amara studied the microphones and notebooks with curiosity. Her tiny hand rested on her father's forearm, her thumb tracing patterns on the fabric of his shirt. The room was still but you could see the way Joe's gaze kept flickering down to your daughter, a silent reassurance passing between them.

When the questions shifted to Joe's family life and how they supported him, he didn't miss a beat. "They're everything," he said, his voice earnest. "My wife, she's my rock. And my little coach here," he leaned down to poke at Amara's tummy, "Keeps me on my toes." The room melted at the sight of the quarterback with his daughter, and a round of 'awes' echoed through the room.

Amara, sensing the shift in attention, straightened up, giggling as she looked around, a hint of shyness creeping into her expression. She was used to her father's games, but this was new, even for her. She leaned into Joe's side, her thumb returning to her favorite spot on his shirt.

You watched from the back, a proud smile on your face. Your heart swelled as Joe spoke about you, your bond, and your life together. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from your husband, who was usually so focused on the game.

One of the reporters leaned in. "And what does it mean to you, having your daughter here today, watching you play?"

Joe's eyes lit up as he looked down at Amara. "It's incredible. She's my biggest fan and my biggest motivation." He ruffled her hair, and she giggled, looking up at him adoringly. "I want her to know that she can do anything she sets her mind to, just like her mom and me."

The room was silent, the cameras capturing the tender moment. You felt a tear slide down your cheek, and you quickly brushed it away, not wanting to distract from Joe's moment. You knew he meant every word, your family's love and support were what kept him going through every game.

As the press conference came to a close, Joe hoisted Amara up in the air, her giggles filling the room. He turned to the reporters, his smile never faltering. "Alright, that's all I got today. I have to get this one back to her mother."

They made their way back through the crowd, Joe's hand on Amara's back, guiding her through the throng of people. You felt a mix of excitement and fatigue, your body still buzzing from the win. The ride home was a blur of congratulatory texts and calls from friends and family. Honks from passing cars and shouts of "Who Dey!" filled the streets as they drove through the city.

At the house, Robin and Jimmy had already set the table with a spread of Joe's favorite post-game meal: a hearty pasta dish and garlic bread, with a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket for later. "We figured you'd be too tired to cook," Robin said, giving you a warm smile.

"You guys are the best," you said, looking over at Amara wrapped in Joe's arms. The little girl yawned and leaned her head on his chest, already nodding off to sleep.

"Let's get her to bed," Joe suggested, his own energy waning. "Thank you so much for this, Mom, Dad. It means a lot."

You took Amara from Joe's arms, cradling her sleeping form against her chest. "No problem," Jimmy said, patting his son on the back. "We're gonna head off to bed. But you two enjoy the rest of the night."

You climbed the stairs, whispering sweet nothings to keep Amara calm as Joe trailed along, his arm slung over your shoulder. In her room, you carefully laid your daughter down on the bed, whispering a final goodnight. Amara's eyes remained closed, her breathing deep and even. Joe leaned over to kiss his daughter's forehead.

"You okay?" You asked, looking into his tired eyes as you finally made your way up to your room after eating and clearing the dishes.

Joe nodded, his smile a bit weary. "Just can't believe we're going to the Super Bowl," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood up and took your hand, pulling you closer into his warm chest. "Thank you for being here, for supporting me through everything."

Your arms wrapped around his neck, heart swelling with love. "And I always will, baby," you said, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. You felt the weight of the day's excitement slowly start to lift from your shoulders. The quiet of your room, the gentle hum of the city outside your windows, it was all you needed to feel at peace.

You changed into comfortable clothes, Joe slipping into a loose t-shirt and sweatpants while you donned your favorite oversized sweatshirt. You cradled Joe's head on your chest, fingers scratching at his scalp as he drifted in and out of sleep. His breathing grew deep and steady, the tension of the day slowly leaving his body.

#&. cassie writes.#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fanfic #cincinnati bengals #black!fem!reader #black!oc #black!reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #joeyb #jb9 #joe burrow x black!reader #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x oc

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kairoot · 3 months ago

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── 𝒮𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝒩𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠． 에이티즈 (HYUNG LINE.)

‧₊˚ 𝓼𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when your pregnancy prevents you from getting a good night’s rest 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : husband!ateez x pregnant! 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ��𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : pet names, reader is slightly afraid of becoming a new parent, not proofread, lmk if I missed any !

— ( 𝓂𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ) : ateez song reference in here somewhere 😫 pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎

hyung line’s headcanons under the cut ! ♡︎

໒˚⋆ 𝓀𝐡𝐣.

as you sit up in bed, you throw the duvet off of your body. you felt like you were melting and the growing human inside of you wasn’t making your state any better, the kicks growing more and more painful by the minute.

you tapped your phone, the screen lighting up immediately as the time read, ‘2:34’. you sighed, running a hand down your face, growing irritated at the restlessness that you felt.

after giving up on trying to sleep all together, you ventured to the room next to yours.

it was your husband’s home studio, to which he sat in at that very moment, one side of his headphones hanging off of his ear.

he hadn’t noticed you until your arms wrapped around him, resting your head on his shoulder.

he jumped slightly, removing the headphones, “babe? what are you doing awake?”

you moved your arms from around him, standing next to him as a hand came to rest on your growing belly.

“your baby’s like a champion soccer player in here.. also, the room is warmer than usual tonight.” you chuckled.

he smiled slightly, his eyes coming to meet your stomach. he placed his hand next to yours, feeling the constant thump.

“sunshine… are you hurting mama?” he asked in a soothing voice, the baby kicking in response. hongjoong chuckled, rubbing where his hand rested.

“careful with her, okay? she needs some sleep. and so do you.”

with that, he closed the notebook that he had been scribbling in before, placing his headphones elsewhere. he turned off the lights in the studio before leading you back to your room.

you both took your spots on the mattress, cuddling in close. hongjoong’s hand came to your belly once more, continuing to rub it gently. soon enough, the kicking had ceased and your eyes had fluttered shut.

joong smiled, kissing the top of your head.

“love you so much, pumpkin.”

໒˚⋆ 𝓅𝐬𝐡.

the floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you entered your kitchen, flicking the overhead light on. you sighed, the cool air giving you some relief from the warm air you felt in the bedroom.

you pulled the fridge open gently, not wanting anything to fall over. the only thing that seemed appetizing to you was the last bit of leftovers that you and hwa had from the other day. you grabbed it from the top shelf, taking it over to the oven to heat it up.

as you transferred your meal into an oven safe pan, you heard soft footsteps behind you, causing a smile to appear on your face.

a pair of warm arms wrapped around you, larger hands resting on your baby bump.

“what are you doing up so late?” seonghwa mumbled into your neck, voice low and raspy as his eyes remained closed.

“come back to bed, love..”

“your daughters’ up, so i’m up.” you chuckled, making him hum in response as he placed small kisses in the crook of your neck.

“she’s always up.. how do you sleep at night?” he asked, letting out a laugh.

“i don’t.” you shrugged.

he giggled once more, watching you prepare your meal.

“do you want me to help with that? i’ll put on our favorite romcom.”

you smiled, nodding, “yeah, but i wanna get my food first.”

“of course, baby.”

໒˚⋆ 𝒿𝐲𝐡.

the light from the tv brightened up your bedroom as you sat against the headboard, watching one of your favorite shows.

the bathroom door opened and your husband walked out, hair springing in random directions. his gaze turned to you, seeing you wide awake and not an ounce of tiredness in your eyes.

“honey?” he looked between you and the television for a moment.

“what’re you doing up? thought you were asleep..” he walked over to the bed, settling back in his spot and pulling the comforter over his legs.

you shook your head, “no, i’ve been awake for a few hours now. can’t sleep.”

yunho slid down in the bed so that he was lying on your belly. your bundle of joy seemed to know he was there, as you felt two kicks right where your husband had laid his head.

he giggled, placing a kiss on your belly.

“hi, baby,” he mumbled against it, placing another.

your baby kicked and kicked, getting excited at the sound of yunho’s voice. you smiled but winced at the force of the kicks.

“whoa, whoa, okay.” he rubbed where the kicks were, not wanting them to cause any more pain.

“you’re too excited, love bug. it’s very late.” he spoke to your baby quietly, trying to calm them down. and it seemed to work in a way, as you felt your baby move around a bit but eventually settle down.

“why don’t you try getting some sleep, baby? i know how tired you’ve been.” he looked up at you, smiling softly.

“but i can’t.” you pouted.

“how about i sing to you then, hm? would you like that?” he asked, continuing the gentle rubs on your belly.

you nodded, reaching down to play with his hair as you closed your eyes, waiting to hear his voice.

໒˚⋆ 𝓀𝐲𝐬. (i swear these are just yeo’s initals)

you sat in the nursery that everyone had helped make for the baby on the way, refolding clothes and reorganizing. you tried not to be loud, seeing as it was nearly 2am.

you had crept out of bed about 30 minutes before, your thoughts not letting you get a wink of sleep. you’d been so caught up in your thoughts, worried that you wouldn’t be the parent that you wanted to be when your baby arrived. you and yeosang were first time parents so you didn’t wanna mess things up.

as you sat on the floor, the door to the baby’s room had opened slightly, your husband peeking in to see you sitting down.

“babe?” he called softly.

you turned around quickly, not expecting him to be awake.

“yeo.. what’re you doing awake?” you asked. you could tell that he had just woken up, as he squinted his eyes, trying to adjust them to the dim light in the room.

“i should be asking you that.” he chuckled, entering the room and leaving the door cracked.

he took a seat next to you on the carpet, looking down at the pile of clothes you had folded.

“you bored or something?”

“no,” you laughed. “i just..”

he looked over at you now, letting you know that he was listening.

“i just don’t wanna mess things up, yeo.”

“what do you mean?”

you sighed, “i mean we’re first time parents. i just wanna make sure i’m doing what’s right for our baby.”

“honey,” he started, smiling, “yes this is our first time. so you know we’re bound to make mistakes, right? not everything will be perfect.”

you nodded in agreement, knowing he was right but you couldn’t help your overthinking.

“we’re a team, okay? you aren’t doing this alone, i’ll be with you.”

you didn’t respond to him verbally but just hugged him instead, silently thanking him. he held onto you tightly, rubbing your back and reminding you that everything would be fine.

᪥

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#kairoot #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez headcanon #ateez hongjoong #ateez headcanons #ateez ff #dad!atz #dad!ateez #ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez x female reader #𝒮𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑑，ℳ𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛 ⊹ ₊˚#ateezblr

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loveanddeepdick · 13 days ago

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obsessed!geto suguru x f!reader

cw & notes: ok this might NOT be everyone’s cup of tea if you’re a 100% independent girlboss femdom femininomenon, A LOT OF possessiveness, solved misunderstandings, dubcon, oral sex, borderline yandere, no curse au + geto works at jjk high but it’s not jjk high ykwim hbdjsh and ur close with his students

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

obsessed!geto who watches your every move, looks at every text message notification you get, every person you wave to. of course, he isn’t looking for any evidence that you’re cheating, no! he knows you’d never.

you two are cuddling on the couch together, laying on his lap with your head nestled under his chin and you legs draped over while he rested his cheek on your head. he’s in the middle of rubbing your back and watching whatever you had on your phone when he sees texts you got from a name he’s never seen before.

higuruma

hey, i hope this is the right number

i got ur stuff, let’s meet when your husband goes to work, yeah?

geto was silent for a few seconds before subtly tightening his grip on you

“who’s that, angel?”, geto almost seethed, he was trying his best not to make it sound like he was upset but it tipped him the fuck off.

‘who the fuck is that? who is she talking to?’

you only smiled, looking back at geto.

“it’s yuji’s lawyer friend, remember?”, you rested your head in the crook of his neck, somehow oblivious to the change in his demeanor.

“yuji.. ah, yuji’s lawyer friend. and you’re meeting with him why? and when i go to work—honey what’s going on?”

“geto..” you lifted you head, turning to him and slightly frowning, “it’s so he can come to meet with me and drop off stuff for yuji while he’s gone for a school trip”

“mm.. i’m gonna come with you, pretty girl..” he attacked your face with kisses as u giggle and try to dodge them.

“sugu!! you’re so protective over me! it’s not like im a baby, i’m not gonna get kidnapped” you huffed, lightly slapping his bicep. geto only hummed and enveloped his lips in yours.

the next day, poor higuruma couldn’t help but nervously chuckle as geto silently stood behind you as he dropped off yuji’s stuff.

obsessed!geto who knows all your needs. all of them.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“sugu! i told you im not hungry right now” you whine as he brings in two bags of takeout. ten minutes later, suguru is feeding you as you scroll on your phone. smiling as he knew that at the end of the day, he knew your needs better than you did.

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“sugu i really wanna go to the beach next week, let’s go pleasseee?”

“mm-mm, doll, your period starts in three days and the day we go is when you feel pain the most. so, no, we’re not going and you’ll thank me later”

you frowned and gave him the silent treatment which only lasted for two hours . three days later, you did get your period and the day that the beach was planned, geto was at the foot of your bed, massaging your feet as he turned your heating pad up, his eyebrows furrowed as he hated the sight of you in pain

“sugu.. i love you”, you groan as he relieved your pain little by little.

“‘love you too, pumpkin”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

“fuck, angel.. yeah.. i like you better when you’re not so fucking bratty and i can hear my dick inside you instead of that little mouth of yours always running”

he knew you were horny. he slipped his cock into your mouth as a means to shut your bratty little mouth up. you’d been teasing him for hours and he just had enough after he came home from a long day. you’d sent him dirty text after text, lingerie pics to nudes, even videos of you playing with yourself

he just couldn’t help but pin you down on the couch just as you got home! your bratty little mouth protesting about him being so whipped for your pussy but he shuts you up with your favorite treat!

he’d used your mouth, his hands shoved in your hair as he moaned from the sigh of your teary eyes.

“fuuuck, i’m close, angel. you want a treat for finally being a good girl? open up that throat of yours baby”

obsessed!geto who always does a background check of everyone you know. he has to make sure his soon-to-be wife doesn’t have any dangerous people in her life or—god forbid—, anyone with even an ounce of a crush on her!

after he’s doing cutting off the people he doesn’t like in your life (with reason of course! he knows what’s best for you <3), he immediately goes off to you, surprising you with a smack of your ass or a rough kiss on the lips, whatever he sees first.

if you’re not there though, he’ll jack off to all the photos he takes of you. sometimes he takes them in secret, sometimes he takes them in brough daylight. he doesn’t have to hide it anymore now that you’re dating but he never stopped. he loves you in all forms and he loves the effect you have on his cock. he’ll have his boney hand wrapped around it, sliding up and down as he whimpers your name.

“you’re so.. so fucking sexy, mm..mmphf!”

just geto who’s obsssed with you >.<

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #rina journal 📝#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader smut #geto smut #geto suguru #obsessed!geto

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mysindividual · 2 months ago

Text

Unknowingly, he admits | Aaron Hotchner

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem liaison reader

summary: another late night at the FBI meant you were once again buried in paperwork at Hotch’s office. But tonight, something was off—you were unusually quiet and distracted, a rare sight that caught Aaron’s attention. Intrigued, when he gets his answer, he tries to stop you from making that very same mistake, but doesn’t realise it’s for his own selfish reasons.

warnings: age gap, boss x subordinate, ex talk, mentions of divorce, Hotch being hot and reader is all (๑♡ .̫ ♡๑) once again

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story!

"Straight through the glass door, then right." You stood at the entrance, signalling with your hand, explaining to the man who miraculously managed to get lost to your office.

"Oh, thank you." He turned to look at you once more, a mischievous but beautiful grin plastered across his face. "By the way, I'm Agent Nathaniel Smith."

He reached forward to shake your hand when you replied, "SSA Y/N. Nice to meet you."

Once he took off, you leaned on a door frame of your office, arms crossed over your chest. Then bobbing your head to the side, your gaze followed after the man as you admitted he was even better looking from behind.

Tight handshake, round from behind…

Pouting, you nodded at the thought.

"You meant Soft Spot Aaron’s (SSA) Y/N." A familiar voice came out of nowhere, humming in your ear. You jumped in your place, looked at him over you shoulder and rolled your eyes. Entering the office, Derek came in after you.

"What's up kiddo, you're not in the mood? You didn't like my friend Nathaniel there?" He teased, beaming widely, and pointing his thumb towards the exit where the man had left. You looked at him under your brows as you slumped back in your chair.

"What do you want, Derek?" You answered with a tinge of annoyance in your tone.

"Ah, that hurt." His hand on his heart feigning pain. With one leg propped on the edge, he perched himself on the table, enjoying a sip of coffee from his black FBI cup. You’d enjoy some coffee too. "Tell me, what's bothering you?"

"Ah, Derek..." You breathed out, leaning back in your chair, looking at the ceiling, fingers knitted at your stomach. "I don't think you want to hear that.”

He raised an eyebrow. "That bad? You know that’s my jam, I’m all ears, baby."

Deliberately raising your brow at him, you straightened in your seat and rolled your chair towards the table. “Really?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“Sure I do, lil pumpkin.”

When you expressed a sense of superiority through a subtle yet discernible smirk, it wouldn’t be a lie were you to say that panic sprang through Derek’s eyes. So you quickly added, “Game on.”

Not long after Derek stormed out of your office, repeating ‘No, no, no!’ more to himself than you — either because he just lost money or because of the thing you’d told him — Hotch appeared at your door. You didn’t notice him, slumped back in your chair, one leg across the other, your hands playing with a pen.

If it weren’t for the two knocks against the door frame you wouldn’t have even noticed him.

You straightened your back, sitting more appropriately.

“Are you ready?” He inquired, his eyebrows inched upward as he looked upon you.

“Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.” Even through the smile that quirked on your lips at the sight of him, your eyes held the smallest hints of concern.

──────────────────────

"Is everything ok?" His voice, simultaneously stern and gentle, pierced through the hush that crept inside his office’s walls.

"Huh?" You hesitated, completely engrossed in the paperwork you were completing. It wouldn't be incorrect to say that you had no idea how you had managed to do it properly when your thoughts were occupied by something else. You were pleased when Hotch finally did speak and directed your attention towards him. Towards something that potentially could brighten your mood. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he replied, maintaining eye contact with you. “You've been unusually quiet."

You arched an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be an insult?" Leaning back, you took a moment to escape all the work and overwhelming thoughts. "Are you suggesting I talk too much?"

Hotch recognised that small smile of yours, small but enough to encourage anyone — to rouse him.

Hotch knew you.

He responded in his very recognisable calm and professional voice. “That's what you said."

It felt like you two were having this conversation recently, but now the roles had been switched.

"Truth." You leaned in towards the table, reaching for the pen. "No, everything is fine."

But that itch in your head didn't give you peace, and you didn't have the will or enough concentration to continue working any longer with that on your mind, so you blurted out.

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “You remember Brad?”

You said it without even knowing why, perhaps because you needed someone to confide in without fear of judgment. Was Aaron Hotchner really that person? Anyway, there was no going back now.

“Brad?” Hotch furrowed, only a hint of a confusion gracing his features before realisation kicked in. “Brad.” He repeated his name blankly, then leaned back in his chair.

Perhaps not.

Of course Aaron knew your ex-boyfriend Brad. Everyone did. And no one liked him.

Well, they were kind of right.

The reason you'd been a bit absent — and why Derek stormed out of your office earlier — was because of your ex-boyfriend. A couple days ago, following your conversation with Hotch regarding his divorce, you got a message on your cell phone. Unknown number. Before even reading the whole message, you had quite a good laugh once you read Brad’s name signed at the end of it. Apparently, he wanted to see you. Of course, you would not consent in meeting him even in a state of madness.

But, having a mutual friend was never a good idea. Brad showed up at the bar last night while you were out with said friend. You were initially just being sarcastic, the irony was coming through. But as time went by, somehow Brad managed to soften you through conversation and touch.

The thought made your skin crawl.

“Yeah… That.very -same -Brad.” You spoke in a hushed tone, your voice quivering as you glanced sideways. Everywhere except Hotch. Suddenly, saying it out loud to Hotch wasn’t your best plan. You were almost too shy admitting it. Or rather, admitting it to him. Saying it out loud made Aaron's presence in your chaos feel intimate and somewhat intrusive.

And why?

It was not the first time you two talked about personal lives, dammit, it wasn’t even a hundredth time! You had spent countless days and nights working together, on cases and press conferences, bars and restaurants with the rest of the team, and talked everything out of your lives.

Yet somehow this felt different.

Was it because you were talking about potential someone in your life? Or were you ashamed of admitting to Hotch you were even considering going back to that fool? Were you actually confessing to Aaron Hotchner himself — your boss — it had been a while since you had someone, that you had been that lonely and… needy?

Ugh.

Nonetheless, Aaron could sense the irony and uncertainty as you replied. He toyed with the pen, shaking it slightly in between his index and middle finger as his other hand held his hip.

The things he unknowingly did to you…

“And what does that very same Brad want? To reconcile?”

You quickly looked up at him again.

“I…” you opened your mouth, but the words died on your tongue. His brows were drawn together in a sympathetic concern, his eyes glowed with an inexplicable intensity… Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Did he actually care? To think anything else might have been in question would be insane. But Hotch’d always been protective over everyone in his team, and you were one of them. And no one ever liked Brad, so the stare he had been giving you made perfect sense. “Well… yes. Apparently.”

“And you are distracted by that why exactly?” There was no change in his even voice as he observed you, shifting his head from one side to other. The dim lighting coming from his desk lamp cast dancing shadow across his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking about reconciling with…” He halted in self-control, exhaling as his eyes slowly closed and opened. Fatigue washed over him, Aaron concluded. Regardless, he wouldn’t want his professional facade off, at least not when such a topic was in talk. “Very same Brad.”

You would have almost laughed at that, but only managed to smile and shake your head. Brad was not it, you knew that. And yet you were still thinking about it, and why, you wouldn’t know. You didn’t have the answer. Maybe you were bored, or perhaps tired of waiting for someone right to come your way.

It’d been a long time since you had a proper date, to be quite frank. One that didn’t end up in you yawning your boredom away, having Penelope fake call you to leave, having to really leave for work, and so on. It had been depressing to say the least.

You didn’t have anyone or anything planned in your love life for months. The only thing going on in that field (if one could even consider it that) was the crush you had had on Hotch that was somehow worse than pms’ mood swings. One day you liked him, the next day you wanted to rip his hair out. You also knew Hotch was within the reach, and considering and hoping something might have happen with the two of you was equal to hoping for snow in the middle of July somewhere in south Italy.

Your crush on him was there just to spice up your boring day.

Or so you thought most of the time.

“I knew you guys wouldn’t approve. You never liked him.” Is all you said, beaming widely at Aaron. He, of course, didn’t miss the hints of sadness either in your voice. It bothered you for whatever reason that much that you hadn’t been acting all giggly like your usual self.

Aaron’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward, his elbows on the edge of his table, his hands drawn together in front of him. “And you… like him?” The tone he spoke in was low and measured, almost intimate.

The tone that felt like a caress.

The gaze that made you feel like you were made of glass and he was too focused to let it drop.

You gulped.

“I- I don’t know.” You whispered through a nervous smile.

You lied. You knew that, Hotch knew that. And the thought of that pinched at your heart.

Some mistakes were just not worth making twice.

“If you are asking about my opinion… which I suppose you might not, but I can’t sit here and watch you make that mistake. But of course, this is about you and what you want.”

To Hotch, this was completely normal. It was almost like a friend helping a friend, or rather a boss advising his subordinate. After all, you were there for him when he needed company — when he parted his path with Haley. So, no, nothing unusual.

Everyone on the team disliked Brad. When she first got on the team, she was in relationship with Brad. They’d been together for three years, Aaron remembered. But not long after joining the team, they split up. Even back then everyone cheered her on and told her it was the right thing to do. Everyone except him, but the reason was that she was a newbie at the time, so of course he didn’t want to pry. Now, it was different… somehow.

“I know you don’t think he changed, you are not naive. But do you think it’s worth it?” His gaze assessed you for a moment before his dark eyebrows lifted, pausing briefly before he continued gingerly. “Does he notice the way you bite inside of your cheeks to stop yourself from saying something you might regret? Or the way you play with your earring when you’re not really paying attention, lost in your own schemes? That stress and all the pictures that come through your desk make you reach for favorite snack in comfort? Or that you smile the most when you have the most in your head?”

Silence.

Brad was suddenly long gone from your brain. The words Hotch spoke made a vertigo in your head, lying to you that there was more to it than it seemed. But at the moment nothing was more important than those little lies he you fed yourself with.

But then your gaze fell upon his hand.

The wedding ring still firmly and warmly hugged his finger making your heart drop.

Hope is the joy of a fool, so they say.

Not that you desired him to divorce Haley. Never. It just reminded you that Haley was and would still be a huge part in his life, and nothing, nothing could ever happen between the two of you. He would always love Haley. So it was indeed a good reminder to keep your head cool, your expectations zero.

His eyes averted for a second or two before he looked up at you again, adding softly — in his voice a mix of gentleness and playfulness. “Or the way your eyes get big and dark when you plead…”

A softness came over your features, a semblance of a smile gently flickered onto your lips. “You know about that?”

Hotch gave you a look that said “Of course I know about that”.

Busted, you nodded. “Of course you do.”

He sighed softly, his face showing exhaustion, a craving for care and an opportunity to relax.

“Now, I know it’s the whole point of our job. To profile people. To notice such things about others, but… Our other half should be just as considerate and aware of us. And I believe you deserve better.”

As he breathed the last words out, he leaned back, his head resting on the back of his chair, the almost see-through fabric of his shirt hugging his broad shoulders. Reaching up his collar, he unbuttoned the shirt — not very chastely as thought it were suffocating him, and loosened his tie.

It was suddenly getting warm with everything he had on his mind — work, fatigue and insomnia, Haley and Jack, divorce, you…

Yeah, you also.

As he closed his eyes, something between a sigh and a moan escaped his throat.

And while all this was happening in front of your eyes, you were practically melting in your seat at the sound he made, at the sight in front of you. You gaped at your boss unashamedly, as if you were hypnotised, your lips slightly parting and only then feeling the dryness of them. You swallowed, wishing you could drink in that sight of him. Oh, you so wanted to… many things. You envisioned getting up from your chair, leaving a trail on his table with your fingers as you made your way towards him before settling down onto his lap and leaving kisses up his jaw.

“Hotch…” you called out absent-mindedly, slowly, as though the words left you without your consent, still very lost in your imagination. “You are right. I deserve something far better than him.”

Not really hearing what you had said, he winced back, eyes and hands searching for a file on his desk. “We should get back to work. I need you to take a look at this report on the press conference you held in Kansas City.”

Trying to shake off that picture in your head, you reached for the document he held for you and put it down on the table. The letters were mix of some unknown words, your eyes only skimming over the files.

If concentrating was hard before, now it was completely impossible.

Sneaking a small look at him, you contemplated about the words he said just minutes ago.

You weren’t stupid — you were aware he’d have to pick up a few ticks and tells of yours and everyone’s on the team, but did he then also know about your silly little crush, and how attracted to him you were? Had he been profiling you all this time like he profiled the unsubs? Did he go in depths into his profiling of you? The thought made your heart squeeze in regret of some not-so-appropriate thoughts and actions you had done.

But then again, deep down you knew he didn’t. It didn’t make sense. Things would have been way different between the two of you had he known.

At last you concluded it was all right.

And that was when you realised he was right.

You had been fidgeting with your earring! Quickly stopping, cursing yourself inside, you took the paper in your hand, giving your best to concentrate and read.

You didn’t even notice you’d had that tick, Brad knew even less.

But Hotch knew. The thought made your heart waltz inside your chest, it was almost too hard not to smile.

But what you also missed was that Hotch had seen your actions causing a quick, but not small smile spread across his lips.

“So I thought we don’t profile each others,” you added, pretending to had been reading the report as silence had spread between you two. “And you say I’m not naive.”

Looking up at him under your brows, you didn’t expect he would have already welcomed you with a biggest grin you’d ever seen on him.

You both chuckled out loud, shaking your heads.

“I didn’t profile you…”

“Aha, aha.” You spoke over him, pretending you didn’t want to listen, like you didn’t believe him. “So you’ve said.”

“When you spend time with someone, you have to notice…”

Long into the night, soft chuckles and small voices could be heard outside of his dimly lit office.

A profiler never misses.

Or that was an excuse he said to himself.

#aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner #perks of ✨work✨#unknowingly series

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skeltnwrites · 27 days ago

Text

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / part one masterlist

part two - at the rec center's fall festival, you and steve finally make plans to hang out 11k

a/n - how did this end up twice as long as the first chapter this was supposed to be a short one!! general warnings/tags here

── .✦

Utah’s pretty this time of year. Fall is in full swing. The maple and cottonwood mellow into rich shades of orange, there is a constant crush of leaves underfoot, and the crisp scent of pine needles mingle with the breeze. Your neighbors go all out to decorate. Pumpkins are for sale on every corner and the apple orchards buzz with families for the harvest. This kind of weather has every brush of sunlight feeling like a hug you didn’t know you needed.

The rec center hosts an annual fall festival, bringing hayrides, corn mazes, and costume contests. And though you wouldn’t normally volunteer on a Sunday, Steve’s hard to say no to. It’s not like he begged you or anything, a half-shrug and simple “If you want to” was enough convincing.

You’d volunteer with or without Steve. You have the time and the goodwill and thus it’s a cork on the end of your monotonous work-week. But there’s no denying that Steve makes it a hell of a lot more enjoyable. He’s the sunrise after a long night, guiding you into the days ahead. And yeah, maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Too caught up in the way his tongue sticks out when he’s concentrating or how he mumbles to himself when he forgets you’re near. But working with him is delightful, nonetheless.

You and Steve are friends now. Well, work friends. You’ve never actually hung out outside of the rec center but there isn’t a Friday that one of you doesn’t mention it while you eat lunch in his office. You’ve learned trivial little things about him, like his favorite brand of pen, the store he buys his groceries from, and how he likes his coffee– hot enough to burn, with as much sugar as he can get away with without attracting strange looks. You ask about Penelope often and he’s very open; eager to rant and rave about the latest details of their lives. She visits every now and then, usually too sick or naughty to be at school. So you’ve come to know her just as much. That she loves Barbies and Salt-N-Pepa and insects but not the furry ones.

Being in each other’s lives is routine at this point– parking beside his car, leaving sticky notes on his desk, setting your bag in his office. It would be crazy to say you love him, you don’t, obviously, but you feel like you could. And you know you’d be devastated if he left the center. Your shift assignments are arranged so they almost always thread with his.

He’s always hated asking for help, but then you came, puttering into his office with a lovely smile and open arms and suddenly it’s not so bad. He’ll ask for your assistance on more projects than not: your advice, your creative eye, your hands to hang something that he most certainly could do alone.

Like now, you trail only a few paces behind Steve, cradling a wicker basket full of decorations. He billows a tablecloth over the nearest picnic table, considering your dispute over the best holiday.

“I dunno, I’m more of a Christmas guy,” Steve shrugs, smoothing out a ripple in the fabric. “The music is just inarguably better. You get to open presents and eat delicious food. Not really a contest in my book.”

You hum, centering a plastic pumpkin.

“Penelope is like the queen of Halloween, though.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with mirth. “This morning, she told me she wished she was born on Halloween so she could go trick-or-treating on her birthday.”

You wear a similar expression, gaze flicking over to Penelope. She’s not far, crouched in a strip of dirt, parting a pile of leaves to search for ladybugs and other creatures. “I bet she’s excited for all that candy.”

“That’s all she’d eat if I let her. I’ve already scheduled a dentist appointment for her in November– But, I’m just as bad, she gets her sweet tooth from me,” he admits.

“Figured. The amount of Reese's wrappers I find in your trash.”

He squeezes your shoulder playfully, not hard enough that you should need to squirm away but you do. “Whatever. Why are you going through my trash anyway, weirdo.”

You click your tongue, “I wasn’t going through your trash! They are on the top where anyone could see.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say… dumpster diver.”

Joan, the youth counselor, whisks over to interrupt with arms full of mason jars before you can retort. Steve smothers his smirk with an answer to her question. Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek to prevent your own.

It’s like this with Steve, now. Teasing and taunting each other like schoolchildren. A game of tug-of-war, where every knowing glance and light-hearted jab pulls the rope just a little tighter between you. It’s as thrilling as it is nerve-wracking.

It’s not much later when guests filter into the festival. The earliest glow of sunset mists the courtyard in gold. There’s cider stations and pumpkin carving and a whole bunch of apple bobbers fighting to win a pumpkin pie. Monster Mash bleeds from several speakers lining the trail to the tented area you find yourself in. People dance and laugh and drink. It’s a very successful event for the rec center.

Steve plops down on the bench across from you, Penelope at his hip. A silent, self-invitation he knows you won’t decline— you enjoy their company more than people-watching. He seems to find you no matter which way you drift, even through a sea of townsfolk.

A big scoop of chili is spooned from his paper bowl into a second. “Blow on it,” Steve reminds, planting it in front of Penelope.

She does blow on it, a spray of more spit than air that merits her a shoulder nudge to knock it off.

Penelope simpers over her steaming food as Steve offers you an apologetic look. Last you saw her, she was waving her way up the stairs to the costume contest. She’s since been bundled up– a tiara traded for a knit beanie and the gown from her dress-up bin crammed underneath a thick sweater and spilling out the hem.

The string lights bathe their faces in a white glow. It highlights the beauty mark on the slope of Penelope’s cheek, like a half of Steve’s pair in the same spot. It’s not often you get to just enjoy their company. No scrambling about deadlines or standards. It’s a calm you could get used to. But Steve’s always ten steps ahead, already plotting which crew needs the most tending to when he’s finished eating. He’s selfless like that. Your feet ache from running around, but Steve’s probably worse.

“Penelope, is that what you’re wearing on Halloween?” You ask.

Her chin presses into the neckline of her sweater. “No,” she recalls, mouth full of sauce. “I’m being Dorothy.”

Steve swipes a napkin across her lips before anything drips.

“From The Wizard of Oz?”

“Mhmm,” she grins, popping the spoon out of her mouth.

“Very cool. Did you get your costume yet?”

She nods, glancing at Steve, “Daddy made it.”

Steve’s in his own little world, slurping his belly full of warm food and basking in the second of peace he‘s been given. But he blinks back into reality at your questioning stare, leaning in to hear you over the boisterous laughs of nearby people.

You try to reel in your surprise, soften your features. “You made her costume?”

“Oh,” he waves a dismissive hand, “I just sewed a shirt to a dress. Nothing fancy.”

“Still– that’s really cool, Steve.”

He stirs his food, voice torn with guilt. “I dunno. It’s cheap.”

“Costumes are better homemade. The ones in the stores are tacky. I bet it looks amazing.”

Fragments of a smile find his lips, more a peace offering than a true one.

“I painted my shoes red and I put so much glitter on them so they sparkle,” Penelope adds cheerfully.

“You did?”

She nods, shining with pride.

“It’s been two weeks and I’m still finding glitter everywhere,” Steve comments, more amused than he lets on. He can’t be that mad when they’re little reminders of his favorite person in the world.

“Are you dressing up?” You ask him.

He huffs, side-eyeing Penelope. “Yes.”

A glint forms in her eyes, a sly little smirk beneath. “Daddy is going to be the lion because he’s hairy.”

You laugh and Penelope joins you because Steve has a funny pouty face.

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ‘em who’s your Toto?”

“Cinderella!”

“No way!” You match her level of excitement. “Does she have a costume?”

“No, but I have a basket for her to sit in.”

You coo, “I bet Cinderella will love that.”

Steve snorts because he knows you know Cinderella will in fact not love that.

Cinderella is supposedly the grumpiest animal he’s ever met. She was a quick, unfortunately painful, lesson on boundaries for Penelope– not to pet certain areas or animals as a whole. Steve described her as an old, scraggly thing with a temper flaring unpredictably from one moment to the next. He wasn’t a cat person to begin with, growing up in a house with no animals probably started his revulsion to having fur on his clothes; but at two and a half, Penelope begged to feed the stray on their porch and she just kept coming back.

Steve wanted a dog when he moved out, if anything at all; but in four years he’s learned more about sacrifice than any speech his parents tried to drill into his head. And Cinderella is practically Penelope’s best friend now. She sets aside birthday money for new cat toys– the crinkly ones are her favorite– and sneaks the cat through her bedroom window from time to time. She even cradles her like a baby, not without protest and the occasional scratch, of course, but Penelope knows the risk.

“I told her Cinderella probably won’t want to come trick or treating but she can still take a picture with her at home.”

“I told you she will want to go because there’s candy.”

“Yes, but I told you cats can’t have candy,” Steve jabs her side lightly.

Penelope only pouts. “That’s sad. I think she would like candy.”

“It is,” he agrees, slotting a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “But it makes them sick, remember? So we can’t share with Cinderella.”

Her cheek melds with his sleeve, begrudgingly agreeing with a sigh. “Can I get my face painted?”

Steve traces her line of sight to the ring of kids swarming the face painter. It’s not far. He can see well enough to recognize most of the children. Many are younger than Penelope too.

But Steve hesitates, “Can you wait until I’m done eating? I’ll go with you.”

“Daddy,” she whines, pinching his arm hair. “You take forever.”

Penelope’s got magical little eyes. You don’t know how Steve ever says no.

“I can take her,” you offer, stacking trash on your plate. “I’m done anyway.”

“No, it’s okay.” He deflates with a sigh, curling into his ribs so he can see her face. “You can go by yourself–”

Her frown washes away just as fast as she peels herself off of his arm.

“But! You have to come straight back when you’re done and you have to stay where I can see you. ‘Kay?”

“‘Kay!” She beams, nearly tripping on her dress as she swings her legs over the bench and breaks into a run.

Steve can’t hide the wobble in his smile as hard as he tries to be strong. Most of the hardships he’s faced as a parent are foreign to you, but clearly, this isn’t easy for him.

“She’ll be fine,” you reassure with a ginger squeeze to his wrist. “We aren’t far if she needs something.”

He nods, still locked in on Penelope. “I know, I know. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter parent as she gets older. It sucks though, feeling like she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“Steve,” you deadpan, prying his attention back. “That’s… silly. You’re her dad, of course she still needs you. Maybe not all the time or as much but she’ll always need you.”

“I dunno. I feel like she grows an inch every time I turn around. I never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss when she was in diapers. She’s cute now, but God was she cute then.” He chuckles to himself, eyes swinging from Penelope to you and then back.

“I believe it,” you grin, admiring his girl. Her cheeks are red from the cold, like two tomatoes framing her lips. She might like to wear your jacket, you consider, but she’s so small, perhaps she’ll overheat from too many layers.

Penelope scrambles into the chair when it’s her turn, talking a mile a minute to the face painter. A funny wave of emotion roves over you. There’s affection and joy and and then something heavier and harder to describe.

“I’ll have to show you her baby pictures sometime.” You hear the parting of a true smile. “There’s this one– it was her first birthday– I gave her a whole cake and she just demolished it. Had it in her hair and her eyelashes and in between her toes. She was so damn happy.”

You exhale a happy hum, turning back to Steve. He’s propped on his elbows now, close enough to discern each eyelash from the next. It doesn’t startle you as much as it just scrapes the words right off your tongue.

He’s reading you, churning, and chasing the right words all in between the blink of an eye. “We should hang out, you know? Like actually– We always talk about it but…” He shakes his head, trailing off.

He’d let the words be carried with the wind if you wanted. It’s hard to imagine you’d say no, but people have surprised him in worse ways. Just when he thinks he knows someone, truly knows them, they cut him off like he’s no more than a dying branch. The ghosts of past someones and somethings still haunt him. It makes being so forward with you all the more difficult.

You wear a whimsical sort of grin that you hide behind the brush of your hand, fighting your own flood of emotions. “Yeah– I mean, yeah. When?”

Excitement flares across his features. “What are you doing on Halloween? You could come trick-or-treating with us?”

“Probably just home handing out candy– but Steve, I don’t want to intrude on Halloween. It sounds really special to Penelope.”

“You wouldn’t! No way, Penelope would be thrilled if you came. She talks about you a lot, you know?”

“No she doesn’t,” you grin madly into your palm, peering over to her. Her face is dressed in a bright shade of orange now. With her pudgy cheeks, she reminds you of a little pumpkin.

“She does! Swear it– on my life.” He’s not lying. He can’t hold your eyes when he lies, even about silly things.

You huff, feeling foolishly giddy. “I don’t have time to get a costume, Steve.”

“Nonsense. We can find you one. I’ll make it if I have to. The Tin Man and The Scarecrow are still up for grabs.”

You swallow, washing the sudden dryness from your throat. Why does Steve have to be so damn cute and sweet all at once? “I dunno. Would it be fine if I didn’t dress up?”

He chuckles dryly. “Penelope won’t have that, I can tell you that much. Plus if I’m going to be tortured into some itchy lion onesie I expect you’ll do the same.” He’s teasing, which is typical for you both, but it’s like you’ve forgotten how.

“Steve.”

“Come on. If not for me, for Penelope. She’ll love it.”

“Okay,” you settle. But you aren’t really settling. He could ask you to dress up on any other day of the year and you’d do it.

Penelope races over– a tabby cat with long whiskers and a pastel pink nose– yelling, “Daddy, look!”

Steve beams at her like he stuck a lightbulb in his mouth, somehow brighter than before. “I see! You look so pretty, princess.”

“I’m like Cinderella.”

“You are!” He pats her former seat beside him until she sits.

Her long lashes flutter questioningly.

“Nell, don’t you think we need, I dunno, like a Tinman or a Scarecrow to go with our costumes on Halloween?”

She tracks his gaze over to you, adopting your smirk. “Are you coming trick-or-treating with us?” Her voice is uneven and bubbly with anticipation.

“Do you want me to?” You ask genuinely.

Penelope’s tongue wriggles in her mouth like she can’t find the proper words to express what she feels. But she nods in this bashful way against Steve’s shoulder that surprises you.

“Are we being shy now?” Steve remarks, pulling her into his arms effortlessly to peck her hairline.

“No,” she whines against his sweater, overjoyed to be smothered in love. Dry paint creases with her scrunched face. It’s an adorable sight. You keep wishing you had a camera on you because this is the kind of thing Steve probably puts in his photo albums.

The moon climbs the sky quickly, draping the party in a silver veil. Many stay for the campfire and the promise of smores. But the later it gets, the crankier kids become for their parents. Penelope’s no exception, whining and clinging to Steve until he agrees to hold her. And he tries to work still, but his arms are starting to burn and stamping hayride tickets isn’t easy one-handed so he makes the hard choice to leave before cleanup.

He feels awful, apologizing to several of his coworkers on the way out but most are too drunk on cider or too high on festive cheer to care. Besides, he’s paid a salary, doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He has no obligation to be here– you’d reminded him of that multiple times. But the festival does feel empty when they leave, even with half the town still around.

ᯓ★

Steve lives in a quiet pocket outside of town on a curvy, secluded stretch of road. The directions he’d scrawled out on a receipt weren’t as useful as you’d hoped as one of the street names you were intended to turn on was smudged beyond legibility. But you made it, parked in front of a white house with a similarly white picket fence. Steve’s beamer is idled to your right. It’s strange seeing it somewhere that’s not the rec center. But it’s a familiar comfort between so much new.

There’s a tire swing knotted to the oak tree in the yard, a collection of painted rocks in the pebble-lined path up to the house, and two carved pumpkins set outside the door, caving in on themselves but not yet rotting. A lot of love is shared here.

Penelope answers the door when you knock. She’s half dressed– stockings hugging a pair of fleece leggings and a flowy pajama tank top. Her eyes outline your costume and light up with approval.

You sport a flannel and denim overalls stuffed with prickly straw straight from the local farm, courtesy of Steve. But Penelope ogles your face paint more than anything– a stitched grin and two circles for blush. You hope it’s not scary looking.

She doesn’t know how to let you inside– she’s not supposed to answer the door after all– so she hangs clumsily off the door handle until you ask, “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” she teeters out of the way, closing the door behind you with a sweeping grin— the mischievous kind that makes you wonder what she’s up to.

The foyer is situated between the living room and kitchen, both of which are missing Steve.

“Where’s your dad?”

“Umm. Cleaning?”

“Oh. Are you getting ready to go?”

“Yes, but I can’t find my shoes,” she makes a strangled face and shrugs with her entire wingspan.

“Do you want me to help you look?”

She nods, “I think they’re in my closet.”

Penelope sprints up the stairs easily, leaning over the railing at the top until you hesitantly follow. You hope he won’t mind. You were technically let in.

It reeks of chemicals upstairs. You stifle a cough and hope it’s Steve, not some science experiment in Penelope’s room. But you don’t worry long. The culprit swings around the corner, juggling several bottles of solutions and sprays. Steve would’ve barreled straight into you had you not thrust your arms out in defense, but still, all his things scatter across the floor.

“Christ, you scared me.” He kneels, tucking a roll of paper towels against his chest. “Nell, you can’t answer the door without me.”

“I looked in the window.”

You hand him a sanitizer and shimmy your hat back into place. It’s too big and far too floppy, sagging over your brows no matter how you situate it. Amusement draws his cheeks up as he realizes. You look ready to plop yourself in the middle of someone’s crops and he’s in a tee and jeans you might find him in any other day. His smiley-staring only makes you feel sillier.

“The straw’s really a nice touch, huh?” Steve teases, picking a sandy stem from your collar with his free hand. He’s got that smirk you so often find on Penelope’s lips.

You yank the strand from his grasp and poke the column of his throat with it. “I’m definitely more itchy than you’ll be.”

His fingers encase the entirety of your fist like a shell. They’re knobby and mannish, stout against your own. But there’s a tenderness to his hold as he eases your fist away. You don’t push back, though you contemplate it. He’s never touched you for so long; he’s basically holding your hand.

“Could’ve been the Tinman,” he says, releasing your fingers at your thigh.

You suck in, like fuel for a reply, and exhale a breathy, nervous laugh. “And paint my entire body gray? No thanks.”

He chuckles, eyes darting behind you. “Well, you look great. You like it, Nell?”

You’d almost forgotten she was there. She’s quiet as a mouse when she wants to be.

Penelope bobs her head behind you, patiently watching from the doorway to her room. “I have oh-ralls like that.”

“You do,” Steve confirms, fidgeting with the nozzle on the disinfectant bottle. It reminds you of the smell.

“You kill someone?”

He stiffens. “What?”

You flick the bottle of Windex, serious facade fading. “Smells like you’re trying to cover it up.”

“Oh! No,” his shoulders soften, “Just a little spring cleaning… in fall.”

You hum gaily. “I like your house.”

“You do?” His voice is light, buoyant with relief. “I can give you a tour. A proper one.”

“I would but I’ve promised a patient little lady I’d help her find her shoes first.”

Penelope beams when you glimpse at her. “I think they’re in my closet,” she shares with Steve.

“I think so too,” he says, eyeing past her. “What happened to cleaning?”

“I was but I had to find my costume first.”

“It’ll be easier to find when your room’s clean.” He sends you a look, “Don’t let her trick you into cleaning for her. She’s sneaky.” Steve whispers the last part, loud and teasing.

“I’m not sneaky!”

“Mhmm. I’ll go get ready and then come help you, Nell.”

“Then trick-or-treat?”

“Yes,” he starts down the stairs, “Yell if you need me.”

Penelope tows you into her room by the arm, unphased by the clinking of toys crammed behind the door. Anything in her way gets kicked or shoved aside without a second thought. It’s like her toy chest exploded, a kaleidoscope of pink and purple across the carpet. And no wonder it’s a mess; she starts chucking things out of her closet, adding to the pile spilling out like an avalanche—books, stuffed animals, barbie dolls, baby dolls, and so so many clothes.

You squeeze by a play tent, scanning the floor.

“They’re red and sparkly, ‘member?” Penelope calls from behind her closet doors.

You tip a beanbag over with your foot, “I remember.”

She babbles to herself as she looks, just like Steve does– little hums and scraps of thought that are hard to catch. It’s a funny thing, to see it translated from one human to another.

It doesn’t take long to find the shoes, wedged underneath her bed with numerous other things. You go prone against the floor to dig them out and hold them up by the straps. “These it, Pen?”

She gasps vibrantly. You wish you got up in time to see her face.

“How did you know they were under there!” She shrieks, snatching them from you.

“Just had a feeling,” you sit up properly, happily watching her slip the flats on.

She practically twinkles, clicking her heels together like Dorothy.

“They look stunning! You painted these?”

“Yes,” she skips over to her dresser, shuffling through drawer after drawer. Anything folded surely isn’t anymore.

“You’re a talented artist.”

“I know. Daddy says.” Penelope yanks out a blue line of fabric. “My dress is so pretty. I’m going to be the prettiest Dorothy for Halloween.”

“I know you will! You should give your dad a big hug for making such a pretty dress.”

She buckles into the costume as fast as she can, patting the skirt down with a satisfied grin when it’s on.

After several compliments and much debate, you’re able to convince her Dorothy would have a clean room. Penelope puts a few things away, but she’s easily distracted. And it’s hard to blame her with so many toys about. So you do most of the cleaning, but you’re happy to. It’ll make Steve happy– lest he finds out it was you– which makes you happy.

The floor’s mostly cleared when Penelope decides Steve’s taking too long; it’s time for your house tour, with or without him. And when he doesn’t answer her shout it’s decidedly without him. She shows you downstairs first– the living room, the kitchen, the half bath, her favorite hiding spot underneath the stairs. All the while she explains her very detailed and strategic trick-or-treating plan. Staying out until midnight is the priority, she doesn’t seem to care if it’s past her bedtime, and filling several bags with candy is also high on the list.

“And this is Daddy’s room.” She jerks the door knob several times before yelling, “Daddy!”

“What?” Steve calls, muffled.

“Let us in!”

“I can’t hear you– hold on!”

Steve unlocks the door donning the promised lion onesie and a pair of sneakers. It’s ridiculous how handsome he looks even with a stupid fur collar and tail.

“Cute,” is all you manage to say. He takes it as teasing, rolling his eyes, though you really mean it.

“Can you help me? I can’t get my whiskers right.” He taps the cap of an eyeliner pen against his cheek where he’s drawn two lines.

“Sure.” You take the stick and follow him through his room to the master ensuite.

“Wait!” Penelope shouts and waves vaguely at the room. “This is Daddy’s room.”

You pause to look it over, jovially commenting, “Wow! Very nice.”

And it is nice. There’s a rustic set of furniture striped in blue and green accents; paired well with the framed floral prints above his dresser. And the bed’s made, only slightly surprising, topped with a Care Bear’s quilt you assume is Penelope’s.

In the bathroom, Steve leans against the counter, arms braced behind him on the sink rim. You shuffle in front of his legs, skimming knees accidentally. He has no abhorrence for physical touch, you know that for certain. He’s touchy with not just you, but everyone in the office. An arm around the shoulder, a pat on the back, a gentle squeeze to the arm– he gives these out like candy on Halloween. But even so, touching him isn’t always easy. It’s vulnerable, runs the risk of rejection.

Steve smiles at you, ever-patient and encouraging when you stall awkwardly.

“Sorry,” you whisper. Talking any louder feels illegal when he’s so close. You cup his jaw and steady your opposite hand against his cheek, picturing the line how you want it.

But just when you press into his skin and flick the pen, Penelope slams a drawer shut, startling you enough to flinch. The ink slants all the way behind his ear like a jagged nail.

You gasp and recoil, “Shit.”

Penelope gasps twice as loud and Steve crumples into laughter, even more so when he turns to view the damage in the mirror.

“Oops,” you chuckle nervously, thumbing at the black streak. “This washes off right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve redone it like four times.”

You douse your finger in water and work the pad across his happy cheek gently.

He’s watching you. You don’t see, just feel it in the fringe of your peripherals. It’s not like he has many places to look when you’re a hair’s breadth from his nose. But he might as well press a magnifying glass against your face, point out every pore and blemish and hair you're insecure about.

Your cheeks burn and the beginning prickles of sweat coat your upper lip. You brushed your teeth before you arrived, but how could you forget a mint? And what about an extra layer of deodorant? That wouldn’t have hurt. You glance at Steve anxiously and his eyes jump to Penelope. For once you’re grateful not to keep his attention.

Penelope digs through his cabinet on a quest to find nothing in particular.

You pull away to judge your first line as Steve opens his mouth. “Nell, go get your brush and hair ties.”

The top half of her face pops up over the cupboard door like a puppet. “But I want my hair down.”

“I still have to brush it. And I thought you wanted the bows?”

She considers his words– her prior words– brows pinching before she shrugs, “Okay.” The cabinet door thuds against its hinges as it claps shut, and not a second later, Steve’s bedroom door slams as Penelope charges out.

“You would not believe how often I tell this kid not to slam the doors,” he scoffs, though it’s devoid of any real anger.

You take his chin again, packing away a grin. You have to focus. “Don’t move,” you prompt.

He’s relaxed in your hold. Still as a stone, maybe apart from the slight tug of his lips when you resume drawing.

“Tickles,” he murmurs when you lift the nib.

You print another three to match the trio on his right. It’s not bad, but you wouldn’t say it’s good. The angles are skewed weird and one’s shorter than the rest. But if he wants them any better, you might not be the best person to ask.

“How’s that?” You draw back, searching for any smudges.

He spins, briefly inspecting his reflection before facing you again. “Perfect! Thank you!”

Perfect is definitely a stretch.

Steve’s a perfectionist. You’ve seen it innumerably in the office. How he’ll spend hours revising something only to ruminate on an insignificant detail after. And with Penelope, every parenting decision is subject to endless second-guessing, as if her health and happiness hinges on the smallest nuances.

But as much as he’s a perfectionist, Steve would never judge you in the same way he might himself. Your whiskers truly are perfect in his eyes, not for the shape or size, but because you drew them– wonky and all.

The ink warps around his smile. You study his face under the guise of checking your work. Steve’s a handsome guy. An inviting kind of handsome, with shallow laugh lines and the start of stubble stippled across his jaw.

“Wait,” you square his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck to reach for his hood. The lion’s mane is laid gently over the top of his hair.

“Now it’s perfect.”

He smirks. “Sexy, huh?”

“Should leave this unzipped a little. The cougars will love that.”

Steve laughs, harder than you think you’ve ever heard him. It’s so contagious even Penelope joins your hysterics when she returns, though she hasn’t a clue what you’re laughing about.

“What’s so funny?” Penelope lurches into his legs with a handful of hair things.

“We just think my costume’s kinda silly. Here, baby.” Steve heaves her onto the counter and props her right in between the sinks.

Her dress pours over her crossed legs like a layered cake, baby blue and white gingham. Steve really did a great job with the stitching; you can’t even tell it was done by hand. And Penelope hasn’t complained about the fit once so it must be comfortable too.

“Face forward please,” Steve reminds gently for a third time when Penelope twists her neck to speak.

Penelope frowns at his reflection. “You’re pulling too tight.”

“Sorry. You have to stop moving though.”

There’s a mild curve to his lips. He’s not aggravated with her fidgeting, in fact, quite the opposite. Maybe because you’re around, he’s in too good of a mood to spoil with something as trivial as his daughter's hair. But regardless, it’s endearing as it is entertaining to care for Penelope. He loves being a dad, even when it’s frustrating. And you can see the love as he braids her hair– how he cards through knots from the ends up and slowly sections off pieces to tackle one at a time.

“I’m not moving.” Her chin droops as she scratches the polish from her nails.

Steve cups her jaw, steering it back up. “You are, monkey.”

“Monkey?” She chortles, seeking your gaze in the mirror to see if you also find the nickname funny.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, seizing the rubber band from between his teeth. “Monkeys move a lot.”

“Do they have tails?”

“Mhmm.”

“You have a tail 'cause you’re a lion.”

Steve hums and bends back, evaluating his performance. “There. You look so gorgeous, Penelope.”

And he really has done a great job, especially with all her wiggles. Steve takes a lot of pride in styling his hair– much of his confidence derives from it. And he tries to extend that care to Penelope; to teach her how gorgeous she is and that she deserves to be nurtured.

Penelope shakes her head disapprovingly. “I’m Dorothy now, Dad.”

“Oh, sorry.” Steve turns toward you instinctually, happy to catch your smile.

“You look very very pretty, Miss Dorothy,” you correct.

She slides off the counter, aided by Steve’s hand. “Can we go now?”

Penelope waits patiently in the foyer for Steve to gather everything needed to leave. This lasts for all of about ten minutes before Penelope is halfway out the front door, too excited to wait any longer.

“Wait, Nell!” Steve shouts from beside you in the kitchen.

You’re choosing snacks and filling water bottles. Steve doesn’t really need to pack a bag for Penelope anymore, she’s a year and a half past diapers, but he likes to feel prepared.

When Penelope doesn’t answer, he meets her on the porch to explain, “I’m almost done. And we still have to take pictures.”

“I don’t wanna. I’m ready to leave.”

“Well, we aren’t leaving until I get a picture of Dorothy.”

She sighs, lugging herself back inside like she’s got bricks for shoes. “What about Cinderella?”

“Go and look– get the treats.”

She scrambles into the kitchen, snagging a jar of cat treats from the counter quickly. You shoulder the backpack and follow her out. Steve joins you not long after, two flashlights and several glowsticks in hand.

“No Cinderella?” Steve asks, unzipping the bag pressed to your back to stock with more things.

“No,” Penelope pouts, vigorously shaking the jar in the air. “How can I be Dorothy without Toto.”

He yanks the zipper back up, then pats her head, “Keep calling. Where’s your jacket?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You will. It’s gonna get cold later. When it’s dark.”

“It’ll mess up my costume. Dorothy doesn’t wear one.”

“Let's bring it, just in case. I’ll carry it.”

Steve jogs back inside, coming out this time with a camera around his neck, a jacket over his shoulder, and a plushie in hand.

“Here,” he sets a blue stuffed dog on Penelope’s lap. “Backup Toto.”

Penelope glares up at him, insulted. “This isn’t Toto.”

“I know. But if we wait for Cinderella we might not have time for trick-or-treating. Why don’t we bring the treats? See if she’s started without us?”

Penelope deflates, stuffing the dog in her wicker basket.

“Can I take your picture now?”

“Why, Daddy?”

“So I can remember how beautiful you look tonight.”

A petulant bow creases her lips as she peers up. Round, sullen eyes connect with his.

Steve squats in front of her, taking her much smaller free hand in his. “I know you’re sad about Cinderella but she’d still want you to have fun, right? And she might show up later. I just want to get a picture now so I don’t forget.”

Penelope nods and Steve kisses her forehead, standing and backing up a few paces.

“Smile, baby. Please?” He blinks at her through the viewfinder.

She offers a strangled face– more of a toothy open mouth than a smile; not even close to wide enough to round her cheeks or crescent her eyes like the real deal. But it’s funny and just as cute. Steve snaps a photo and the expression drains from her face as fast as the camera’s flash.

You wander behind Steve and her eyes flick to you. You try funny faces first, frowning so deep your jaw aches, pulling the tip of your nose up like a pigs, winking terribly, but none of it works. Your fingers arch into bunny ears behind Steve’s hair and you stick your tongue out at the back of his head, but still, no dice.

You have a really awful idea. You’re pretty sure you might die of embarrassment. But it’s worth it to get Penelope to smile.

“Hey, Penelope? Remember when you told me dinosaurs are silly?”

She nods.

“Well, I have a really good dinosaur impression. Can I show you?”

She nods again, equally jaded.

You take a deep breath and shake your head, mentally preparing yourself and simultaneously erasing Steve from existence for the moment. A feral screech erupts from the back of your throat, the kind of sound you didn’t know for sure you could make.

Steve buckles in his crouch, barely catching himself on the pavement with his free hand. A chorus of emotions ripple his features. He’s shocked and then amused and finally focused on capturing the picture, but what resonates the most is a fondness for you.

You cup a hand over your mouth, rendering a string of different noises, inspired by several animals because what the hell does a dinosaur sound like anyway? You haven’t the faintest clue at the moment.

Penelope fuses her lips together, unbreaking.

“Come on Nell, I see that smile,” Steve rallies.

But she doesn’t give up easy. She’s like Steve in that way.

As a last resort, you press your lips to your mouth, blowing a raspberry and screwing your face in disgust. “Oh my God, Steve! Did you just fart?”

He gapes at you, then Penelope, tickled and tongue-tied for comebacks. He can’t think straight, not when you’re making a delightful fool out of yourself, on his behalf, especially. As far as he’s concerned, Penelope’s smiling now or at least failing awfully at hiding it. So he takes several photos of her as she unravels into a giggly heap on the driveway.

Certainly one of them is photo-album-worthy, but you continue your stunts anyway. “Goodness, what did you eat today?” You backpedal a few steps, fanning the surrounding air, partially to hide your own laugh. “Penelope do you smell that?”

“Ew! Daddy!”

You aren’t sure if Penelope actually believes you or if she just wants to join the fun but either way, she’s convincing.

“I didn’t do it!” Steve defends, dropping the camera on its sling and raising his hands in surrender. “I think it was Penelope this whole time.”

You gasp. “Penelope!”

“I didn’t!” She cries, shaking her head aggressively. “I promise, I didn’t!”

“I dunno. The closer I get the more stinky it smells.” Steve slinks up to her with outstretched hands that threaten tickles.

She screams when he snatches her up, swearing up and down, “I didn’t, Daddy!”

He’s well-practiced at being the tickle monster; knows every sensitive strip of skin to target. She was doomed from the start. Giggles spill out in jagged layers punctuated with gasps of air. Steve tickles her all the way down the driveway to the car, out of breath himself by the time he sets her on the trunk.

Penelope deliriously eyes his hands where they rest on the beamer.

“You ready to go trick-or-treating, Little Miss Dorothy?” You ask.

She nods, dimples deepening with mirth.

“Here. Will you start it?” Steve fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them to you. “Come on, pretty girl.”

She slides into her car seat happily, bouncing with excitement as he buckles her in. Steve’s told you before it’s not always so easy.

“I really didn’t fart,” Penelope says.

He chuckles, sewing a kiss to her cheek, “I know, baby. We’re just kidding.”

Steve settles into the driver’s seat, depositing the stack of developed polaroids in your lap. You shuffle through as he backs out, flashing him your favorites; the best is one where she’s planted a hand on her hip and is rolling her eyes. You adore this little drama queen more and more every day.

The drive’s only a few minutes, just to a denser part of the neighborhood to avoid long stretches with no houses. Steve parks against an empty grass lot behind another car. This area’s already bustling with kids which adds to Penelope’s anticipation.

“Daddy, look– it’s Minnie Mouse!”

Steve inspects the crowd through the window. “Yeah, you remember when you were Minnie Mouse?”

“I was?”

“Mhmm. You had ears and I painted your face. You were little.” He unbuckles, grabbing the backpack stashed at your feet.

“Oh. Am I still little?”

He pauses to melt, just to himself and only a bit. It’s too early to be sentimental– a long night of fun awaits. Steve cranes over his seat to see her face. “Yes, you’re still little. But you’re growing a lot. I think you might be as tall as me, one day.”

“Nooo,” she giggles, waving her foot at him.

“I dunno,” he sing-songs back, squeezing her shoe before turning back around.

Steve distributes a handful of glowsticks, shoving a few extra in Penelope’s basket. You guys start down the block as the sun sinks below the treeline, more than enough time to complete Penelope’s plan which she reminds you of. She takes Steve’s hand, then yours, and it strikes you suddenly how much you appear as a family to outsiders. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, just a strange one.

At the first house, Penelope knocks hard and declares to the elderly woman who answers, “Trick or treat!” She repeats it, insisting with wide eyes that she deserves two pieces of candy for her double effort. And the woman can’t resist her charm, obliging with a handful of pieces. Steve jokes it off, calls her a bargainer, but you gawk at the interaction.

At the second house, she points to you and Steve, arguing you deserve candy too since you’re both in costume. And it works, scoring you each a piece that ends up in her tote anyway. By the third, you can’t keep a straight face, her antics are hilariously cute and you compliment Steve for raising such a little mastermind.

You fall into a routine steadily, loafing along the road with Steve while Penelope trots up to each house.

“Last year she was Snow White and the year before a cat,” Steve explains when you ask.

“She likes princesses’.”

“Less so now but yeah. She used to say she wanted to be a princess when she grew up.”

“Can’t blame her.” You watch her fondly from afar. She picks a piece of candy off the ground and debates before tossing it in with the others. “What does she wanna be now?”

“Changes all the time. Last it was a detective.” He beckons Penelope over. “Nell, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

She fiddles with her basket handle. You’ve done two streets and it’s almost full. You're starting to think you’ll have to buy a pillowcase off of someone.

“Umm… Can I be a trick-or-treater?”

“What!” Steve flips her braid over her shoulder, “That’s just for one day, goofball.”

“Well… then,” she hums, squinting at the surrounding swarm of characters and creatures. “Maybe a pirate?”

You and Steve share a look of amusement. You do that a lot now. It’s instinctual. Finding each other's eyes, even in a room full of people it’s easy. Sometimes there’s just too much joy not to share.

“Daddy, how many houses are left?”

“There’s quite a few on this street. You tired?”

“No. Can I see? I want to count.”

She doesn’t seem tired to you but Steve’s able to read her with the tiniest details. It’s like he’s got superpowers sometimes– dad superpowers. But maybe he’s just guessing, it’s getting closer to bedtime.

Steve boosts her onto his shoulders with a hefty groan about “getting old” which you bicker over because he’s only twenty-six.

Penelope counts eleven houses, eight with lights on, but buzzes about a particular home illuminated with rainbow LEDs and a giant spider. And it’s even cooler than she described up close, mansion-like, decked out with spotlights and decorations taller than you and Steve combined.

A motionless clown holds a bloody bucket of candy outside. Their decorations are so extravagant, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s fake. But you’re pretty sure the clown just blinked and you make sure Steve’s aware of that, not that he was letting Penelope go alone anyway.

Steve scoops Penelope up before she gets very far up the driveway despite her complaints.

“I’m not scared, Daddy,” she assures. And there’s nothing that tells you she is– she’s just as cheery and bright-eyed as before.

“I know, princess.” He rubs her arm, scanning for other statues with the potential to come alive. “I’m kinda scared, though.”

She tips her head at him, puzzled because it’s always the other way around. But her arms coil around his neck, a loving press of affection that she learned from him.

And whether he’s actually afraid to be jumpscared or just subconsciously ingraining in her that it’s okay if she is, you aren’t really sure. Probably both, and either way, it warms your insides.

The clown cocks its head slowly when Penelope reaches in the bowl.

She cocks her head back, innocently amused. “Trick-or-treat?”

The clown nods, pushing the bowl toward her.

Steve sags just a hair but remains very much on high alert.

You mouth your appreciation— “Thanks.” Thanks for not scaring my coworker-friends-child who I’ve grown really fond of and would hate to see cry.

“Daddy, can we go in there?” Penelope points to a tunnel opening, fringed with black streamers and flashing lights– some sort of haunted house walk-through that wraps around the home.

“No, baby. That’s for big kids.”

She spots a group of teenagers exit the other side, screaming, laughing, and doubling over each other into the grass.

“I really wanna go– please, I’ll be so brave. I’m not even scared,” she pleads, flashing him a wobbly frown.

But there’s no expression she could pull right now that would change his mind, not when he hears a chainsaw buzzing inside. She could throw herself on the ground and kick and cry and he’d still refuse. He knows enough kids that have been traumatized by horror-movie-type creatures and characters; he’ll be damned if his daughter becomes one of them.

Penelope sulks for a few houses but she has loads more candy to collect and decides not to waste her time for too long.

“Can you hold this?” She thrusts her basket toward Steve. It’s overflowing at this point; you’ve all started cramming candy in your pockets, hoping it’s cold enough outside that nothing melts. Steve’s been beating himself up for three blocks for forgetting the backpack in the car.

“Sure,” he says, retracting his hand from his pocket.

But before he takes it, you joke, “Better keep an eye on him. He might eat some when you’re not lookin’.”

Penelope studies him for a long moment before shifting the bag toward you.

“Penelope! You don’t really believe that do you?” He scoffs, breathily laughing.

You cackle as she shrugs and sprints to the next house.

Steve bumps your shoulder, snaking a hand in the basket to steal a pack of M&Ms off the top. “Blowin’ my whole operation.”

“Steve,” you scold and bump him back. “Don’t get me in trouble.”

“She won’t notice.” He waves you off, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. “But if she does I’m saying it was you.”

You whack his arm, glowing bright as the moon, “Asshole.”

Penelope doesn’t complain about her feet aching once the whole night and you know they probably do because yours started hurting forever ago. Surely she gets some kid-sized Oscar for that. And Steve being the great dad he is offers to carry her on the way back to the car anyway.

“Daddy?”

Steve hums, hoisting her up where she slips.

“Can we go trick or treating tomorrow?”

He glances at you, confirming you also hear this cuteness. “No, baby. Tomorrow’s not Halloween.”

“I know, but we should still go. I bet lots of people still have candy. Like, leftovers.” She yawns into his shoulder where his fur hood has been tugged down to warm his neck and double as a makeshift pillow.

“Don’t you have enough candy?”

“No. I need more Reese’s for you.”

“You’re gonna give them to me?”

“Only some. I like them too.”

“That’s kind of you.”

Her eyes are half-lidded and struggling, but she’s still awake as Steve stows her into her car seat. She chatters sluggishly to keep herself up and you and Steve entertain it; it’ll make bedtime easier if she doesn’t fall asleep in the car. Perhaps handing her a pack of Smarties was overkill because apparently, it has enough sugar to wire her longer than the five-minute drive home.

No slower than Steve can lock the front door, Penelope dumps the contents of her bag on the floor. A bouquet of candy wrappers, big and small, enough to last her months if she’s patient.

“You can have five more pieces tonight.”

Penelope smirks at Steve before he’s even finished. “Ten?”

“Six. But you have to brush your teeth for twice as long.” Before she can rebuttal he shakes his head. “Final offer.”

“Fine,” she huffs, combing through her pile. She sorts them into categories while Steve prepares her bath. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown is already on– Steve has a bad habit of forgetting to turn the TV off when he leaves– but you find the remote when Penelope asks you to turn the volume up.

“You can have these,” she announces, pushing a chunk of her goodies toward you. It’s mostly things she doesn’t like: twizzlers and dark chocolate and anything with peanuts. But she did sneak in one of your favorites you’d mentioned earlier that night. She really is a sweetheart.

“Thank you, Penelope. That’s very nice of you.”

“These are for Daddy,” she points to a second pile, smacking loudly on the gummy bear she just decapitated. “He loves chocolate but he got a cavity once because he ate too much.”

“Are you talking about me?” Steve hollers, clambering down the stairs two at a time.

“No?” Penelope giggles.

His hands snap to his hips once he treks into the living room. “Alright, it’s bath time then bedtime Miss Dorothy.”

Penelope looks utterly betrayed. She’s only eaten three things and– “It’s not even late yet,” she whines.

He pretends to check his watch, “It is.”

It’s not but she can’t tell time yet.

“Can we watch Oz, Daddy, please? There’s no school tomorrow, ‘member?”

“We watched it last night, peanut. Why don’t we watch a Halloween movie?”

Peanut, pumpkin, princess, he calls her all sorts of cute things. Is it wrong to wish he called you cute things too?

“I wanna watch Oz. I’m Dorothy so we have to.” She drags out the last syllable until she runs out of breath.

Penelope’s over-tired. Delirious and whiny and easily hysterical when she doesn’t get her way. And it’s not that Steve thinks he should give in when she’s like this, he’s just tired too. And you’re here and it’s the weekend so what will one movie really do? He can guarantee she’ll fall asleep during it anyway.

“Okay. Only if you’re super-duper fast in the bath.”

She shouts and whizzes upstairs.

Steve diverts his attention to you, “You wanna stay? I can make popcorn.”

Of course, you’d love to stay, and not just for the promise of popcorn, but you’re afraid if you do, you’ll never want to leave.

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He makes a face– a ridiculously lovely one. “Go sit. We’ll be quick.”

They aren’t quick but there are photo albums on the coffee table that you’re happy to look through in the meantime. You flick through beats of their life like stills of a movie. There are baby photos, school pictures, movie stubs, plane tickets, and several people you don’t know the names of. It’s weird– getting snippets of things about them you had no idea of. You’re filling the gaps as you go.

Penelope returns first, frolicking her way to the entertainment center in fresh pajamas. She’s on a mission by the looks of it, making a mess of the VHS collection in the cabinet. By the time Steve arrives, most of the films are splayed across the carpet.

“Oz is already in, silly goose. We watched it yesterday remember?”

Penelope drops the tape in her hands, “Oh.”

Steve hunches over her, slotting the films away one by one. She doesn’t help much, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Penelope clambers onto the couch beside you and Steve beside her. It’s a long sectional, enough room for several others. But Penelope scoots in right beside you so you're hip to hip. And Steve makes himself comfortable more in the middle cushion than the farthest.

His onesie has been traded for sweats and his whiskers scrubbed away– though a faded, gray smear crosses his jawline. You consider telling him, or licking your thumb and scratching it away yourself, but it makes you feel less weird to be the only one still in costume so you let it stay.

“I like these,” you tug the cotton pant leg of Penelope’s outfit. It’s a matching set, frilly and plaid with a black cat stamped to the torso.

She tucks her lower lip away sheepishly and pushes her crown into your shoulder. Her hair's damp, soaking your sleeve cold, but you fawn at the affection more than anything.

“Did you find that picture? From her first birthday? I think it’s in there.” Steve gestures toward the closed album in your lap with the remote but remains glued to the TV.

“No, I didn’t finish looking.”

“I wanna see,” Penelope arches over your legs, prying the book open.

Steve rewinds the film to the start and pauses it so he can look too.

You thumb the plastic sheet over a recent image of Penelope scrunching her nose at the camera, a riot of stickers across her face.

“RoRo!” She taps the photo beside it. It’s a haphazard blur, most likely captured by Penelope; you make out the shape of Steve first, then the less angular, slightly shorter person– a woman, RoRo. You think Penelope’s mentioned her before but nothing about the picture rings any bells.

“Mhmm. That’s Robin. Remember this was at the airport?”

“Is that when we got pizza?”

“Yeah!” Steve rubs her arm. “You have a good memory.”

You turn the page, revealing a set of grainy, blue-tinted photos from the same roll of film. Steve looks young for his age now, but he looked like a baby then. Strangely though when there’s an actual infant in his arms. He was thinner then but even softer in the face. Not unhappy, per se, but maybe missing a lightness he has now.

“This was on my twenty-third birthday,” he explains. “Look how little you were!”

“Did I eat cake?”

“No, you were too young, baby.” He chuckles, pointing to another photo. “You tried a banana for the first time in this one.”

“I like bananas.”

“You didn’t used to.”

Steve and Penelope share slices of their pasts fondly. You study the photos, compare these reflections to the people you find yourself next to. There’s an unexpected pinch in your chest– not getting the chance to know these versions of them, it makes you sad. But it’s a happy sort of sad. You’re grateful to know them now.

Penelope begs to flip through another album but Steve decides it’ll be too late to finish The Wizard of Oz if they do. His true reluctance stems from how emotional the first one made him– though you’ll pretend not to notice for his sake.

Steve bets Penelope an extra Reeses that she’ll fall asleep by the time Dorothy meets the scarecrow. It’s unfair, really. You tell Penelope not to pinky promise it but she does. And she loses awfully, yawning within five minutes and startling herself awake within ten. You scoff when Steve starts carding through her hair– her guaranteed snooze switch. It’s evil and you tell him so. So of course, that finishes her off long before Scarecrow makes an appearance; she curls into Steve’s side and digs a heel into yours. Poor girl never stood a chance.

“She had a lot of fun tonight,” Steve utters. It’s alarming at first, how his voice eclipses the TV like there isn’t a child snoring against his stomach. But she doesn’t stir. He knows she won’t.

“Did you?” You ask, skating between a whisper and not.

“Very much. You?”

“Mhmm. Loads,” you answer without hesitation. It’s possibly the easiest question anyone’s ever asked you. “I think Penelope’s right.”

He quirks an eyebrow against the front of the couch. His cheek is sinking further into the cotton like he might fall asleep.

“We should go trick-or-treating tomorrow too.”

His lips wane into a soft smile. If he wasn’t so drained he might laugh too. “What should we be? Penelope has a strict no-repeat costume rule.”

You hum, scraping your memory for the best costumes you’d seen. There were Power Rangers and Ghostbusters and several Batmen with their Catwomen. But the image of one young family sticks out the most in your mind. A young pair of parents with their son and daughter decked in moody black and white.

“Addams family?”

“Who’s who?”

“She’s Wednesday. Obviously.”

Steve chuckles, accidentally too loud and Penelope twitches against his thigh. He draws her against his chest readily and strokes her spine with the back of his hand. “Obviously,” he whispers.

“You’re Morticia and I’m Gomez, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s tall and pretty. Strong jawline, kinda sassy. I think you’ll make it work.”

You’re flirting. You know you are as soon as you say it. And you don’t mean to, it just happens; the words come intuitively as blinking. Your brain does all sorts of crazy things around Steve.

“You think I’m pretty?” He’s smiling hard. You can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

“Pretty sassy, yeah,” you deflect. It’s a safer truth than admitting you do think he’s pretty.

He rolls his eyes. “My mom says Nell gets her attitude from me. Says it’s payback for how I was as a child.”

You gawk emphatically. “Were you a bad kid Steve Harrington?”

“I wasn’t bad– just needed attention I think.”

You hum. It’s a little surprising since you know Steve’s an only child to wealthier parents. You’d pegged him to be spoiled in both money and attention.

“Are you close with your parents?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. Talk every now and then.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I came to terms with it a while ago. Even more after she was born.” He skims his lips against Penelope’s head. “I can’t imagine not being in her life. You know, not really knowing her? Not knowing her favorite things or when she’s hurting or what she’s up to every second of the day. I don’t think that’ll ever change.”

“She’ll be so grateful to have that kind of relationship when she’s older.”

“Yeah, maybe. Like way older.” His shoulders droop as he sighs, “She already thinks I’m smothering her. Wouldn’t hold my hand yesterday because she’s ‘too big’ she said.”

“Already?” You laugh.

“I know!” He groans. “I almost cried.”

“She loves you. Kids just show it in strange ways.”

“Yeah… She forced me to hold a slug last week.”

“You held it?”

“I had to! She was so excited to give it to me.”

“Aww. You’re a good dad.”

Steve's eyes caper down and his cheeks pinken. “I’m trying to be.”

Apart from the movie and an occasional sleep sigh from Penelope, silence swallows the room. It’s a comfortable silence; the kind you only get around people you’ve known forever; It feels like you’ve known Steve your entire life. You have to remind yourself it’s only been a few months. Remind yourself this is the first time you’ve ever even hung out.

You find yourself drifting to the future. A future, with Steve and Penelope. Vacations and school events and hiking trips and movie nights and so much more. It’s silly. It makes your heart want to rip itself from your chest.

Steve clears his throat. Your fantasy is only partially dissolved. “I’m gonna take her upstairs. Put her to bed.”

You lean forward and press into your knees, gearing to stand. “Okay. I should get going. It’s late.”

“Stay for a minute. I’ll walk you out.”

You have no reason to decline but even if you did, you aren’t sure you would be able to. Saying no to Steve is as hard as saying no to Penelope. They have the same puppy-dog eyes– brown and soft as sun-baked clay. That must be it.

Steve strains to stand with the added weight. He’s strong but Penelope’s four now and having growth spurts like there’s a race to be the tallest kid in school. She clings to him instinctually, slotting her face into his neck like it was sculpted specifically to be her pillow. Her gangly legs sway against his thighs as he slowly climbs the stairs and disappears onto the landing.

You don’t notice Steve’s return. He’s much quieter than before, taking softer steps and more calculated movements. He doesn’t have the buffer of his body heat to soothe Penelope back to sleep if she wakes. The palm on your shoulder startles you.

He whispers an apology from behind the couch, voice sweet and buttery as caramel. You let him guide you the short distance to the front door– expecting it to end there– but he presses into a pair of laced sneakers thrown beside the entry table.

The night’s chill is jolting, even in your coat. It’s easy to forget the months are slipping into winter when Steve’s around. He radiates warmth, not just in sun-kissed skin and honeyed eyes, but in his tone and his touches and every aspect of his spirit. And it bleeds like a fire. Brushes your cheeks like flames and stirs perpetually in your belly like magma.

He walks you the entire length of his driveway to your car. Probably would’ve opened the door for you if you didn’t beat him to it.

“Thank you for inviting me Steve,” you say, lingering in the threshold of your open door.

“Thank you for coming. I’m really happy you came. So is Penelope.”

“As much as I am looking forward to The Addams Family next year, we should plan something… maybe a little sooner?”

“Mmm. Let me check my schedule first,” he teases, rapping his fingers against the roof of your car.

“Whatever, boss-man.”

You still don’t get in. There’s a stretch of silence, not awkward, just a placeholder for when the right words come. And they don’t. Not tonight anyway. You could hug him? Peck his cheek? Pat his back as he might yours?

You settle for a safe and simple tight-lipped smile. He appreciates it just the same.

“See you Friday?” He asks.

“See you then.”

Steve guides the door closed after you settle in. He waits until your taillights have completely fizzled out in the shadows of his street to stroll back up to his house.

He thinks of you as he locks the front door and again as he finds your hat on the sectional and a third time as he slips under his sheets. Steve isn’t sure what to do. He feels sick. His heart is hammering and his gut twists itself in knots like it does when he’s afraid. He hasn’t quite figured out what about you is so scary but how can he possibly wait until Friday to find out?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #dad steve harrington #steve harrington #coworker steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things #the shape of family #skeltnwrites #my work

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dilemmaontwolegs · 10 months ago

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Irresistible || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: A one night stand comes back to haunt you when your father plans to marry his mother. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, cheating, time skipping, kind of taboo (future stepbrother) WC: 6.1k F1 Masterlist || One || Two

December 2019

Two years ago you had spent an amazing week in Monaco during a European getaway. It was meant to be a once in a lifetime trip but now you sat opposite your father at the kitchen table in your family home trying to understand what he was saying.

“…the kindest woman. You’ll love her, just like I do.”

He fell in love so now you were expected to leave behind everyone you knew and just start a new life with his new family. You knew he had been happier since the trip but you never would have thought it was because of some long distance relationship. He had kept that to himself for a long time.

“Can’t you just have a midlife crisis like everyone else?” you asked. “Why are you moving us across the world for a stranger?”

“Did you not hear me? Pascale is not a stranger. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I love her.”

Resentment built and you pushed your chair back as you stood up. “You loved mum too, and look how that ended.”

Your father sighed and you immediately felt guilty for the heaviness in that one breath. It wasn’t his fault your mother decided domestic life wasn’t for her and left when you were just a baby. It wasn’t his fault that she met a man who had a motorcycle and flirted with the wrong side of the law. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that they crashed in a high speed police chase when you were 15.

You sank back into your seat and picked at the chipped Formica table top. “I’m sorry, dad.”

A calloused hand from a life of hard work gently patted yours. “It’s a big adjustment, pumpkin, but you said Monaco was a beautiful place. I thought you would be happy.”

“It was, but I’ll never see my friends.”

“I’m not saying you can replace them, but you’ll make new ones. And even with the different timezones I’m sure you can make arrangements to video call each other.”

He was making an effort, you could recognise that at least. “Fine. I suppose it won’t be that bad.”

August 2017

All of the streets seemed to look the same, the stonework buildings towering over you as the afternoon sun dipped even further below the mountains that bordered the place. You had no idea which way it was to get back to the hotel and you weren’t going to risk the international roaming charges to use the internet on your phone, you already spent most of your savings on the clothes in the bags that hung from your wrists.

You were too busy looking up and trying to get a sense of direction that you didn’t see the man getting out of his car. Pain flared in your knee as a door slammed into it and you dropped the bags to clutch your leg that throbbed and drew a groan from your lips. It was worse than hitting your funny bone and you grabbed the hood of the car to balance when you nearly teetered over.

“Mon Dieu, est-ce que tu vas bien?”

You couldn’t understand a word he said but the accent was almost enough to make you feel better, until you looked up. The setting sun cast a golden glow around the man and you swore he was more beautiful than the godlike statues you had seen in Rome the week before.

“I, I,” you stammered stupidly as he knelt down beside you and repacked the bags that had fallen to the street. His bright green eyes lingered on the red lace bra and panty set you had spent a small fortune on before he cleared his throat and shoved them in the bag. “I don’t speak French.”

“You should really be watching where you are walking,” he said as he stood up, his accent saturating his words and making the scolding sound sexy. And it was most definitely a scolding. “You could have been hit by a car.”

“I was,” you pointed out as you tested your leg and winced when you put your weight on it.

“I meant one that was driving past. It was a good thing I was parked.” He looked down his nose and shook his head. Somehow this stranger had managed to make you feel guilty for disappointing him, and it started to infuriate you.

“I really don’t think this is all my fault,” you snapped as you swiped your bags back. “This is a footpath, and that is a no parking zone. Maybe you should concentrate more on where you should be driving than how I should be walking.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and he did the same until his lip twitched and a smirk broke out. “You think I am a bad driver?”

You looked at the double yellow lined he was parked over and squared your shoulders. “Does a duck quack?”

He mouthed the question back before he understood what you were implying and laughed as he took a step closer. “I like you, you are funny, and delusional. What is your name, and what are you doing tonight?”

You were still trying to figure out if he had complimented or insulted you when someone called out and stole his attention before you could answer.

“Charles, dépêche-toi!”

You both turned to the group that had arrived, all of the young men looking almost as handsome as he did. They had to be from the same modelling agency, or there was something seriously strong in the water here.

“Well?”

You looked at Charles and found he was still waiting for an answer. “Probably still trying to find my hotel.”

“Funny,” he chuckled before waving his friends off. “Je te rattraperai plus tard.” He took your bags and stuffed them in the backseat of his car before offering his hand. “I can’t have you walking these streets all night, god knows what trouble you could cause.”

“I was doing fine, until you hit me with your car, and now you want to drive me in it? Nuh-uh, I would rather take my chances on foot.”

You stepped around him to get your bags back, or at least you tried to but your aching knee gave out. You would have fallen to the pavement but a strong arm curled around your waist and pulled you against him.

“You could have just asked if you wanted to hold me, biche.”

“Excuse me?” You pushed away from him and gritted your teeth through the pain. “I’m not sure in what world you think that is flirting, asshole.”

Charles threw his head back with a laugh and easily caught up to you, his palm heating the small of your back as he guided you around to face his car again “Biche, not bitch, it’s a cute little deer. I can call you Bambi instead, I quite like that. Unless you want to tell me your name?”

You rolled your eyes, unsure whether the endearment was an improvement at all, but stepped into the car when he opened the door for you. “No thanks, I don’t know if you are some sort of stalker.”

He laughed again before walking around to the driver's seat. “What hotel are you staying in?”

“The Fairmont.”

The flashy car roared to life and you turned to face Charles when his laughter grew. “So you would tell a stalker where you are staying but not your name?”

“That sounds to me like you are admitting you are a stalker,” you shot back with a daring arch of your brow. “Besides, I’m staying with a man that would snap you like a twig if you tried to turn me into a skin suit. I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Your boyfriend?”

You snorted at the question and shook your head. “My father.”

He smiled at the news as he pulled out into the traffic and drove the short distance to the hotel. Your meandering had only left you two streets away from it so it was probably more of a nuisance to drive you there but Charles didn’t seem to mind.

“Are you enjoying the city?”

“It’s beautiful,” you said with a nod. “It’s almost a shame to leave tomorrow.”

“Have you been to Jimmyz?”

“Not yet.” You had heard of the club but most nights had consisted of a late dinner with your father and then bed. It was actually the first day you hadn’t spent hanging out with him, he had gone to get a haircut that was long overdue after all the travelling and you had used the alone time for a little girl shopping.

“You should come tonight, my friends and I are going and I owe you for hitting you with my car.”

January 2020

Your father thought it would be a good idea for Pascale to come and stay for a week before the big move. She owned a hair studio so it was easy to take some time off and she was due to arrive any moment. He had all but begged you to make an effort with Pascale before leaving for the airport. He had never brought a woman home, or at least while you were there, so it was strange to see how he fussed over the crumbs in the kitchen sink.

You did a quick final inspection through the house but with most of the belongings already sold or shipped off to Monaco there was next to nothing that could make a mess. You only hoped all your things arrived in time at the other end. It was bad enough you were going to be staying with one of your step brothers to begin with but it was only for a few weeks while the renovations on the new house dad and Pascale had bought were finished. He promised that your room would have a view of the ocean and your own bathroom - it was absolutely a bribe but you were fine with that.

The car pulled into the driveway, past the large real estate sign with an unmissable SOLD sticker across it. You had seen a handful of pictures of Pascale on your dad’s phone but when she stepped out of the car you realised they didn’t do her justice. Despite being on multiple planes that never made for a decent sleep, she looked refreshed and even her hair was still in a perfect blowout. She was really pretty, or maybe it was the bright smile she gave your dad when he parked the car.

“Do I look alright, Peter?” she asked as she touched her hair nervously and straightened her blouse.

“It’s not an interview, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he grabbed her suitcase. “You look beautiful.”

August 2017

The club was unlike anything back home. The music seemed to seep into your skin, the bass vibrating in your bones. Even the air was intoxicating with the promise of a night of bad decisions.

“Bambi, I didn’t think you would actually come.”

You turned away from the bar and found Charles drinking in the sight of your short, tight dress. His eyes followed every line, dip and curve of your body and he bit his lip as he dragged them back up to your face. For the price you had paid you were happy it had the desired effect.

With your confidence bolstered you sent him a smirk and grabbed your drink that had been placed down. “Well you did say you owe me, you can start with my drink.”

Charles didn’t look away as he reached into his pocket and stepped closer, his hand reaching past to slap a bill on the bar top. His scent reached you, the cologne inviting you to lean closer and inhale the decadence of vanilla and bergamot. “The usual, please.”

He could have stepped back while his drink was made but he chose to stay close, his eyes flicking down your cleavage to see the red lace set he had been daydreaming about all evening. “How about we get out of here?”

You had fantasised about a summer romance since the trip began, what young woman wouldn’t when they were going to Europe? But you hadn’t been able to conjure a face as handsome as his when you closed your eyes late at night and your hand drifted beneath the blankets. Now you had the opportunity in the palm of your hands and you weren’t going to let it slip from your fingers.

Tipping your head back, you met his green eyes that dared you rise to the challenge. “Lead the way.”

February 2020

You were jet lagged and exhausted when you finally reached your temporary accommodation.

“Charles is just on his way back from work but he shouldn’t be too far away. Make yourself at home, sweetheart,” Pascale said as she helped you with your bags.

The apartment was bare with mostly blank white walls and a few framed pictures of Ferrari cars. It was a typical boy space that was in desperate need of soft furnishings to liven it up, but that wasn’t your problem to deal with.

“He just bought the place so he’s still finding his ‘vibe’,” Pascale noted when she saw you eying up the empty space, the words sounding like they were verbatim and not her own. “But there’s two bedrooms and two bathrooms so you’ll have your own space. The builder said our house will be finished in a few weeks.”

“It’s great, Pascale,” you assured her as you set your bag down on the bed with a long yawn. You were surprised to find it had a floral duvet and a sheet set already made up - something you were sure she had done for you.

She nodded and placed your other suitcase down before leaving, closing the door most of the way. “I’ll let you rest for a bit.”

You woke to voices down the hall and found a blanket had been draped over you at some point.

“Can’t she sleep on Enzo’s couch? I don’t even know her, she could try to sell my things. There have been stranger things done before.”

“Ah-ah, no, and she doesn't even watch racing. Peter said she had no interest in the sport.” Pascale sighed heavily, the same way your father did when he was having to repeat himself. “She’s a lovely young lady, and she’s going to be family so please treat her as such.”

August 2017

“Where are we going?”

Charles just smiled and kept driving through the quiet streets before pulling into a hotel far nicer than the one you were staying in.

“You live in a hotel?”

He laughed and tossed his car key to the valet driver. “No, but I have a roommate who would probably not be very happy with me if we woke him.”

He already had a room and led the way to the elevators with the confidence of a man who had certainly been here before. You didn’t mind, you were hardly a saint, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you dressed for the night out. You knew how you wanted the night to end.

For a man who looked eager to undress you, like he had done with his eyes, he didn’t touch you until the door was firmly closed behind him. But once that door locked shut it was as if the leash he had kept a hold of himself with was dropped and he pinned you against the wall, his lips finding the hollow of your neck.

The temperature in the room seemed to swell as his kiss climbed higher and he finally reached your lips. You moaned at the feel of his hands roaming your body and his tongue slipped past your parted lips when he dragged the zip down your spine.

“J'ai envie de le faire depuis que je t'ai vu pour la première fois. You are so fucking sexy.” [I have been wanting to do this since I first saw you.] He stepped back and watched the material fall away to reveal the tempting red lace he had been dying to see.

Your heart skipped a beat at the hunger in his eyes and you reached behind your back to unclip the bra. It was thrilling to watch the colour of his eyes fade to black as you revealed more skin to him but when you reached for your panties he spurred forward to stop you.

“Mine,” he stated as he brushed your hands aside and hooked his fingers into the waistband instead. Falling to one knee, he dragged the lace down your thighs and let them tangle around your ankles before kissing your hip. Your head fell back against the wall with a thud as he nudged your legs apart and pulled one leg over his shoulder. “What’s my name?”

Your forehead crumpled as his breath warmed your cunt and you buried your hands in his hair to hurry him up, but he was too strong.

“What’s my name?” he repeated.

“Ch-Charles,” you stammered as his fingers teased your entrance without delving further, driving you wild with need.

“Good girl, remember that when I make you scream.”

The words left you drunk and you would have dared him to make good on them but his tongue found your clit and two fingers curled into your cunt. All thoughts left your head while he was knelt fully dressed before you and all too soon his name echoed across the room as he brought you to your first of many highs.

You could barely walk by the time you collapsed on the king bed and your head was spinning from the various positions you had found yourself in. You only bothered to move when a phone vibrated on the bedside table and you reached over to see if it was yours.

Giada: When are you coming home?

“Need a break, Bambi?” Charles teased as he returned from the minibar with a bottle of water, cracking the top off and offering it to you first.

You took the bottle with a grateful smile and swallowed a few mouthfuls to ease your dry throat. “Who’s Giada?”

His eyes flicked to his phone and he grabbed it, quickly replying to the message before tossing it aside and caging you beneath his body. “My roommate. Now, where were we?”

You should have been in a dead sleep but something had woken you. It was an ungodly hour given the darkness that was still outside but it did mean you saw the light of Charles' phone. His soft snores were silenced by the pillow he buried his face in and you took a second to admire the sight of his toned body in the moonlight.

Giada: It’s so hard to sleep without you here. I love you xxx

You slipped out of the bed without waking him and hated how good the ache between your legs felt because of him. You should have known a man like him was bound to have a girlfriend. She was probably a model.

You quickly gathered your clothes and dressed on the way to the door, closing it silently behind you. No one had to know you were even there and in a few hours you would be heading to the airport, never to see Charles again.

It took far longer than you expected to find your way back to the hotel and your father was already awake when you entered the room.

“You look like you had a rough night.”

You continued on your way to your bedroom in desperate need of a shower before packing. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough.”

You reemerged looking refreshed but you still felt contradictory inside. You told yourself that you did nothing wrong but it didn’t help when you knew there was a woman waiting at home for the man you had fucked. Fucked didn’t begin to cover what you had done - he had hung the stars and the moon, he had expanded your mind to the pleasures that could be sought with the right experience and partner. He had ruined you for all the men back home.

You fought to tug the zip of your suitcase closed, more than ready to leave the place behind, and growled in frustration. Your dad knew better than to bring attention to your mood but he gently moved you aside and closed the stubborn zip himself.

“How was your night?” you asked as you went to the kitchenette and made a strong brew of coffee.

He smiled to himself and picked up the suitcase to add it to the pile by the door but his smile dimmed when he saw how miserable you looked. “Nothing special, I just had dinner and a walk by the water.”

Normally you would have picked up on the lie, but you were too self centred to notice how happy he looked. He was glowing.

February 2020

You followed the voices to the living room and found Pascale in the doorway saying her goodbyes. You couldn’t see the face of the man she was talking to, only a head of dark hair, but he turned when his mothers attention was drawn away.

“You…” you breathed as you recognised the green eyes that had haunted your dreams for two years. Pascale frowned and you plastered a fake smile as you held your hand out. “You must be Charles.”

“I am,” he hummed as he looked at your hand before enveloping it in his much larger one. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ll see you both for dinner tonight, Charles can drive you until we get you a car.”

Charles seemed to be hearing the news for the first time. “I can?”

“Yes, you can. Now make sure she feels at home alright, maybe introduce her to some of your friends.” Pascale blew a kiss and left Charles to close the door.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he locked it and you realised at that moment just how fucked you were because, despite the quick prayer you had sent, Charles had recognised you too. “Hello again, Bambi.”

“Fuck me,” you muttered beneath your breath.

Charles smirked and booped you on the nose as he walked past you and towards his kitchen. “No thanks, you’re going to be my sister soon.”

You hated that for a second you were disappointed before common sense returned and you went to your room to find your phone. “Dad, I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Charles is an asshole, that’s why,” you whispered angrily, your eyes scanning the bottom of your door to see if he was eavesdropping.

“It’s only for two weeks, three at the most, plus he will be heading back to Italy for work on Monday.”

“Who the hell works in Italy and lives in Monaco?”

“He does, you would know that if you had a conversation with him and got to know him.”

“I don’t want to get to know him, I want to go home.”

“This is home now,” your dad said quietly as you heard Pascale arrive home at the other end. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

You flopped onto your bed with a groan as the call ended. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks. You groaned again as you realised that it may be just two weeks of living with him but there would be a lifetime of having him as your step brother. “Fuck!”

“I might have to get a swear jar to cover your half of the utilities.”

You surged upright and found Charles leaning against the balcony door, a balcony you apparently shared with his room next door. “Can I just make one thing very clear? As far as I am concerned, whatever happened two years ago - it didn’t. Nothing happened. I never saw you before today.”

“Nothing happened?” he chuckled as he walked into the room. “You still have that sense of humour because I remember a lot happening. Do I need to jog your memory?”

You hated how your body betrayed you, how your eyes followed his every step as he closed the distance between you. “You’re actually sick. Our parents are getting married.”

He stopped in front of you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and his eyes traced your lips. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“Giada wasn’t your roommate.”

“No, she wasn’t,” he admitted with that same smirk that simultaneously had you wanting to both slap it or kiss it away. “I have a new roommate now.”

“Not for long, I am gone as soon as the house is ready.”

“Oh, Bambi,” he laughed, swaggering his way back to the balcony door. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Asshole.”

“Biche.”

“Charles, you should introduce Y/N to Charlotte,” Pascale said as she poured another wine for you. “That’s his girlfriend. You would probably get along with her, she’s about your age and a very nice girl too.”

You bit your tongue as you raised your glass to your lips and stared at Charles over the rim. Placing the glass back down, you smiled sweetly. “Is that right? I could do with making a girlfriend here, someone to talk about boys with. Maybe she can set me up with a handsome Frenchie.”

A foot kicked you under the table and you chuckled at the glare he was sending you over the greek salad.

“We go to brunch on Sunday,” Pascale said with a pat to your hand. “You should come.”

“Count me in.” You stabbed a sweet cherry tomato with your fork before sealing your lips around it and humming in delight. “This was a delicious meal.”

Charles soon declared he was exhausted from the drive back from wherever it was he worked in Italy and Pascale looked a little disappointed that the first family dinner was cut short. Since he was your ride, you had to say goodnight to everyone too and followed him out to the car that was even flashier than what he had two years ago. His Ferrari fixation was more than just pictures of the cars in his apartment but he drove one too.

“You are quite eager to leave,” you noted as you lowered yourself into the passenger seat, your skirt riding up your thighs as you settled into the leather. Charles inhaled sharply as he saw the hint of your panties peek out and slammed the door shut before storming his way around the car.

“I’m in half a mind to take you over my lap and turn your ass red,” he growled as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Arthur is lovely,” you commented as you smiled at your reflection in the window. You were absolutely enjoying the way Charles gritted his teeth, but he had started this dance in your bedroom. “He offered to keep me company while you are away next week. I think I might enjoy his company more than yours.”

“Biche,” he warned as he broke the speed limit and practically skidded to a stop in his reserved parking spot. “You’re mine. No one else touches you. Ever.”

You slipped out of the car and felt his eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs to the apartment. Though you had a key you waited for him to open the door and kept your voice low while he fumbled with the lock in his frustration. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

“Everything looks good on me,” he argued as he turned the key and shoved you through the doorway.

“Is that what your girlfriend tells you?”

“No, she prefers me with nothing on.”

You could understand why that was but didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you agree as you went to your room. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Night, ma biche.”

It was still early but you refused to leave your room, instead opening your laptop to watch a movie. You were halfway through a stupid rom-com when you heard a feminine voice in the apartment and you paused it to check you weren’t hearing things.

“Oh, Charles, bébé, baise-moi!”

You rolled your eyes at the sounds of the headboard banging on the wall you shared and rifled through your bag to find a pair of headphones. It seemed that they grew louder or you became hyper aware of what was happening in the room next door, and a needy throb began between your legs when you heard Charles moan deeply.

Your frustration built until you disappeared into the bathroom and doused yourself in a cold shower, cursing him the entire time you waited for your blood to cool. You could finally think clearly after drying off and recognised he was only making his next move in the game he had started. It was time to start planning yours.

Charles' steps faltered when he emerged from his bedroom shirtless but he recovered quickly and walked past your position on the couch as he went to get himself a drink of water.

“You should try Gatorade,” you suggested as you flipped through the channels leisurely. “I find it better than water after a good fucking.”

“What are you wearing?” he finally asked after emptying the glass in one breath and wiping his lips dry.

“This is how I sleep,” you said as you stretched your legs out onto the ottoman. “Is that a problem for you?”

His eyes followed the line of your legs to the edge of the black and red babydoll you wore and cleared his throat. “No, no problem.”

“Charles, who are you talking to?” A pretty brunette emerged from the room and scanned the room, taking in her half naked boyfriend talking to you who was barely dressed much more than him.

You rose to your feet before Charles could recover and bounced over to the young lady, wrapping her in a hug. “You must be Charlotte, maman’s told me so much about you. I thought I would have to wait until Sunday to meet you.”

“Maman? Sunday?” she asked as she looked at Charles for the answers.

“This is Y/N, my step sister - or soon to be -” he added quietly. “Maman invited her to brunch.”

“We are going to be great friends, Lottie,” you sang as you stepped back with a grin. “I just know it.”

Charles nearly broke his glass as he tossed it in the sink and headed back to his room, returning a moment later with a sweatshirt and jeans on. “Allez, mon amour,” he called to Charlotte as he grabbed his keys.

You pouted playfully as he led her to the door. “She can sleep over, I don’t mind - I have earplugs.”

Charlotte flushed pink and clearly had no idea you were in the house while they were getting down and dirty. It made it all the more entertaining as you waved goodbye. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

Charles waited until Charlotte had passed the doorway before following, casting a final glance your way. “Don’t wait up.”

You felt his presence in your room before you saw him step out of the shadows with just a towel slung low on his hips and the bed dipped under his weight. “Well played,” he admitted, flopping back and making himself comfortable.

Rolling over, you turned to face him and tucked your arm under your head. “Did you think about me when you were with her?”

His lips twitched before he gave in to the smile. “Every fucking second.”

“She’s pretty.”

He reached out and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. “You’re beautiful.”

You could feel yourself falling to the temptation that his lips provided and it was getting harder to resist taking what you wanted. “You should go back to your room.”

“Your lips say one thing but these say another,” he teased as his touch drifted over your collar and down to your breasts, the thin babydoll doing little to hide your nipples that had hardened since he laid down in the bed. “They are begging for something else entirely.”

“Charles,” you whispered as you leaned into his touch before you could think better of it.

“I forgot how good my name sounded on your lips,” he hummed as his hand slipped beneath the material, “but I like it better when you scream it.”

“This is a bad idea.”

It didn’t stop him from rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb and drawing a soft sigh from you. “Why is this a bad idea, biche?”

“Because you have a girlfriend, and you’re my step…step…fuck…” Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand slipped between your legs and he touched you over your panties.

“Let me worry about Charlotte, you just relax and spread those lovely legs wider for me.”

“This is going to end badly.” You knew it but it didn’t stop your knees from parting for him. There was something about him that threw caution to the wind, it had been that way the first time you met too. He was pure temptation. He was the apple and you were Eve, unable to resist taking a bite. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

He bit his lip as he watched how your body danced for his touch. “But not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” you conceded as you watched his eyes darken with lust. “Now please fuck me.”

Charles woke alone for the second time after sleeping with you but he smiled when he heard music playing in the living room. “You stayed,” he teased as he walked down the hall, trying to tame his hair along the way.

“Didn’t have another option but I have found some short term rentals to view next week.”

He froze and his hands dropped to his side. “Wait, you were serious?”

“Yes, this isn’t going to work because if I’m anywhere near you this will just keep happening, and it was a mistake.”

The pop music suddenly grated on Charles' nerves and he grabbed the remote, changing it to another channel before tossing the remote away. You knew he was sulking at the thought of losing his plaything but you ignored him and watched the French news that you couldn’t understand.

Something on the tv caught Charles’ attention though and he sat up straighter, his arms unfolding as his mouth parted in surprise. The breaking news headline was one that was universal and you realised something big was happening.

“What is it?” you asked as he remained fixated on the tv.

“It’s that virus,” he murmured. You had seen it on the news at home before the move, the outbreak reaching all across the globe as it spread person to person. You had been worried about it on the plane with each cough you heard. “It’s spreading here.”

“Okay, and?”

His hand found its way to his mouth and he bit his nails as he listened, translating and relaying the information for you in sporadic bursts. “You won’t need that rental, Bambi.”

“Why?”

He turned to you with an odd look that you couldn’t quite figure out, possibly apprehension or anticipation or a mix of both. “At midnight tonight the whole country is going into lockdown.”

His phone started ringing almost immediately and he excused himself to take the call. “It’s work.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” You grabbed your phone and dialled your dad. “Did you hear what’s happening? What do we do?”

“Relax, pumpkin, it’s going to be fine,” he assured you. “It’ll all blow over quickly, I’m sure. They can’t stop the world from turning, can they?”

You laughed in agreement and felt a little better by the time you hung up the phone, but Charles returned looking stressed as he dropped onto the couch beside you.

“Good news or bad news first?”

You didn’t think it mattered either way and just shrugged.

“Italy is also going into lockdown so there’s no reason to go back on Monday.” He draped his arm over your shoulders and pull you into his side. “Looks like we are going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

“Is that the good or the bad news?”

“Well, I like my job so not being able to do it is bad for me, but being trapped with you indefinitely certainly sounds good to me.”

“Indefinitely?” you laughed and shook your head. “As soon as the house is done I’m gone.”

Charles' laughter silenced you and his kissed your temple. “Oh, Bambi…The builders will be locked down too, nothing will be finished any time soon. You’re all mine.”

“Shit,” you groaned in realisation. It was going to be impossible to keep your hands off him and from the grin on his face he knew it too.

“This is going to be great.”

Click here for part two.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris fanfic

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valsverse · 2 months ago

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• just thinking about percy jackson as your summer bf. fumbling with sunscreen, smearing it on each other’s noses, missing spots on purpose. sticky cuddles under the blanket, even though the air is way too hot for any kind of physical contact. popsicle juice dribbling down your chin, and him kissing it away, his lips sweet and a little too eager. racing into the ocean, him pretending to trip just to make you laugh. stealing sips of each other’s lemonade, but only when you think he’s not looking. screaming on the rollercoaster while he pretends to be fearless, though you catch his knuckles white around the bar. arguing over the best ice cream flavor—he insists on mint chocolate chip, but you know it’s cookies and cream. beach volleyball that always ends with him picking you up and spinning you around, both of you laughing too hard to keep score. running barefoot on the hot pavement, hopping between patches of grass. falling asleep in a hammock, legs tangled, with the smell of saltwater still clinging to your skin, and waking up to sunburned shoulders and his lazy grin. • or how fall coded leo valdez is. going to haunted houses together, hiding your face in his shoulder every time you get freaked, while he grins and teases you, but never lets go. sharing one scarf because he insists he’s not cold, but somehow the scarf always ends up wrapped around you both. carving pumpkins together, where he makes his a goofy, over-engineered contraption while yours is just happy and crooked. attempting to watch Saw for halloween, but halfway through, he grabs the remote, and suddenly It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! is on. apple cider kisses, warm and sweet, his lips tasting like cinnamon. drowning tea with lethal douses of nutmeg because he swears it makes everything better, and it does. walking through piles of fallen leaves, and just when you’re admiring the colors, he kicks a bunch of them at you, laughing as you chase him down the path. ending the night with bonfires, where he messes with the flames, making them flicker in shapes just to make you laugh. • and winters with luke castellan, him cupping your face in his hands, palms warm and soft, trying to chase away the chill from your cheeks, always grumbling about how cold you are, but never pulling away. sharing caramel apples, and him struggling to take a bite while making a mess, albeit with a small grin. snowball fights that start with playful teasing and end with him catching you in his arms, both of you laughing and brushing off snow. walking through the frosty streets, his arm around your shoulders, making sure you’re never too cold. stopping by a food cart for hot chocolate, where he burns his tongue but pretends he's fine, playing it off with a casual shrug while you laugh. driving through the city, holiday music low in the background, his eyes flickering between the lights and your smile; and his peppermint scent clinging to your sweater, lingering long after he’s gone. • while jason grace is undeniably a spring bf. feeding each other freshly picked strawberries, sweet and sun-warmed, his smile soft as he knows just how to choose the best ones. stopping by the convenience store for a snack run, where he knows your favorites by heart, grabbing them without a second thought. stopping by a local café for iced coffee, his fingers brushing yours as he hands you your drink.

playful water fights by the fountain, where he always ends up drenched, his hair sticking to his forehead, but he’s still grinning, water dripping everywhere as you both laugh at the chaos. visiting farmers' markets together, where he picks out the freshest fruits and insists on trying every sample with you. sharing ice cream cones that melt faster than you can eat them, him sneaking bites from yours with a playful smirk, wiping away a stray drip with the back of his hand before it hits the ground.

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bunnys-kisses · 3 months ago

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Hi hello good day! May I order an extra spicy mille-feuille with a side of mocha coffee for John Price please?

bakery menu

want to order your own dessert? the bakery is still open! always accepting prompts especially from call of duty and formula one! get kinky! get sexy! order up!

mille-feuille (“that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”) + mocha coffee (breeding kink) served by capt. john price!

cw: smut/pwp, breeding kink, rough sex, wife!reader, husband!price, age gap (20s/40s), doggy style

price had a pretty wife! price had a pretty wife! johnny said in a sing-song voice when price returned to base after a "sabbatical", the other men knew what was up the moment he took off his gloves and there was a shiny gold band on his left ring finger.

captain jonathan price of task force 141 had bagged himself a missus!

while johnny's comments were juvinile, it was all in good fun. price never talked about you a lot on base. off base, the boys of 141 had met you and eaten your cooking. but, price kept you close to his chest.

he didn't want anything to happen to you.

when johnny gave him a shove of congratulations, price narrowed his eyes at the younger man, "i am still your captain. don't forget that mactavish."

"of course sir!" johnny laughed as he scratched his jaw, "just 'appy for ya!"

"so what's the plan now?" kyle asked as he gave his captain a firm handshake. in all fairness all three men were curious. you had the house, the ring, what was next for the price's?

price leaned back a little in his chair and shrugged, "well, we're tryin' for a kid when i get back. she's worried by the time i finally retire all her eggs will have dried up!" then gave a hearty laugh, "feels good bein' married to my wife. she a good woman!"

price was anxious to go home the second he left home for the next mission for the task force. so the day he got to return to his wife, he was all smiles as he took his belongings back home.

his cock was also painfully hard. he hadn't had the chance to relieve himself in a few days, so his cock was aching for a release. and no better place to put it than in his pretty wife.

he pulled up to the house that you two had been living in before you got married. he got his belongings and headed to the front door. when he knocked on the door, he heard the yapping of your dog.

"pumpkin! stop! down!" he heard your voice and smiled. when the door finally opened, he was instantly met with your arms around him. he held you as best as he could.

"hello, love." he smiled.

you kissed him off the lips and took his boonie hat off. you put it on your head before you giggled and took his hand. you brought him inside and price got a full view of what you were wearing.

the tank top was too tight and the sleeping shorts were too short. he made a face and said, "you've been wearin' that while i'm gone?"

you looked at him and said, "yeah? and the ring too!" then burst into laughter, "i'm joking, honey. i put this on for you. i was excited to see my husband."

price knew from the moment he met you, that he could never say no to you. he just loved you so much, it was almost an ache when he was apart from you.

he knew very well that you were leading him upstairs to the bedroom. he gave pumpkin, your german shepherd a pet and a promise they'll watch coronation street when he was done with her "mama."

price waved to the dog who was sitting there confused what her mama and papa were doing. he closed the door and you were on the bed, the tank top and shorts were off. leaving you in a cute mismatched pair of bra and panties.

you looked so adorable. it made price's cock twitch in his pants. such a pretty little wife. a wife he wanted to dick down and breed until you were nice and round with his children.

oh, he hoped you weren't stopping at one price baby. he was thinking at least three, maybe five if he can stick a pair of twins into you. (irish twins would just have to do if that didn't work! price was a man of many plans!)

he got out of his clothes, his hairy body made you drool. along with the strength in his muscles. you swallowed when he invaded your space and took off your under garments. it was like opening a present.

"my beautiful wife." he said. he took you and got you on your elbows and knees, even getting your pillow to put under your head. he took in the sight of you, back arched for him. ready to accept all he'll give you. he rubbed your ass “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

you whimpered against the pillow and felt your husband behind you. you held onto the covers under your head and sighed contently. your pussy was wet, he could clearly see that.

usually he had a cup of tea when he got home, but this was just as good. if not better. he knelt behind you and stroked his cock a few times at the sight of you.

his tip was leaky and his balls felt heavy. such a pretty sight, a submissive little wife (it was the only time you were actually submissive. price knew he married a firecracker!). he rubbed the slick tip up against your slit.

"pretty girl." he purred, then slowly sank into your sweet pussy. his hands on your hips as he pushed in. he heard a sweet moan and watched your back arch more.

"john. please." you panted as you held onto the covers.

"i got ya, love. always got ya." he started his pace, his thrusts were hard but steady. sex was rough, but it made it all feel so good in your bones. it felt like two parts of the same whole.

you were perfect for one another, even when he was breeding your sweet little pussy. he thrust against you, watching your ass jiggle at the force of his movements.

he felt the sweat dip down his back as he moved against you, his heart raced as he felt snug in his wife's pussy. you were just perfect, the most amazing little thing he had ever laid his eyes on. a gift from the heavens for him.

his sweet woman.

"john. please, i love you so much. i can't wait to start a family with you. you're perfect, i love you. you've made me the happiest i could be!" you whined into the pillow. you held onto it under your head.

"i love when you say my name, love. sounds so right on your tongue." he laughed as if he didn't have the most common name in the world. but the way it rolled off your tongue while he was balls deep inside of you made him feel good.

you whined in between your giggle as his soft words. even if his thrusts were hard. he melted you to your core and made you hot all over. it was erotic and it made you sweat.

the two of you continued to move together, his calloused fingers dug into the meat of your hips, enough to leave bruises.

"such a pretty girl."

the sex became harder, like a carnal need for the two of you to reach climax. for him to breed you, he pressed his chest against your back and wrapped both of those strong arms around your middle.

you whined and he panted heavily in your ear. he ached all over for you. his cock bullied into you and his breath was ragged.

"john."

"my girl. my wife." he purred and it sent you over the edge. like fire in your veins.

you clutched onto the bed under you, your back arched and you climaxed. you felt it take the air out of your lungs as he continued to batter your pussy. all in the name of growing your family.

your core throb as his continued movements. you panted heavily and let him get close to his own orgasm. his forearms clenched around you as he

he finished inside of you, and dropped his arms from around you waist. he slowed down and then pulled out. he took you into his arms and kissed at your sweaty neck.

"mmm, my good wife." he said with love in his voice. his cock was still painfully hard. one round wasn't going to make sure his little missus got knocked up! he rubbed his slick cock against your back and said, "perfect for me. we're gonna make a big family, love."

you smiled while still panting and held onto him tightly. you could feel your husband's love as he spooned you. he kissed your neck tenderly and you said, "get me some water and we can go again."

you rubbed your achy middle when you felt your son shift against your kidneys. you then poked your belly, "you calm down there." currently he was known as john jr. but you were convincing your amazing, lovely, handsome husband that there were more names than just john.

for now, he was known as peanut. you checked the noodles for the pasta dinner while price was chopping up the mushrooms for the sauce. his sleeves were rolled and those strong arms were on display.

you made a face,

you looked at pumpkin who was seated by your feet, waiting for her chance to have just one noodle. you chuckled and looked at price while you bent down a little to feed the german shepherd one of the penne noodles before you went back to the noodles

"i saw that." price said with a chuckle even if he back was turned to you. he was smiling however. he wouldn't expect anything different from you. when he finished with the mushrooms, he slung a bulky arm around your middle and kissed your cheek.

you turned your head to look at him and giggled, "i love you."

he kissed you on the lips then said, "i love you more. now and forever."

#bunny writes #the bakery #call of duty #reader insert #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare #price mw2 #john price #captain john price #captain price #price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price cod #captain john price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut

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rosenclaws · 13 days ago

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Different Side of the Track || 50's Greaser!Logan smut

summary: All your life your parents had created the perfect image of their daughter that you were forced to fit into but when you went off to college and came back with a degree they were nothing but ashamed. Claimed that it wasn't a ladies place to be educated like that. So why not ruin their good family image even more and sleep with the older hot and mysterious man with a motorcycle.

warnings: MINORS DNI, SMUT, fem!reader, breast play, doggy style, rough sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, borderline abusive family, sexism, harassment from a group of assholes, violent Logan.

wc: 4.6k

halloween masterlist || join my discord!

a/n: It's my birthday! So to celebrate I wrote this fic because I couldn't get the idea out of my head and god he's hot. Also I didn't really try to do proper 50's talk because I'm lazy and I cannot handle all the research jaldfk;s. This ended up a little angstier than normal, as my fics usually do lol. The ending isn't my favorite but I tried im sorry asdfjkl. Okay anyways I really hope you like it!

You truly hated this town. College was a breath of fresh air and while it wasn’t always easy, it was better than home. You got your degree, proudest day of your life. Even if your parents didn’t show up. Even if you had to smile in the picture by yourself, watching everyone else celebrate with their families. Your parents never understood your want to go to college.

You thought they’d be proud but if anything they were ashamed. They think that a woman pursuing higher education was unladylike. That a woman's place was to stay at home and take care of the kids. They were embarrassed of you, refused to acknowledge any of your achievements.

You wished you could have stayed in your college town but then you got the letter. Your grandmother had passed and you needed to come home. You were heartbroken. Your grandmother was the only one to support you, and helped you when you worked countless hours at the diner to pay for it. She celebrated when the acceptance letter came in and she gave you the biggest hug when you left.

Coming home was a no-brainer, needing to be here for her funeral but now you’re stuck at home with your parents and life is miserable. You were counting down the days until you could get out of here again. You spent as much time as you could out of the house.

Going to work, dreaming of another life. Doing literally anything you could to stay out and away from your parents. That’s how you found yourself here. Taking midnight shifts at the diner to stare at the man sitting at the counter.

Logan. It was sewed onto the patch on his jumpsuit. You don’t even know his last name but you do know that you want to know everything about him. He worked at the mechanic shop right across the street. He was dark, brooding, mysterious. He didn’t talk to anyone. Just ordered one black coffee and sat there with the paper. This was a small town and you had never seen or heard of him before.

“You’ll catch flies if you don’t shut your mouth there pumpkin.” You feel a hand on your jaw and you swat it away. Betty, your coworker was grinning like a madwoman. She was a sweet old lady who has worked at this diner for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Oh hush.” You look down at your order sheet. Sketches of your patrons fill the empty sheets. Mostly drawings of Logan.

“I don’t blame you sweetheart, he’s a dreamboat if I’ve ever seen one.” She sighs dreamily as she looks at him.

“Who is he?”

“Not sure, rolled into town one day. Plenty of rumors, though, say that he was an army guy. Some say that he’s running from the law.” You gasp at the idea.

He couldn’t be a convict could he? You’d never met anyone like that. Though, you feel yourself grow curious instead of fearful. Your whole life you lived in the perfect world. Perfect family with a lot of money and a perfect reputation to uphold. You got the perfect grades, had the perfect friends and still your life felt anything but perfect. You craved something more, needed it. You couldn’t live the rest of your life as someone's housewife. That wasn’t your dream.

“Looks like he needs a refill..” Betty nudges your arm and pushes you forward. You eye the apple pie sitting in the case and steal a slice. No better way to get a man to talk than give him pie right? Clearing your throat you head over and put on a smile.

“Hi Logan.” He looks up from the paper with his usual stony face. A beat passes and he doesn’t speak.

“This is for you, on the house.” You place the pie down in front of him. You shift nervously in your spot as you pour coffee into his cup. He’s never told you his name, does he think you’re a freak or something?

“It’s on your uniform, you know. Your name.” You wince at how horribly awkward this feels. He looks down.

“That supposed to be me?” He grunts out. You tilt your head in confusion before following his gaze. Your guest checks with drawings all over them. Drawings of Logan. You slam your hands down and stuff them in your pocket.

“No! I mean, yes but it’s nothing. Just drawings I. I’m sorry.” Logan just looks at you and you walk off in shame.

Mentally kicking yourself as you sulk back to the kitchen. Betty takes over serving him as you silently wait on the remaining people. By the time your shift is over your back aches and you’re still replaying that moment in your head.

“See you tomorrow Betty!” You say as you put on your coat.

“Hold on dear, this is for you.” She hands you a napkin and winks. Confused, you open it up to see messy handwriting.

Thanks for the pie doll

-Logan

Logan has come by every night since then. Ordering one black coffee and you sneak him whatever pie is left. Sometimes it’s apple, other days it’s pecan. Today’s pie is pumpkin. Just in time for the fall season. He’s still a man of few words but he’s always polite. Pays and says thank you with that handsome voice of his. You’ve gathered some information on him. Mostly from the town gossip.

The group of boys, greasers who would often come by and cause a ruckus, idolized him. He drove a motorcycle, fixed cars, and smoked like there was no tomorrow. In some weird way he’s become their parental figure. Not that he really gave a shit but he worked with them at the shop and he took care of them when he needed to. He strolled in again today. This time he looks at you and throws you a wink. It’s a little routine the two of you have now. Not much talking but it’s nice. You think you’ll be able to get him to open up soon enough.

“Thanks doll.” Logan says as he sits on the worn stool. You hand him his coffee and pie, already prepared just the way he likes it.

“So, do I get to know your last name yet?” He smirks and takes a sip of his coffee.

“How about you fetch me a napkin first. Then I’ll think about it.” You roll your eyes playfully and he smiles. The door jingles and you hear the sound of obnoxious laughing. You look up to see the jerkiest looking boys you’ve ever seen. They wore letterman jackets that seemed too small and talked too loud.

One of the boys, a blonde guy who seemed vaguely familiar whistles at you. You hold back a scoff as you walk over to their table. They’re looking you up and down with a gaze that makes you shiver. Absolute jerks.

“Hey sweetheart, why don’t you be a good girl and get us some milkshakes.” You clench your jaw as you jot down their order.

It dawns on you that you know exactly who that guy is. David Scott. He was in your high school class. Quarterback, the popular guy every girl in school wanted, and the worst human being you’ve ever met. He was nothing but a no good bully. It seems fitting he’s never truly moved on from this town as he was dumber than a bag of rocks. Logan catches your eyes as you head back to the counter. Preparing their order and trying to tune out their annoyingly loud voices. Before you head back with their order you top off Logan’s coffee.

“You know drinking this much caffeine can’t be good for you.” You say.

“And yet you’re still serving me.” He shoots back. You shrug your shoulders and smile, he’s got you there.

“Hey! You done serving grandpa over there.” Logan growls and his grip tightens on his cup.

“Ignore them, they’re nothing but a bunch of idiots.” You say under your breath. You bring the tray of drink over and set them down.

“Anything else?” You ask through gritted teeth.

“Nope.” David whispers something to his friend before moving his hand and spilling his shake all over you and the floor. His friends burst out laughing and you bend down to clean up the mess. Counting down the seconds until they leave. You’re too focused on cleaning to hear David whisper to his friend.

“Watch this.” You hear the stool fall and suddenly you’re pushed to the ground.

“Get off me!” You turn around and see Logan holding David by the collar of his shirt. Teeth bared and a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Logan!” You scramble to your feet as he shoves David into the booth.

“Think you’re funny bub? You’re lucky she’s here or I’d beat you to a pulp.” He growls, eyeing his friends who are now cowering in fear. You stand stunned as Logan seems to command the room.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to scram or I’ll make good on my promise.” He rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit and grins. You’ve never seen a group of boys in so much panic.

“And don’t forget to pay.” Logan says with a smirk. They throw down more than enough money and bolt out the door.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.” You say softly as Logan seems to calm down.

“Fuckin’ idiots.” He shakes his head and gently pushes you away from the mess.

“Broken glass doll, gotta be careful.” Silently the two of you clean up the mess, him scooping up the glass and you cleaning the table.

You watch carefully as he handles the glass, watching to make sure he doesn’t cut himself. You see a piece of glass slice his hand and you hurry to the back to get a band aid. However when you come back the cut is gone, maybe it was just strawberry? The clock strikes 4am and the new waitress comes through the door, relieving you of your duties. He waits for you to clock out and walks you out the door.

“Thank you again Logan.” He just shrugs and lights a cigarette.

“Let me walk you home.” He offers and you accept. The walk is silent as you head to your home. You eye his cigarette and he notices. He holds it out to you and you take it. Taking a puff and immediately coughing it back up. Logan chuckles as he takes it back.

“Never smoked before?” You shake your head and he just smiles. Figures.

You’re much too sweet to have done anything bad. Just looking at the houses around him he knows that you’re as high society as they come. When you reach your house Logan stands on the sidewalk, watching as you walk up the driveway. You look at your door and then turn around to hurry back to Logan. Leaning in you kiss his cheek and he almost drops his cigarette.

“Bye Logan.” You bite your lip as you slowly walk back. As you walk through the door you hear him call to you.

“Howlett, my last name is Howlett.”

Your sweet night with Logan turned sour the minute you woke up. Your parents were down at the breakfast table. Scowling with disappointed looks on their face. Oh great what else is new.

“You need to quit.” Your dad says and you laugh.

“What?”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is for us to tell people you’re working at a diner? You come home smelling like smoke? It’s insulting the family!” Your mother hisses and you feel tears well up in your eyes. You knew they were cruel but to hear those words from your own mother. It hurt.

“I am an adult, I don’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“As long as you’re living here you do. Now go down and tell them or I will.” Your father stands and stares you down. You feel so fucking helpless. It’s true. You’re stuck here and the money you’ve saved up isn’t enough to get out of here just yet.

You storm out of the house, letting the tears fall once you’re out of their view. The walk to the diner is miserable. You don’t want to quit, you like your job. Tears fall as you tell your manager, apologizing and leaving with your tail tucked between your legs. You hated this. You longed to be free and now you’re trapped at home.

Sitting on a bench outside of the diner you let yourself cry. Not wanting your parents to see any sign of weakness from you.

“Hey, everything okay doll?” You look up and see a blurry Logan from your watery eyes. He’s got grease and oil on his face and suit. Wiping his hands with a rag. You shake your head and Logan sits next to you.

“My parents made me quit.” He scoffs in disbelief.

Oh Logan knows all about your father. He wasn’t sure until last night but once he saw your house he knew exactly who your family was. Flaunting their money and status to spit on those lower than them. He serviced your fathers car a few times. Adding pointless upgrades. On the bright side he charges him double and your father doesn’t even bat an eye.

“That’s bullshit.” Logan says angrily. You’ve told him about your life. How disrespectful your parents are. How stupid they can be, anyone should be proud of their daughter getting a degree but they think it’s shameful. You’re smart, pretty, a real perfect girl.

“I don’t know what to do.” You say in such a defeated tone.

“You can always spend time at my work, don’t know if it’s the kind of place you’re used to hanging around but-” He gets cut off as you lunge at him. Hugging him tightly as you seek comfort in his arms. He freezes but slowly places his arms around you. Your perfectly crisp and clean dress was now dirty by his hands but you don’t care.

“I owe you so much Logan, you’ve been a real life saver.” You don’t want to let go. He’s toned, even with the jumpsuit over him. He’s strong and his arms are so warm and welcoming.

“Don’t worry about it doll, can’t stand to see a pretty girl like you so upset.” You lean up and kiss his cheek again. He grins as you scoot closer to him. Suddenly he pushes you back. You’re confused until you see your father pulling up next to the diner. Oh god did he see anything?

“You quit?” He asks, glaring at the dirt on your dress.

“Yes. I quit.” You say unhappily but he doesn’t care. He shifts his eyes to Logan.

“What happened there?” He says accusingly, you know your father wouldn’t hesitate to threaten Logan despite Logan being much stronger. It’s the egotistical nature of him.

“She fell, I caught her.” Logan lies so easily. Your father hums and drops it to your relief.

“I need you to look at my car tomorrow, something’s wrong with the brakes.”

“Got it.” Logan says casually and you can see your father roll his eyes. He drives off leaving the two of you on the bench.

“Say, why don’t you come by with your father tomorrow. I’d be happy to show you a few things” Logan offers, a flirty tone to his voice.

He walks off before you can respond, needing to get back to work. You throw the idea around in your head as you head back home. There’s no denying that Logan is hot. Really hot. He’s everything your parents hate. Lower class, older, doesn’t care about their status. It would drive them insane if you started to hang around a guy like him.

Though you don’t want to just use him to get back at your parents. You really do like him. It’s a win win in your head. Smiling to yourself you already start to pick out your outfit for tomorrow.

Ready to cause a little chaos.

Your father didn’t understand why you wanted to come with him but you gave him so stupid excuse and he bought it. Your father pulled the car in and threw the keys at Logan. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes but Logan does it for you. Despite Logan being much more knowledgeable about cars, your father still talks down to him. It’s rude and classist and you hate it.

“I’d like to stay, you know, make sure nothing goes wrong.” Your father scoffs but leaves you be.

“He’s real lucky I don’t punch his lights out.” Logan mutters as he pops the hood of his car.

“I’m really sorry, you don’t deserve that.” Logan shrugs. He’s used to it by this point.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me.” He leans over and kisses your cheek.

He wipes off a seat for you to sit on and you watch him work. There’s something about the way he moves that’s just…attractive. His muscles strain in his jumpsuit, sweat drips down his face. And the noises, god the noises. The grunts when he moves something heavy. Then he does the unthinkable. He unzips his jumpsuit, taking off the top half and tying it around his waist. Leaving him in just a white tank top.

Now you really have a show. You don’t know how much time has passed and you don’t care. Slowly the garage empties as people head to lunch until it’s just you and Logan. Logan can feel your eyes on him. In fact he loves it. Your cute face is staring at him like a piece of meat. He can see you shift on the leather stool. He can smell how bad you want him. It’s desperate, almost pathetic how badly you want him. He stands up, making sure to flex his arms as he sets down the wrench.

“You alright doll, you look a little hot?” Logan feigns concern as he steps closer to you. Placing his hands on the workshop table. Caging you in.

“I’m okay.” You eye his chest shamelessly, eyes traveling down to the bulge in his suit.

“Yeah? I don’t know…” He slowly takes your sweater off. Leaving your arms bare and your cleavage on show for him.

“I’m not sweet doll, not gonna treat you like a good girl.” He growls in your ear and you whimper. Oh you need him bad.

“I’ll break a sweet thing like you, but something tells me you want that.” You grab his face and smash your lips to his. It’s messy and dirty, teeth knocking against each other as you fight for dominance. Logan slips his hands under your dress, lifting you up to the workbench and stepping in between your legs. Your hands are locked in his hair. Tugging hard as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth. His hands rip your dress at the top. You gasp as his lips trail down your neck leaving sloppy wet kisses until he reaches your boobs.

“Fuck.” He squeezes your chest roughly, purring at the feeling of them in his hands.

“So cute.” He says with a wink as he leans down and bites your nipples roughly. He promised he wouldn’t be nice and he meant it. He shamelessly grinds his bulge against your wet panties.

“Dirty girl, letting a no good mechanic touch you like this. What would your daddy say hm?” He taunts as his hands move to slip up your dress. Pulling your panties down and stuffing them in his pocket.

“Who fucking cares?” You spit out as you grind your hips. Soaking his suit with how wet he’s made you.

“Oh, pretty girls got a mouth on her.”

“Just hurry up!” You whine as you slip your hands under his tank top.

Lifting it over his head so you could get the view of his muscular body. He unties his jumpsuit and yanks it down, letting his hard cock free. To your surprise he picks you up and brings you to your dads car.

“Turn around.” He lifts your dress up and bends you over the hood of the car. His hands run across your ass, squeezing and admiring the view as he slowly grinds his cock along it. The tip of his dick slides in and you moan.

“Yeah, feels good doesn’t it doll.” He says cockily as he renders you utterly speechless.

The stretch is unbelievably amazing as he bottoms out. You whine as you feel every vein, every twitch of his cock inside of you. He’s so big. Everything about him is big. His presence, his arms, his cock. He was just big. He barely gives you anytime to adjust before fucking hard into you. Your hands claw for anything to hold onto. The hood of the car is too slippery so Logan just pins your arms behind your back instead.

“Naughty, naughty girl.” Logan huffs as he leans down to bite your ear. His pace is relentless. Pounding the words right out of you.

“Letting me fuck you on your daddies car.” He puff his chest out proudly. He’s tearing you apart on your asshole fathers car. Making you moan his name as he desecrates his car.

“Feels so good Logan. Oh god!” His cock hitting that perfect spot in you every time. Over and over. It’s unrelenting. You involuntarily shift your hips. The pleasure becomes overwhelming.

“Where are you going doll? I’m not done with you yet.” He lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, pulling you back on his cock with a bruising grip.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You beg wildly as you move your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Not planning on it.” He tilts his head back in pleasure as he pounds into you. He feels you clenching tightly around him. Your legs are quivering under him. There’s grease smudged all over your body, your face.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the windshield. You’re completely disheveled, hair a mess. Makeup smeared and clothes torn. You look absolutely filthy and you love it. You can see Logan’s abs flexing as he thrusts his hips. His hands run up your sides. Taking you by the shoulders to slam you back on his cock. A weak cry leaves your throat with every thrust. Finally you break. A desperate, strangled moan as your body quakes. Shaking and rocking you right to your core.

“That’s it doll, I’ve got you.” He leans down and nudges his nose into your neck. Kissing softly as his thrusts slow just for a moment. Letting you breathe. You’ve never felt more happy in your life.

Logan kisses the side of your head as his hips grow sloppy. Chasing his release and savoring the feeling of your tight pussy squeezing him. With a loud groan he pulls out and finishes on your ass. Your eyes close as your body feels like it's melting. You can barely stand. Logan wipes you down with a clean rag, loving how fucked you appear to be.

“I got you.” He gently picks you up and brings you to a bench. Laying his clean jacket over you as you will your legs to stop shaking.

“You alright?” He’s got a devilish grin on his face as he redresses himself. Somehow it’s like he’s back to normal while you’re wrecked.

“Perfect, oh my god you’re amazing.” You lean back into the bench and sigh happily.

“What the hell is going on here?!” You shoot up and see your father storming towards you angrily. You’re a mess and you don’t think Logan can lie his way out of this one. He’s angry. Really angry.

“You are nothing but a disappointment and you have been ever since you were born! A disgrace to the whole family! To the town! Doing such horrible things with the likes of him.” He snarls as he points at Logan. You’re stunned into silence.

“I have the right mind to never let you out of the house again you ungrateful little-”

Logan steps in front of him and he tries to hit Logan right in the face but fails miserably. You gasp as Logan pushes him against his car. You watch as boney claws shoot from his hands. Your father squirms in fear as the tips of his sharp claws grow closer to his neck.

“Shut the fuck up.” Logan growls.

“You’re a real fucking dick and a sorry excuse for a father. If I ever see you come near her again I’ll fucking kill you.” He lets go of your father and watches as he runs away. Yelling about mutant freaks. Logan turns back to you, a cold look settling on his face when he sees your face. Now you know his secret.

“You’re a mutant.” You say in awe. To his shock you reach out for him instead of running away.

“I am.” You admire the claws, how amazing.

“Beautiful.” His mouth gapes open as you pull him closer.

For once someone is looking at him like he’s normal, like he’s not a freak of nature. He longs for this but he knows your dad won’t go down quietly. He’ll tell the whole town.

“Look doll, you’re too good for this town. You’re too good for me.” He brushes your cheek softly.

“I can’t stay here anymore and you need to go home. Pretend you never met me. You’re a smart girl and you have a bright future ahead of you.” Logan takes his hand away and walks away.

“Logan!” You throw off his jacket, you're limping slightly but you refuse to let him go. He’s quick on his feet, already shedding his work clothes for his normal ones. A leather jacket thrown over his tank top. His motorcycle is out back. He’s got a backpack already packed and ready to go. Like he was waiting for this moment to happen.

“Take me with you!” You stand in front of his bike.

“What?” He asks in disbelief.

“Please, I hate this town. I have money saved. I can help but please don’t leave me.” You move closer to him, taking his hand in yours.

“I can’t live like this anymore, Logan. I’d give it all up to be with you”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s not your choice. It’s mine so please, take me with you.” He wants to say no. To leave you here. It would break your heart and his but it’s what's best. But a part of him wants to be selfish. He could protect you, he could take care of you. But he fears you’d regret it eventually.

He’s overthinking and you can tell. You grab his jacket and kiss him gently. He groans as he slips his arms around you.

“Please.” You beg softly.

“I can’t promise you the life you’re used to.” He warns but his resolve is slipping.

“I don’t care.” He sighs and kisses you again. It’s becoming addicting. You’re completely addicting.

“Hop on doll,” He throws his leg over the bike and waits.

You waste no time jumping on behind him. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he revs his motorcycle. You lean into him and smile. He stops so you could say goodbye to Betty and grab a bag of clothes. He waited at the door, a grin on his face as his claws were proudly shown off to your parents.

Then he drives. Away from your horrible family and the horrible town. Your future is uncertain but with Logan, you’re confident things will work out.

He’s all you need.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut

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killerlookz · 4 months ago

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Heartbeat | Joost Klein

description: Joost Klein x f! reader- In the months following reader and Joost's breakup, neither of you seem to be able to get rid of each other, not even when you've supposedly "moved on" to other people. (heavily inspired by the narrative in Heartbeat by Childish Gambino)

content: 18+ NSFW, cheating, toxic relationships, arguing, angst, some comfort?cigarettes, alcohol, questionable morals, just some mess mess messy stuff, semi-public "suggestive" behavior, fingering, unprotected PiV. This work contains RPF, and has been tagged as such do not click forward if that upsets you and do not share my work to other sites.

word count: 7634

An unlit cigarette hangs from your sticky, freshly glossed lips, your hands racing to tie the slippery satin ties of your dressing robe. A knock at the door draws you from where you stand in front of your bathroom to the front door. You flip over the locks before carefully turning the doorknob to open it.

A tiny smile forms on your lips as the door opens, revealing your boyfriend, staring down at you. Michael, a man nearly a decade your senior, eight and a half years older than you to be exact, a handsome business-type man who had moved to the Netherlands for work from the States, Boston specifically, though, he didn't have the accent. The pair of you had been casually dating for nearly four months now, though, you could sense that at any moment he'd ask to take things in a more serious direction.

You quickly remove the cigarette from your lips, balancing it between two fingers as you speak,

"Hi!" Your voice expressing greater enthusiasm than you were actually feeling, "You're early." You grit your teeth through the grin that spreads across your face, "I thought you weren't supposed to be coming for another hour."

"Good to see you too," He smiles back, but you can sense a hint of patronization in his words, "I figured, it was already getting kind of late, and I didn't see a problem with heading out a little early. I texted you anyways, but you never responded."

You nod, remembering that you had purposefully left your phone in the kitchen to rid yourself of any distractions while you were getting ready. While you suppose it was nice of him to let you know he'd becoming early, it would have been nicer if he asked first instead of just doing.

"Getting late," You force a fake chuckle, one that turns out more like a scoff, "The sun has barely set, who wants to go to the bar when it's still light outside?"

"Not everyone enjoys staying out until the crack of dawn." He raises his eyebrows, his voice serious in a way that makes you uneasy.

"It's Saturday!" You beam, "Come on, let loose a little." Michael wasn't exactly the party type- at least not now, it had taken a whole lot of convincing to even get him to go out with you and your friends tonight. "We're still going to have to wait anyways," you shrug, opening the door wider to allow him inside, "Julia won't be here for at least an hour, but you know her and being on time." You giggle awkwardly, unsure of what the two of you would do to fill the time while you finished getting ready.

"Right," He shakes his head before his brows furrow, "What's all over your face?"

Your facial expression contorts, confused, "Uh- makeup?"

"Oh pumpkin," He sighs, his voice like saccharin, exceptionally sweet and unimaginably fake. The pet name makes your stomach curdle, and you attempt to press a smile to your lips to hide the way you cringe, "I thought we talked about how I prefer to see you naturally."

You giggle, stunned at the fact he was bringing up this argument again, one you had had far too many times for how short of a while you had been seeing each other, "And I thought we talked about how much I hate it when you call me pumpkin."

"I just don't think you look any better with all that shit on your face, is it wrong of me to think that my girlfriend is beautiful?" There's an argumentative tone in the way he speaks, but you can't even focus on the potential fight that is brewing, not when the word girlfriend is ringing in your ears.

"No," You sigh, not wanting to argue not now, all the energy being knocked out of you with that simple word, "Do you want something to drink while I finish getting ready?"

"Yeah," He lets out a breath, slightly annoyed, "Yeah- sure what do you have?" He lets his tone return back to normal.

"Depends," You step backward, away from the man, towards the small kitchen of your apartment "Do you want something alcoholic or..." You trail off, stepping all the way into the kitchen.

Michael's eyes linger on you as he scratches at the back of his neck, "That's fine." He shakes his head, "Just get me a beer or something."

You nod, opening up the fridge, scowering around, unsure if you even had a beer in there. After pushing some things around, you'd found a singular bottle, you push your arm further into the cold to grab it.

You retreat back to the warmth of the rest of your kitchen, beer bottle in hand, as you kick it closed, both hands now preoccupied as the unlit cigarette still rests between your fingers. Wordlessly, you place the bottle on the kitchen counter in front of where Michael is now sitting before stepping back to search for a bottle opener.

From the corner of your eye you can see your phone light up, resting right where you had left it on the counter before you had begun to get ready. Thinking perhaps Julia was letting you know she was on her way or even worse that she was here now, you quickly shuffle over to it

Upon looking down at the screen you quickly realize it is not Julia who had texted you or any of your other friends who you had intended on seeing tonight.

Joost: It's been a while, what are you doing tonight? Come over?

The simple messages nearly make you choke on your breath as your eyes quickly flick up toward Michael. Joost was just about Michael's complete opposite- he was something exciting, the type of person where you could never guess their next move, no routine, no planning, no nothing- just go go go. Perhaps that discrepancy could be attributed to the fact that, unlike Michael, Joost had only been older than you by a year, his 24th birthday approaching in the fall. Still, even at Joost's age, you couldn't imagine Michael being much fun.

Unfortunately for you, you had let yourself indulge in the excitement that Joost brought to your life in entirely self-destructive ways. Joost had been one of the first people you had met when you moved to the Netherlands, and things moved quick between the two of you, from the moment you met it had felt like you had known him your whole life. Within a few months of living in a brand new country, you had already found yourself with a boyfriend, having rushed way too quickly into a relationship with Joost, and you quickly learned that no matter how much it had felt like you two had known each other your whole lives, the truth was you didn't really know him.

It was a true whirlwind romance, taking your life by storm, every moment consumed by each other. You both had fallen hard and fast. But for as hard as you had fallen, you crashed much harder. Joost was a perfect boyfriend in every area except for the ones that really mattered. It was obvious how completely in love with you he was, he was soft, and romantic, and fucked you in ways that made you feel things you didn't even know were possible.

But for all of his good, for all of his sweet gestures and affection, he couldn't seem to crack the communication thing. At first, you didn't mind when he skirted around the little issues that arose between the two of you, you knew he had things rough growing up and so you gave him grace, figuring opening up to people and dealing with certain emotions was probably difficult for him. But soon enough the "little issues" were not so little, turning into large, glaring problems in your relationship that no matter how hard you had pleaded for him to, Joost would refuse to discuss. Eventually, it had gotten too much, the two of you constantly at each other's throats, and with Joost icing you out whenever things got rough, you had had enough.

Still, you don't get rid of feelings like that so easily, and for the life of you, you could just not stay away from Joost. As hard as you tried to, you had never actually stopped seeing him despite the fact how much things had changed, things weren't quite so sweet and romantic anymore, but to be honest with yourself, if he fucked you good while the two of you were in love, he fucks you 10 times better when you hate each other's guts.

But maybe hate is too strong of a word, oddly enough feeling bad for Joost when you decide you're not going to respond to his text. At some point in the week, you had made the decision that with how imminent a serious relationship with Michael felt, it was probably high time for you to stop hooking up with your ex-boyfriend. It wasn't exactly a decision you were planning on alerting said ex-boyfriend of, no- that made it real, if you were to tell him you never wanted to see him again, it would become real, you were never going to see him again. Ghosting him seemed like the better option, simply leaving things open-ended, it at least allowed for you to change your mind- which you were deadset on not doing.

Michael's voice takes you out of your thoughts, quickly swiping away the message and turning your phone over.

"Hmm?" You hum, looking up, fluttering your eyelashes innocently.

"A bottle opener?" He points to the cap of the drink you had set down in front of him. You throw a smile onto your face, nodding incessantly,

"Right!" You search through a drawer for a bottle opener before pushing it across the counter towards Michael. You continue to ruffle through the crowded junk drawer, looking for a lighter with no such luck. Feeling far too lazy to go rifle through your purse to find one, with the cigarette still in hand you walk over to the stove, turning the burner to its lowest setting, just enough for a small flame to erupt. Carefully, pinching the cigarette by its very end, you quickly stick it in the small flame, allowing it to light.

You shut the burner off, placing the cigarette to your lips, inhaling, allowing your lungs to fill with the warm, prickly smoke.

"Do you really need to do that in here?" Michael asks, his face forming into a scowl, "Or at all."

You turn to the side to exhale, careful not to blow the smoke in Michael's direction no matter how bad you want to.

"Relax," You smile, "The windows are open."

"Are you even allowed to smoke in here?"

"What are you, my landlord?" You furrow your eyebrows, taking another drag, "One cigarette won't get me kicked out."

"Can't say I'm enjoying your little miss attitude act tonight."

You're not in the mood to argue, simply sighing and forcing an apologetic look on your face, though you had felt like there was nothing to apologize for.

"Sorry," You mumble, "Let me just go finish getting ready."

The area that surrounds you is noisy, alive with all that the city's nightlife has to offer, almost overwhelmingly so. You lean against a wall, observing the swarm of people that inhabit the bar.

"You know," Your friend, Julia, pipes up from beside you, "You really shouldn't let him talk to you like that."

You bite at the insides of your cheeks, replaying the conversation shared between you and Michael just before entering the bar.

Stepping out of the car, your skirt had gotten pulled up quite a bit from having been sitting, your underwear almost on display as you climbed out of the backseat.

"Jesus," Michael scolded as he followed you out of the car, "Who are you showing off for?"

"Huh?" You whipped your head around, trying to ascertain if you had actually heard him right.

Michael leans over, his voice rough as he speaks into your ear,

"Pull your fucking skirt down, you look like you should be standing in the windows in De Wallen."

You clench your jaw, eyes flicking to Julia who was walking around the other side of the car, she shakes her head disapprovingly.

"What's so wrong with that? I'm sure the women in De Wallen are lovely ladies."

"I don't care how lovely they might be, I don't want my girlfriend walking around looking like a hooker."

You sigh, you know Julia is right, Michael was out of line, as he usually was. You stare the man down from where he stands by the bar, looking to squeeze in amongst the crowd that surrounds it in to order some drinks. Your face involuntarily twists into a grimace as you watch him pathetically try and fail to get the attention of the bartender. You want to go home.

"I just don't know why you keep him around." She shrugs, "I mean, I know he's got money and all, but I don't think it makes up for the fact that he has got to be the most stuck-up, grumpy man I have ever met in my life- seriously he's thirty, not seventy-five."

"I don't know," You furrow your eyebrows, "I guess he's stable and stuff- or whatever, you know?"

"Michael? Stable? The man that not thirty minutes ago all but called you a prostitute because your skirt got pulled up."

"I mean stable like he has a good job and stuff, he's normal, regimented, life with him has a routine- I think I need that, maybe he'll mellow me out, I don't know."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're far too young to be mellowed out," Julia pouts, "I mean, really, the party is just getting started for you." Julia's eyes suddenly widen, her lips parting as she speaks cautiously, "Speaking of party..."

"What?" Your eyes widen too, confused, you quickly whip your head around to look in the direction she's staring off in, "Shit." You mutter as your eyes meet the door, and there he is, Joost fucking Klein followed by a group of what looked to be about 5 of his friends. You barely manage to inhale, "I need a fucking cigarette."

Without looking back at Julia, you're making your way to the door, praying that neither Joost nor his friends see you on the way out.

The summer air hits you as you step through the exit onto the bustling city street. You wondered how mad everyone would be at you if you decided to leave right now- bail without a word, run home, and spend the night alone.

You grab at the purse that sits over your shoulder, pulling it down your arm so you can rummage through it, looking for your cigarettes and a lighter.

You flip open the cardboard box, removing a single cigarette, putting it between your lips before reaching back into your purse to fetch your lighter.

You flick the jagged metal of the lighter, the grooves digging into your thumb as you light the end of your cigarette. You toss the lighter back into your purse before slinging the bag back over your shoulder.

You're able to get a few drags in before you're interrupted by a voice, one that immediately makes your stomach sink.

"Ignoring me now, are we?" You don't even have to look, you already know- you'd recognize that voice anywhere, it's Joost.

You whip your head to the side, confirming your suspicions, seeing the slender frame of your ex-boyfriend hanging just outside the entrance of the bar.

"Stalking me now, are we?" You respond, hoping the snark in your voice masks everything else you are feeling.

"I'd hardly call showing up to the same bar stalking," He smirks, walking toward you, "But I mean- if you're into that sort of thing we can pretend I was."

You roll your eyes, taking a long drag of your cigarette, hoping for some sort of head rush from the nicotine.

Joost's features come better into focus as he nears closer to you, messy blonde hair spilling over his forehead, falling into his eyes, a piercing blue as he stares into you, a smirk lingering on his soft pink lips.

"Can I get a smoke?" He asks, innocently enough. You want to say no, so desperately you want to tell him to go away, to leave you alone, that you need to start a life without him.

"Oh-yeah, sure." A sheepish smile crosses your face, your words betraying you, unable to force out any sort of rejection towards him.

You let your already lit cigarette rest between your lips, taking your purse off your shoulders again, grabbing the cigarettes and lighter once more. You shove your hand, presenting the objects to Joost for him to take, his fingers carefully grazing the back of your hand as he does, his touch lingering on you for just a little too long as the two of you stare each other down. Shivers run down your spine, and your chest suddenly becomes tight, he was completely gorgeous- damn him.

"You okay?" He raises an eyebrow, a chuckle falling from his lips, he's not really asking sincerely. You can only hum in response, not wanting to say too much. Things were not usually this awkward between the two of you, and you could feel that you were the one causing it.

You watch intently as Joost lights his cigarette before pushing the pack into his pocket, and you make a mental note to yourself to get them back from him before you go back inside.

"So," He starts, exhaling a plume of grey smoke, "My place or yours tonight?"

"I'm going to my place, and you are going to yours." You respond, forcefully, annoyed at his insinuation that you would be sleeping with him tonight.

"Is that so?" He responds challengingly, his eyes lighting up.

"Yes." You nod, having none of his banter, "And-" You cut yourself off, debating if you even want to say what is about to come out of your mouth next. "I think we should stop this. Us, we need to stop."

"I've heard that one before," Joost chuckles.

"I'm being serious." You let your head fall to the side, "I can't keep seeing you."

Joost's face suddenly drops, understanding the weight of your words,

"What changed?" He scoffs, bewildered at your spontaneous proclamation, "Because if I recall correctly, just last week you were begging for me to come over."

"It's not fair to Michael," You shake your head, "I need to move on, we need to move on."

A grimace forms on Joost's face,

"You want to pull the good girlfriend act now?" His eyes widen, "As if cutting things off now will erase the past-what-four months?"

"I don't want to argue with you about this, Joost," You bite your lip, realizing just how unprepared you really were to cut things off with him, "I know I can't erase what happened, but I'd at least like to try to be better." Your lip quivers, and you clench your jaw, eyes fluttering as you fight back tears. You don't want to give him the chance to reply, you know with the right words he'd be able to talk you right back into bed with him, you can't let that happen.

You let your cigarette fall from your fingers, crushing it into the ground with the heel of your shoe.

"I'm sorry," You mutter, refusing to make eye contact with Joost as you brush past him, rushing back inside.

It was a miracle you had stayed out this late with everything that had occurred tonight, but there you were, still standing at the bar as the clock neared midnight, a feigned half-drunk smile pressed to your lips as you stared at Michael.

You tried to ignore the way Joost's eyes burned into you from across the room, but no matter what you did you could feel he was there, ever-present.

"What do you say to another round?" Julia smirks, leaning over the bar.

"Fine by me." You grin, anything to make tonight more bearable.

"Nuh-uh," Michael shakes his head, "You're cut off." He points directly at you, his finger almost in your face.

"What?" You laugh, caught off guard by his sudden controlling-ness

"You, you're cut off, you've had too much."

You furrow your eyebrows, you're not completely coherent, but you're absolutely nowhere near blackout.

"I had four drinks," You continue to giggle awkwardly, "Are you joking?"

His face stays stiff, he's serious.

"I don't think that's really your call to make." A smile lingers on your face as you attempt to keep the conversation light-hearted, but you can feel some sort of anger bubbling inside you.

"It is when I'm the one who's going to have to take care of you."

"It's one more drink, I think I'll be okay."

"Sure, one drink, which turns into two, and then three... you don't know how to control yourself, which is why I'm cutting you off." His voice begins to rise, and your eyes dart around the room anxiously, you hope the noise of the bar can drown out the argument that is brewing.

"I don't know how to control myself?" You scoff, "Is that really what you think of me?"

"You haven't exactly proven me any different, I've seen you, I know how you get on nights out, God forbid I don't want to have to deal with you sloppy and belligerent for the rest of the night." His words become harsher sounding, and more pointed as he continues to speak.

"What do you mean 'how I get'? I barely go out anymore because you don't like it, I would just like to let loose a little for once." You begin to match his tone, unable to hide your growing frustration.

"And you should thank me for that," His eyes narrow, "You don't need to be running around partying every weekend, acting like a complete fucking mess."

You clench your jaw, face forming a scowl, you can't believe the words leaving Michael's mouth right now,

"Don't curse at me." You mutter.

"No, I'll say whatever the fuck I want to, and maybe you should show me some respect for once, and listen."

"Oh!" You respond, a little too loud, drawing a few glances from the people who surround you, "You want to talk about respect? That's rich coming from the man who doesn't seem to respect any of my personal decisions, not the way I do my makeup, or how I dress, or when I want to go out, last time I checked, constantly berating your girlfriend isn't exactly respectful."

"Get a grip, y/n," He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, no shit I don't want my girlfriend parading herself around like some sort of fucking tramp."

It takes everything in you to not escalate things further, to not tell him what you had been doing behind his back, if he thought you were a tramp, oh you could show him tramp.

You inhale deeply, deciding to cut the conversation short before you say something you'll regret,

"I don't need this." You exhale, turn around, and head for the door.

The air is cooler than before when you step outside, now that it is later into the night. Immediately you're pulling your purse down your arm, desperately sifting around for your cigarettes, needing something anything to calm you down. Your mind races as your hand combs through your bag, unable to think straight, your mind foggy from all the arguing and the alcohol.

"Fuck," You mutter, Joost, he had your cigarettes. You run a hand through your hair, pulling at the strands, tonight had been a complete disaster.

"Looking for something." A teasing voice calls, resulting in a groan from you, it was like Joost had a sixth sense for when you thought about him, always showing up as soon as he crossed your mind.

"Can you just give them to me?" Exasperation heavy in your voice, wanting nothing more than to just have a smoke, and go home.

"What happened in there?" He asks, entirely ignoring your question.

"It's nothing," You shake your head, "Can I just have my cigarettes back so I can leave."

"Didn't look like nothing." He continues.

"Well, it was," You snap, your voice getting a little too loud for your own comfort, "I'm fine. Please, Joost just give me th-"

"You don't need to lie," He cuts you off, "You know you can tell me."

"It just," You pause, lifting your head to look Joost in the eyes, "It just doesn't concern you."

"But it concerns you," His voice suddenly much softer, "So I want to know."

A small smile tugs at your lips, despite everything you were feeling, your heart is slightly warmed at Joost's interest in what had happened.

"Stupid argument," You shake your head, looking back down at the ground, "That's all."

"Seems like every time you tell me about Michael it's about an argument you guys have had."

"Well, gloating about how great of a boyfriend I have doesn't exactly make for good conversation when I'm with the person I'm cheating on him with."

"Well, do you? Have a great boyfriend?" He pushes, but the two of you both know the answer. You bite the inside of your cheeks, bringing your gaze back up to Joost, who seems to be standing much closer to you now.

Your breathing starts to tremble under his intense gaze, the smell of his cologne is suddenly strong in your nose, nearly choking you. He's expecting an answer. But you can't give him one, you can't tell Joost that you didn't have a great boyfriend mere hours after telling Joost you didn't want to see him anymore because of said not-great boyfriend.

"Look," He sighs, "I know I wasn't the best, so maybe I can't talk, but Michael is just a straight-up dick."

His bluntness earns a small chuckle from you, he wasn't wrong.

"Well, I haven't exactly been the world's best girlfriend either." You shrug, any problem with Michael seemed incomparable to the fact that at the end of the day, you were the one cheating.

"You were to me." His tone contained a romance that you hadn't heard from him in a long time.

"Joost-" You choke, your eyes widening, unsure of where he was heading with this now. How were you ever going to get over him when he constantly crossed all the wires in your brain.

You feel your body go numb as he slides his hand to your waist, you should stop him, keep your promise, and never see him again- but you can't, and most importantly, you don't want to.

"Look, I'm not insinuating anything, if you don't want to see me anymore, that's okay, you don't owe me anything not after what you put up with, with me, but what I am saying, is you do owe it to yourself, to find someone who treats you better." His words are genuine, heartfelt, and he almost feels like the Joost you once knew, the Joost from when you two had first met.

There's nothing you can say in response, instead, you push yourself up on your toes, letting your lips meet Joost's in a soft kiss. Joost wastes no time in kissing you back, his hand now gripping your waist. Something feels different with this kiss, no looming sense of guilt hovering over you, it feels right like it's what you should be doing.

You part your lips, deepening the kiss, a small groan escaping you as you feel Joost's tongue brush past yours. Your movements become sloppy, lips lazily working against each other, each kiss filled with increasingly more passion.

Stunned, Joost pulls back from the kiss, a smile on his lips, now shiny from your lipgloss, "So," He breathes, "My place or yours?" It was exactly as you had thought, so easily, Joost was able to talk you back into bed with him.

"Mines closer." You shrug, your voice suddenly timid as you reach a thumb to Joost's lips, rubbing the traces of your lipliner off of them.

The car ride home feels like years, as the vehicle crawls down the city streets you figure you have probably gotten the slowest Uber driver in the entirety of Europe.

You sit in the middle seat, your arm brushing against Joost's, the proximity is comforting, but not quite enough, you want nothing more than to be all over him.

You trail a finger to the buckle of Joost's belt, lazily tracing over the letters engraved into the metal, Albino. The sudden remembrance of Joost's proximity to fame, even if only in the Netherlands, draws a smirk on your face as you think about all the horny fangirls who would probably die to be in your position now.

"What are you doing?" Joost asks, his words slow, teasing.

"Nothing," Feigned innocence in your voice as you let your palm rest just below the buckle of his belt. Joost clenches his jaw as you let your hand trail a little lower, pressing into the fabric of his jeans, his already-defined cheekbones poking out even farther with the way his muscles strain.

"You're going to kill me, you know that?" Joost's eyebrows raise, a smile pressed to his lips. He reaches a hand behind your head, first gripping at your hair before relaxing his fingers, soothingly scratching at the back of your head.

A hum of content vibrates through your lips, satisfied at what amount of power you had over him, even if it wasn't much.

You continue to press the heel of your palm against Joost's jeans, feeling the way they tighten as he begins to stiffen beneath you. Joost sucks in a breath, his free hand moving to rest on top of yours, he grips your fingers, pulling you off of him.

"You didn't like that?" You pout.

"Does it look like I didn't like it?" He grits his teeth. Your eyes wander down his figure, focusing on his lap, a now more prominent bulge in his jeans.

The car suddenly comes to a halt, forcing your gaze to the window- you were home, and now you're scrambling out of the car, unable to wait any longer to get your hands on Joost.

Joost pops his head back in the car for just a moment more,

"Dankje, fijne avond!" (Thanks, goodnight) He says quickly to the driver as you pull at his arm from outside the car, impatient. "God, woman," He chuckles, shutting the car door behind him, "I'm here!"

The climb up the three stories to get to your apartment is intermittent with sloppy kisses and lingering touches. As much as you desire to get to the privacy of your apartment, you can't keep yourself off of Joost, your hips pressed into his he has you pushed against a wall surrounding the staircase, his lips trailing down your neck, surely leaving little marks you wouldn't be able to explain away.

You card your hands through his hair, gripping at the messy blonde strands,

"Joost, please," A strained whisper crawls up your throat, your hips sputtering forward, begging for some friction, "My apartment."

Joost drops his hand from where it sits against your waist, grabbing your hand, and pulling you the rest of the way up the steps.

Anxious hands fumble with your keys as you try to push them into the lock of your door, a breath of relief as you hear the satisfying click of the correct key slotting perfectly into the small space.

Before you know it, you're pushed up against the back of the door, Joost's hands pinned on either side of you, caging you in with his body. Your own hands wander Joost's body, pulling at his shirt, gripping tightly to pull him closer as your lips collide. The way you kiss is rough, animalistic like you're completely starved for him.

Joost shoves a thigh between your legs, the rough denim of his jeans now brushing against the crotch of your panties. You can't help yourself, bucking your hips forward to push yourself further against his thigh. A small sigh leaves your lips as your cunt brushes against him, suddenly feeling your arousal, your movements made slippery.

Joost's hands make their way to your hips, his touch lingering as they slide to your thighs, grabbing at the hem of your skirt, and pulling it up. He drops his leg from where it's positioned between your thighs, his large, tattooed hand now cupping your heat. He presses the heel of his palm into your crotch, rubbing harshly through the flimsy fabric of your panties. His movements send jolts of electricity through your body, only making you crave him more as your arousal pools.

His fingertips push at your slit over what little clothes separate the two of you, teasing what you really want.

"Liefje," He smirks, pulling away from the kiss, "So wet for me I can feel it through your panties."

Your face grows hot, slightly ashamed at how quick you had become so aroused. Joost's fingers find themselves brushing at the seams of your underwear, hooking into the fabric ever-so-slightly. Your body grows tense as he teases you, his position making it seem like he's about to pull the delicate lace to the side, but he doesn't, his fingers, unmoving as he kisses at your jaw.

You can't take it, feeling so pent up that you might just explode, you knock Joost's hand from where it sits between your legs, pulling the crotch of your panties to the side yourself before pushing your fingers to your clit. You rub small circles to the delicate nerves, gasps leaving your mouth as pleasure rushes through you. You let your fingers dip lower, collecting your arousal on your fingers as they glide through your folds, towards your aching entrance.

Joost finally clocks what you're doing, his lips leaving your jaw, his hand reaching down to cover yours.

"So impatient," He purrs, his breath hot against your neck, reminding you of your proximity, "Here, let me help you."

With his own hand, Joost guides your fingers up and down your soaked pussy, before completely taking the work over himself, your hand now resting at your side as he continues.

With a single finger, he teases your hole, rubbing around it, threatening to dip his fingers in, you shove your hips forward, silently begging for it. He gets the memo, as much as he loves to feel you squirm below him, he loves pleasuring you so much more.

Before long he's pushing a second finger into you, a groan leaving your lips at the way you stretch around him. His thumb taps at your clit, sending extra pangs of pleasure through your body. You can do nothing but lean your head against the door behind you, lips parted with your jaw slack, in complete awe of how good Joost could make you feel with simply just his fingers. He knew his way around your body even better than you knew yourself, able to draw you to an orgasm much quicker than when you went solo. He knew just where to press, just where to rub to make you whine, and stutter filthy curses.

"What was that about never wanting to see me again?" He coos into your ear, and you pick up an almost wickedness in his voice.

"Fuck you," You sputter, voice strained from the magic his fingers are working against your cunt.

"Yeah," Joost sighs, "I'd bet you'd like to."

He's right, absolutely, completely right, and you're melting below him, turning to mush under his touch.

"Lucky for you, I'd love to fuck you too," He removes his fingers from your cunt, "And I don't think I can wait much longer."

Your pussy is left throbbing, feeling your heavy pulse between your thighs as you clench around nothing, aching from the lack of stimulation. Joost presses two fingers to his lips, shiny from your slick, enveloping them with his mouth, moaning slightly at the taste of you on his tongue.

"So good," He mumbles as he pops his fingers from his mouth, "Now, c'mon." He's grabbing you by your wrist, pulling you to your bedroom.

You nearly stumble onto your bed, leaning face first on the edge of the mattress while your feet still rest on the ground below you, ass up.

Joost stands behind you, his hips pressed into your ass. You whine as his stiff cock brushes against your exposed cunt through the thick denim of his jeans. You can feel the cool metal of his belt buckle press into you as he leans forward, hands trailing up your torso as he kisses your shoulder blades.

You arch your back farther, looking for some friction, desperately trying to grind your cunt against him. Joost's hands linger on your body as he lets you search for some relief, helping you just a little by bucking his hips ever so slightly. He gropes at your tits, hands crawling into your shirt to get a better feel. He pinches the pebbled surface of your hardened nipples, making you squeal, his breath tickles your neck as he chuckles at your reaction.

Soon enough he removes his hands from you, and his hips no longer press into your thighs. You're impatient as you hear the clinging of his belt buckle. your pussy instinctively clenching as the sound meets your ears like you've been trained to know what's next. You hear a small sigh leave Joost's mouth followed by what sounds like him pulling his pants down, the belt once again clinging as it hits the floor. You peek behind you, biting your lip as you marvel at the sight before your eyes, Joost, naked from the waist down, his cock hard, tip throbbing an angry shade of red. He's gripping the bottom of his shirt, exposing the trail of blonde hair that leads to his pubic area. His shirt comes all the way off, leaving him entirely undressed behind you.

"See something you like, hm?" He asks, teasingly, noticing the way you stare at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

You can't even respond, not as he walks closer to you, your brain dizzy with the knowledge of what is about to come next. You return your gaze forward as Joost's hands find their way to your hips, fingertips gripping your flesh. You gasp as you feel the tip of his cock brush against your folds. You have to fight the urge to instinctively push back against him.

Joost continues to grind the shaft of his cock against your cunt, collecting your slick around its length. He pulls back a little, letting the head tease your entrance, about to push in before he stops himself,

"Wait." He breathes, "Turn around."

Slowly, you flip over, back pressed into the mattress while your legs still dangle off the sides. Joost nods, content as he steps between your legs.

"Take your shirt off, let me see those pretty tits." You obey, pulling the top over your head, suddenly very exposed as you had decided to forego a bra tonight. Goosebumps litter your skin as Joost slowly lowers onto his knees, he's quick about his movements, not taking time to linger or tease as he pulls both your skirt and your panties down the length of your legs. You raise your back to help him a little, lowering back onto the mattress once you feel the fabric hit your ankles. You kick off the heels you had been wearing, the pooled fabric following, now leaving you entirely exposed under Joost's lustful gaze.

He stands back up, gripping the backs of your thighs as he does so, guiding your legs up. You wrap your legs around his thighs, and Joost moves closer, his arms pinned on either side of you as his body hovers over your own. The new position allows you to move your legs to be wrapped around his hips, digging your ankles into his back to push him closer to you.

He presses a rough kiss to your jaw, an indicator of how hungry he was for you now.

"Ready for me," He mumbles into your skin.

"Mhm," You hum, "Please."

You can feel him smirk as his lips linger on your skin,

"So polite, anything for you, liefje," He coos, removing one hand from the side of you, balancing the entirety of his upper body weight on one forearm now.

He grips the base of his cock with his now free hand, messily guiding the tip through your folds before lining up with your entrance. He waits a moment before finally pushing into you, he's slow, careful. The two of you share a gasp as he slips inside of you, the way you stretch around him is familiar, but it never gets any less mind-numbing no matter how many times you find yourself in this situation.

Your fingers grip into his bicep as he slowly pushes into you at a painfully slow pace. A strangled groan leaves your mouth as he finally bottoms out. You relinquish some of your grip on his arm, fingers loosening as he begins to build up a steady pace, thrusting inside of you.

You let your head tip, and back arch, completely relaxing your body, allowing yourself to be entirely consumed by the pleasure Joost brought you.

Neither of you speak for a while, the loud moans that escape both of you were doing more than enough talking. For a split moment you feel bad for the neighbors, and you hope they aren't awake to hear you through the thin apartment walls. But, your thoughts are swiftly taken away from your acute guilt as you feel Joost slam into you, harder than before. Your eyes shut tight, a pathetic whimper crawling from your throat as the tip of his cock hits deep inside you.

"Joost," You gasp as his thrusts become more pointed, the bed rocking beneath you.

"Feels good, right?" His voice is rich with cockiness, "No one fucks you as good as I do?"

"No," You exhale, "No one," Your vision begins to blur, as pleasure completely overtakes you.

"That's right," He groans, "No one knows your body like I do."

He's right, and you're sure no one will ever know you in the way he does,

"Fuck," You swallow, "We're never going to be able to stop this, are we?" Your heartbeat increases as you come to the realization of how badly the two of you need each other- no matter how much it disturbs the other facets of your life.

"No," His fingertips dig into the naked flesh of your hips, "We were made for each other." The way he speaks is barely romantic, his low growl rather implying that the two of you were doomed to forever be intertwined in this unfortunate circumstance, the far of you far too flawed to be with anyone but each other.

You can feel your body tensing up, a pressure burning in your abdomen, threatening to explode at any moment. You screw your eyes shut, your face twisting up, all of the emotion of the night smacking into you as your orgasm approaches.

"So close," You wince the hot coil in your lower stomach about to crack.

"Want to feel you make a mess on me," Joost begs from behind a clenched jaw, "Come on," He urges.

It takes a few more thrusts for your orgasm to overtake you, but as it does, it's strong. What could just be about considered a scream passing through your throat as your legs start to shake, your body tingling.

"Love you," You slur, your brain too fuzzy to even be cognisant of the words as they leave your mouth, your subconscious speaking for you.

"Yeah?" Joost asks, his thrusts becoming sporadic, losing pace, "Say it again, tell me how much you love me, schatje."

"I love you," You whine, your entire body twitching as you lose all control over your reflexes, your climax now in charge, "Love you, love you so much." Your words become slower, jaw slacking as your orgasm rolls over you, reaching its final stages, your cunt spasming around Joost.

"I know," He sighs, his lips returning to your jaw. He's able to slip in and out of you much faster now, his cock covered in your release, his thrusts forcing strangled cries from you, "I know," He repeats, "Fucking love you too,"

His hips stutter, and a string of curses are grunted into your neck as Joost's own orgasm approaches.

You inhale sharply as you feel him begin to finish inside you, his cock twitching in your poor overstimulated cunt as the warmth of his release fills you. It's messy, the way he continues to thrust with as much force as he can muster as he rides out his high, cum spilling onto your inner thighs which each thrust, lewd wet sounds filling the air.

Soon enough Joost is collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy as he tries to collect himself. Your legs drop from hs waist, your entire body lazy.

A certain sense of guilt creeps into you as you realize Michael is right, you have no self-control, unable to give up the feeling that Joost gives you for anything else in the world. You'll forever be chasing the high he gives you, because Joost was right too, you were made for each other.

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x f! reader #joost klein smut #rpf #joost klein fanfic #joost klein #heartbeat! au

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