#one after the other every single morning on my way to school | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoshifighting · 2 months ago

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rockstar!reader x church boy & bestfriend!joshua

— Synopsis: Joshua and you had this contrast, you too embedded in the electric guitars, the polemic rock band shirts, and Joshua deeply focused on taking care of the church activities. He has no idea of the after-parties of your concerts, but after so much insistence of him, you bring Joshua to meet your wildest side, the side you never let him meet before. — Genre: Best friends to Lovers — WC: 11.05k — WARNINGS: smut, fluff, slight angst, groupies showing tits references, alcohol, smoking and drug references, religious imagery—mention of a cross necklace, faith-based inner conflict. penetrative sex, rough sex, public make out, fingering, nipple play—reader have nipple piercings, face-slapping, mentions of boy fluids; cum/precum, cock riding, clit stimulation, dirty talk, post-sex care.

The neighborhood kids were a patchwork of personalities—there were the loud ones, the shy ones, the troublemakers, the saints. And then, there was you and Joshua. From the outside, it made no sense. You, the devil-may-care rebel with ripped jeans, always two seconds away from an argument with someone who couldn’t handle your attitude.

And Joshua, with his pristine shirts buttoned all the way up, soft-spoken voice, and the kind of calm that came from growing up in a house where every wall had a cross and every Sunday had a sermon. He was the kid who never missed a single morning of church, and you were the kid who never missed a single rehearsal with your rock band, banging out chords in your parents’ garage so loud the neighbors had to invest in better windows.

But here’s the thing: despite everything that set you apart, you were inseparable. You’d been friends since you were both knee-high, back when you didn’t even care about music or God or any of the other big things that defined you later. Joshua was the kid you trusted with everything. The one who’d patch up your scraped knees when you wiped out on your bike, even if you yelled at him for fussing too much. The one who never let you feel alone, even when the world felt like it was coming down around you.

You’d look at him sometimes—like now, when you two were sitting on the curb outside your house, him in one of those stiff, white shirts with the collar high enough to strangle someone, and you in your old, faded Black Sabbath tee—and wonder how the hell this worked.

“I don’t get why you always button that thing up like that,” you mutter, side-eyeing him as you light a cigarette.

Joshua looks over, raising a brow. “You sound like my mom,” he says, smirking. “Besides, it’s comfortable.”

“No way. You look like you’re ready to choke.”

“Yeah, well, you look like you’re ready to summon a demon or something in that shirt,” he fires back, glancing at the witch printed on the front of your tee. “You couldn’t find something uglier?”

You snort, blowing out a puff of smoke. “You’re just mad ‘cause you know Sabbath’s better than that crap you play.”

Joshua rolls his eyes. “Hey, I like Coldplay, alright? Not everything’s gotta be power chords and screaming.”

“I don’t scream,” you retort, half grinning.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Do not.”

“You screamed at the last gig.”

“That was—” You pause. “That was for effect.”

Joshua chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure. For ‘effect.’”

The thing is, Joshua could have roasted you to dust if he wanted to. But he never did. He’d always laugh it off, always find a way to turn the conversation into something lighter. And no matter how different you were, there was this unspoken respect between you. Like how he showed up to your gigs in high school wearing one of your band’s shirts, plastering flyers in the school hallways and sneaking some into the church bulletin board when no one was looking.

And how you showed up at his baptism, cross necklace and all, standing there in the back, quiet but present. You never took the necklace off after that. The church boy who wouldn’t dare wear anything less than holy had given you a symbol of his faith, and you’d worn it ever since. You believed but weren't dedicated to it like Joshua, you used it because it was from him.

Joshua notices it now, the silver cross resting against your chest, slightly crooked. He reaches out, straightening it with a soft smile. “You still wear this?”

“Never took it off,” you admit, taking a long drag of your cigarette. “Doesn’t mean I’m converting, though.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “I like that you wear it.”

You glance at him, a little surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Joshua says, turning his gaze toward the sunset dipping below the houses. “It’s…nice, y’know? Like, no matter how far apart we get, we’re still connected.”

“Connected, huh?” you murmur, tapping the cigarette ash onto the ground. “You’re getting sappy again, dude.”

He laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “Shut up. You like it.”

“Yeah, but your world’s so boring, Josh. All hymns and Jesus. You should come to the dark side more often.”

“Pass,” he says with a smirk, but there’s warmth behind it. “I’d rather keep watching you make it big as a rockstar. Somebody’s gotta pray for you when you’re out there corrupting the youth.”

Maybe that’s the thing about you and Joshua—no matter how much you rag on each other, how different your lives look on the surface, there’s a connection you can’t explain. You’re fire and he’s ice, but somehow, you keep each other balanced.

“Hey,” you say, suddenly serious, eyes fixed on the street ahead. “Thanks for, y’know…showing up. For all of it. I know I’m not the easiest person to be around.”

Joshua’s voice softens. “You don’t have to thank me. You’ve always been there for me too.”

You glance at him, your heart doing this weird flip in your chest. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” you tease, though the words come out gentler than you intended.

Joshua grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Too late.”

You take another drag, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence, the kind only years of friendship can create.

You weren’t trying to change him, and he wasn’t trying to save you.

The gossipy aunts on the block could speculate all they wanted—Joshua didn’t convert you, and no, you didn’t lead Joshua down some reckless path. You two were just… you.

He’d brought you to church bazaars, where the smell of fried dough and barbecue sauce clung to your clothes long after you’d left, but he’d never pushed you to step foot into one of the more serious services. The ones where the hymns stretched on forever and people lost themselves in prayer. You didn’t do that, and he never asked you to.

And you? Well, you dragged Joshua to your gigs. He always stood at the front, close enough to feel the vibrations from the speakers, his clean-cut figure looking hilariously out of place in the sea of ripped jeans, leather jackets, and band tees.

But no matter how much he begged—and he did beg—you never brought him to the after-parties. The kind of chaos that erupted once the amps were off and the guitars were packed up. You’d drive him home, drop him off with a playful slap on the back, and head to the wildness he’d never see.

He didn’t need to know about the after-parties. He didn’t need to see you in your shortest leather mini skirt, the one that barely passed as clothing, as you downed beer after beer straight from the bottle, while the groupies flashed their tits at the band.

Joshua didn’t need to witness the wild shit that happened when everyone was too drunk or high to care about who was screwing who in the corner or the endless river of alcohol. That wasn’t his world, and you didn’t want him to see you like that. It was one thing for him to come to your shows, but seeing you let loose in a way that would make even your bandmates blush? No. He didn’t belong there.

Except… now Joshua was sitting with you in your garage, tuning your guitar like he always did before a big show, and he’d overheard you talking about the after-party.

“It’s the ten-year gig, huh?” he said casually, fingers sliding over the strings, adjusting them with that stupid focus he always had. “Big deal.”

“Yeah,” you replied, not thinking much of it. “It’s gonna be insane.”

Joshua’s head tilted, his lips pursing slightly. You recognized that look. It was the one he got when he was curious about something, when he was too polite to ask outright but dying to know more. He glanced at you. “You doing anything after? Like, after the gig?”

You paused. Shit. You hadn’t expected him to actually ask about that part. “Uh… yeah. There’s an after-party,” you said slowly, not looking at him. You fiddled with one of the tuning pegs on your bass, trying to look busy. “Same old stuff. You know.”

“I don’t know,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You’ve never let me go to one.”

You glanced up at him, already feeling your cheeks heat up. “That’s ‘cause it’s not your scene, Josh.”

“I want to see it,” he said, leaning forward a little. His voice was soft, but there was a determination there you weren’t used to. He wasn’t backing down from this one. “I’ve seen you perform. Why not let me see the rest?”

You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, you don’t wanna see the rest.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow, studying you. “Why not?”

Why not? Why not? How were you supposed to explain this without getting even more flustered? You could feel your palms sweating just thinking about it. The thought of Joshua witnessing that version of you—messy, no filter—made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

“It’s just… different, okay?” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “Like, the crowd’s wilder. Things get… crazy. I’m not the same up there as I am here.”

Joshua narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “I’ve known you since we were in diapers, and you think I can’t handle ‘crazy’?”

“You’re not getting it,” you insisted, your voice a little sharper than you meant it to be. “This isn’t just a few beers and hanging out. People get wild, Josh. There’s stuff that happens that you probably don’t want to see. Hell, I don’t want you to see it.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. “Maybe I do.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he serious right now? Joshua, the guy who got anxious if someone said a cuss word too loud around him, was asking to see the madness that was your after-party?

“Why the hell would you want to see that?” you finally asked, genuinely confused.

“Because,” he said simply, leaning forward on his knees, “I’ve always seen one side of you. The side you let me see. I wanna see the whole picture. I want to know who you are when you’re up there, when you’re with your band, when you’re… being yourself.”

You felt your heart thud hard against your chest. Shit. This wasn’t just about the party, was it? He wanted to understand you. All of you.

“I don’t know, man…” You trailed off, looking anywhere but at him.

“I can handle it,” Joshua said, voice gentle. “I’m not a kid. I know what goes on. Just because I don’t live like that doesn’t mean I can’t handle seeing it.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. He was stubborn, and you knew he wouldn’t let this go easily.

“Alright,” you finally said, sighing. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Joshua smiled, wide and a little too innocent. “I’ll take my chances.”

[...]

The van sat parked in front of your house, baking in the morning sun, loaded with amps, guitars, and a drum kit that had seen better days. You were supervising the guys hauling the last of the equipment into the back, hair still wrapped in rollers, trying not to sweat through your shirt before you even made it to the venue.

And then, you saw him.

Joshua was walking up the driveway, and for a split second, you didn’t recognize him. The button-up shirt, the clean-cut image you were so used to—it was all gone. Instead, he was wearing one of your shirts, and not just any shirt.

It was from your solo album outside the band, the one with the wild, scrawling letters across the chest and the cover art below. The cover art that featured your bust, as your tits were covered by an electric guitar. Skin covered in smeared kiss marks, lips of all colors pressed against your skin in a way that had been raunchy enough to make your bandmates whistle when you first showed them.

The album cover had been controversial, to say the least, but it sold like hotcakes. And Joshua—Joshua—was strutting around in it like it was no big deal.

You almost choked on your own spit.

He had black jeans on, hugging his legs in a way you didn’t expect, and he’d thrown on a couple of leather bracelets that looked suspiciously like the ones you’d worn on stage a few times. And the sunglasses perched on his head? Definitely not his usual vibe. He looked like someone who belonged backstage, maybe even on stage, and not at some church picnic. Worse—he looked like the kind of guy you could moan just from looking at.

Your brain short-circuited. You could already imagine the girls from your staff catching sight of him and drooling. Hell, you were almost drooling.

But then you caught sight of that shirt again, and all you could think was, out of all the merch I’ve got, why the fuck did he pick that one?

“Josh…” you called out, your voice full of disbelief as he approached. You gestured at the shirt. “Did… did your parents see you before you left?”

Joshua burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? No way. My mom would’ve had a heart attack. I snuck out before they were even awake.”

You groaned, clapping your forehead. “Oh my God. You realize you’re walking around with a picture of my tits on your chest, right?”

He grinned, glancing down at the shirt like it hadn’t even occurred to him. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s bold, right?”

“Bold?” you repeated, eyes wide. “It’s fucking obscene! You wearing that is obscene. Jesus, I can already hear the aunties in the neighborhood clutching their pearls.”

Joshua shrugged, completely unfazed. “Relax. No one from church is gonna be at the venue. I’m good.”

You gave him a hard look, still half in disbelief. “I’m not worried about church people, I’m worried about all the other people.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think I can pull it off?”

You blinked. Was he pulling it off? The more you stared at him, the more your brain started to fry. You didn’t know how to process this new Joshua—the one standing in front of you like he’d been born to wear that shirt. Born to make you lose your goddamn mind.

Joshua noticed your silence and raised an eyebrow. “What? You embarrassed?”

“I—no!” you shot back, though your cheeks were burning. “It’s just… fuck, you couldn’t pick a more normal one?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, flashing a grin that was a little too cocky for your liking.

“I can already see the crew girls drooling over you.”

Joshua shrugged, completely unfazed. “Let ‘em drool.”

You had to laugh at that.

“You know what? Never mind,” you muttered, waving him off. “Let’s just get to the venue before I lose it.”

Joshua chuckled and followed you to the van, casually tossing his sunglasses onto the dashboard as he climbed into the passenger seat. You took one last glance at him before slamming the door shut. He was leaning back, arms crossed, looking totally at ease in a way that was both infuriating and… kind of hot. Shit.

You could feel Joshua’s presence next to you, his knee brushing yours whenever you hit a bump. It was distracting as hell, but you did your best to focus on the road, on the gig, on anything that wasn’t Joshua in that damn shirt.

The ride was filled with the usual chaos—your drummer tapping out beats on the seat in front of him, your guitarist tweaking pedal settings on the floor, and the bass player scrolling through social media, barely paying attention. Joshua sat next to you, quiet, but you could tell he was absorbing everything. The energy, the vibe. This was the part of your life he’d never seen before.

When you finally pulled up to the venue, you felt the familiar buzz of expectation in your chest. The stage crew was already setting up, speakers being wired in, lights being tested. You hopped out of the van, gesturing to the others to get moving.

Joshua followed close behind, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. The venue was bigger than the high school stages he was used to seeing you on. It was packed with people running back and forth, instruments being tuned, sound checks echoing in the air.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the stage. “This is...bigger than I expected.”

“Told ‘ya,” you said, grinning as you grabbed your bass and slung it over your shoulder. “Welcome to the real deal.”

Joshua nodded, clearly impressed. You could see the awe in his face, and a part of you felt proud that he was seeing this side of your world. The chaos, the noise, the energy. It was all part of the life you lived—the one he’d never been fully exposed to.

As the band started running through sound check, Joshua found a spot near the back, watching quietly, tapping his foot along with the beat. Every once in a while, you’d glance back at him, half-expecting to see him overwhelmed, but he wasn’t. He was nodding along, sunglasses now perched on his nose, looking like he fit right in.

You could hear the low murmur of the crowd outside, getting louder as more people settled into their seats. Joshua was still talking with Rob, your drummer, which gave you just enough time to pull the rollers out of your hair and finish your makeup in front of the cracked mirror in the dressing room. You rushed through it, swiping on your signature dark lipstick, when the door creaked open, and in walked Joshua.

Of course.

He stopped mid-stride, eyes darting around the room, then finally landing on you—and your outfit. You were wearing a black, lacy top that was just sheer enough to leave little to the imagination, especially when it came to the piercing you knew he had seen before. You’d never made a big deal out of it, but every time Joshua caught a glimpse, he’d get that uncomfortable look on his face, like he wasn’t supposed to be seeing something so private.

“Eyes, Joshua. Eyes,” you could almost hear him coaching himself. His gaze flickered up to your face, but it was too late—you’d caught the quick dip to your chest, to the black leather pants hugging your hips like a second skin.

“Uh, hey,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, clearly trying to act casual, but his voice came out rougher than usual. “I was, uh… just letting you know I should probably get to my seat. The crowd’s filling in.”

You smirked, finishing the last swipe of lipstick and tossing the tube onto the makeup table. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, standing up and adjusting the top slightly. “You’re not sitting in the crowd anyway.”

“What?” His brows furrowed in confusion, still trying hard to maintain eye contact, which was almost comical at this point.

“You coming up for the encore,” you explained, crossing your arms. “VIP section, side-stage. Didn’t I tell you?”

Joshua blinked. “No. You didn’t mention that.”

You grinned, seeing how flustered he was, and it only made you want to push him further. “Guess I forgot.” You winked, loving the way his mouth opened slightly, the words stuck in his throat. “Go get settled. We’ll call you up when it’s time.”

He mumbled something under his breath and awkwardly nodded, backing out of the room with a half-hearted wave. As soon as the door clicked shut, you let out a breath, grinning to yourself. Good luck keeping your eyes up there, church boy.

[...]

By the time you hit the stage, the crowd was electric. You could feel the vibration in your bones, the pulse of the drums and bass weaving through your body. The lights were blinding, sweat already starting to drip down your back within the first few songs. You scanned the crowd, catching sight of Joshua standing where you told him, off to the side, eyes glued to you like he’d never seen you before.

Maybe he hadn’t.

You weren’t just some girl with a guitar tonight. You were in it, the music flowing through your veins, your hands sliding over the neck of the guitar like they were made for it. The band was tight, every note hitting harder than the last, and you felt alive in a way you couldn’t describe. The crowd roared, hands reaching out as your bandmates, already stripped of their shirts, threw them into the audience like trophies.

Joshua’s eyes were wide, watching the sweat drip down your arms as your muscles flexed with every chord change. You were lost in it, mouth slightly open during one of your solos, head thrown back as you pulled the guitar into your body like it was an extension of you. You could feel his gaze, heavy and unblinking, and it only pushed you harder. You let your voice growl into the mic, letting out the kind of raw, strong energy that got you here in the first place.

His mind must’ve been racing. He’d seen you play before, but never like this. Never with this much heat, this much intensity. You weren’t just a rockstar tonight—you were a sex symbol, and every single person in that venue, including Joshua, could feel it.

It hit him then—this was why you didn’t want him to come to the after-parties. It wasn’t just about the chaos or the booze. It was because, in this space, on stage, with the lights and the music and the crowd screaming your name—you were untouchable. And so, so fucking hot.

He’d always known you were beautiful, but this? This was something else. Watching your body move in rhythm with the music, the way your fingers slid across the strings, the sweat glistening on your skin—fuck. Joshua couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every part of you was dripping with confidence, sexuality.

The crowd erupted as you launched into the final solo, the room swelling with the sound of your guitar. Joshua’s gaze lingered on your body, on the way your leather pants clung to every curve, on the sway of your hips as you moved, and on your lips, slightly parted as you leaned into the mic. He swallowed hard, heat rushing to his face as he watched your muscles tense and release, every move planned, every note flawless.

His thoughts ran wild, and as you finished the set, throwing your head back in a final roar of victory, he couldn’t help but think, So this is what she didn’t want me to see.

The show ended in a blur of cheers and flashing lights, the energy still pulsing in your veins as you stumbled off stage, half-drunk on adrenaline. When you spotted Joshua at the back of the room, standing there with that wide-eyed look of disbelief, you couldn't help but laugh.

You walked over to him, sweat still glistening on your skin, a tired but satisfied grin on your face. “Well?” you asked, chest heaving. “What’d you think?”

Joshua blinked, forcing his gaze up from the floor to meet yours. He swallowed thickly, that guilty knot tightening in his throat. “It was… amazing,” he admitted, his voice a little hoarse. “You were—fuck, you’re incredible up there.”

His compliment was genuine, but there was something else in his eyes. Something conflicted, like he wasn’t sure how to feel about what he’d just seen. His best friend—the girl he’d known since forever—looked like this. Played like that. He felt sick about it. Sick because his heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons. Sick because seeing you like that—half-wild, sweaty, powerful—it wasn’t just admiration anymore.

You grinned, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “Told you it was a rush.”

Before he could respond, the two of you heard the unmistakable sound of feet pounding the floor. Fans. A whole wave of them was running toward the back, hoping to catch a glimpse of the band before they left. You didn’t even think, just grabbed Joshua’s hand and yanked him with you, sprinting toward the van parked outside.

You were laughing as you ran, your grip tight around his wrist, and Joshua couldn’t help the way his heart raced—whether from running or from being so close to you, he didn’t know. He could hear you breathing hard, could see the wildness in your eyes. And for the first time, he got it. The thrill. The chaos. The rush that came with living your life like this.

By the time you both reached the van and slammed the door behind you, you collapsed onto the seat, letting out a long, relieved moan. Joshua just stood there for a moment, chest heaving, eyes wide. He felt it now—the thrill, the electric hum in his blood. But also something else, something that made his stomach twist.

When you caught his eye and smiled that lazy, satisfied smile, he felt like he was losing his grip. You looked like a sexy mess, hair tousled, lipstick smeared, eyes sparkling. He could still feel the warmth of your hand in his, and it was doing things to him—dangerous things.

“The after-party’s at a club,” you said, glancing at him as the van roared to life. “Private for tonight. Just the band and our friends.”

Joshua nodded, his mouth dry. He had no idea what to expect.

[...]

The club was another world entirely.

The moment you stepped inside, Joshua was hit with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and something that might’ve been smoke, but wasn’t just cigarettes. The bass was pounding, vibrating through the floor, and there were bodies everywhere.

The first thing he noticed was your bandmates already surrounded by a small crowd of girls—half-naked, some practically sitting in their laps. One of them was making out with the guitarist, her hand slipping under his shirt while the others just laughed, already drunk and messy.

Joshua’s throat tightened, his eyes wide as he took it all in. It was chaos. Absolute chaos. People were drinking, smoking, making out in dark corners, hands wandering under clothes with zero shame.

And then there was you.

You didn’t miss a beat, grabbing a drink from the bar and downing it like it was water. When you turned to face him, leaning back against the bar with your leather pants clinging to your body and your shirt barely covering anything, you were a vision. A sexy, disheveled vision, your hair a mess, lips wet from the drink, and eyes hazy from the adrenaline of the show.

You were the kind of person that people wrote songs about—the kind of person that people lost themselves over.

“You good?” you asked, voice low, almost drowned out by the music.

Joshua blinked, swallowing hard. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.” But he wasn’t. He could barely keep his head straight with everything going on around him.

You grinned, holding out your drink. “Here. This’ll help.”

He hesitated for a second, but then grabbed the glass, taking a long gulp. The burn of alcohol felt good, grounding him for a moment. But it wasn’t enough to block out the heat in his chest, the strange attraction, the strange guilt swirling inside him.

You chuckled, watching him down half the drink. “Easy there.”

Joshua wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling hard. He shook his head, swallowing again, trying to focus. But then you were close—too close—and he could smell the combination of your perfume and sweat, and suddenly it was all he could think about. You were so casual about it, so relaxed in this wild mess, like you were born for it.

Joshua stared at you, watching the way your body moved with the music, the way your hips swayed slightly, your hair falling in your face. And he couldn’t help it—he wanted you. Wanted to pull you close, to taste the sweat on your skin, to feel the heat of you pressed against him.

But he couldn’t. You were his best friend. You’d been through everything together. But right now, in this moment, you weren’t just his friend. You were a fucking rockstar. And that terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

Joshua took another long drink, trying to drown the feelings that were bubbling up inside him. You watched him, a slow, knowing smile creeping onto your lips as you leaned in closer, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“You feelin’ it now, aren’t you?” you whispered, voice just loud enough for him to hear.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Because yeah, he was feeling it. The rush, the heat, the want. And it was all because of you.

Someone in the crowd—a guy with a half-buttoned shirt and lazy grin—held out a blunt to Joshua, smirking. “Want a hit, man?”

Joshua froze. His mind blanked for a second. “Nah, he doesn’t smoke. Leave him alone.” The air suddenly felt too heavy, the idea of it too real. Before he could even answer, you were at his side, grabbing the guy’s hand and pushing it back with a casual laugh. “He’s too saintly for that.”

Joshua froze, the word saintly cutting through the noise. You were teasing, of course, but that single word twisted in his gut. He didn’t need you looking at him like that—like he was too pure, too clean for this world you thrived in. He hated it. Hated that you saw him like some untouched, pristine version of himself that didn’t even exist. That look you gave him, all amused and lighthearted, made his skin crawl because it only reminded him of how distant he felt from you in that moment.

You grinned at him, eyes gleaming. “Come on, Josh. You’re way too neat for this shit. Leave the bad habits to me.”

He clenched his jaw, hands in his pockets, trying to keep his cool. The thing was—you had no idea. You saw him as the same old Joshua, the one you grew up with, the guy who kept his hands clean while you dived headfirst into the chaos. But fuck, that wasn’t him. Not really. Not anymore. You thought he was some perfect church boy who’d never done anything wild, who probably still had his V-card, for God’s sake.

If only you knew.

The way you laughed about it, as if the thought of him doing anything wild—anything sinful—was so absurd it was hilarious. And that burned. More than it should’ve.

Joshua swallowed, trying to keep his cool, but your words dug in deep. Saintly. Neat. Like you didn’t know. Like you couldn’t even imagine him doing anything like that. He wasn’t a fucking saint. He wasn’t clean like you thought. He’d done things—felt things—that would wipe that smirk off your face. But you… you never saw him that way. Not Joshua.

“You’re lucky, y’know? Not everyone can pull off that whole saintly thing,” you teased, brushing a hand through your messy hair.

He clenched his jaw. “I’m not a fucking saint,” he muttered under his breath. But you didn’t hear him—or maybe you didn’t care.

Joshua felt his pulse quicken, the alcohol buzzing in his system, loosening up the tension in his limbs but doing nothing to calm his mind. He hated how you looked at him. Like he was too clean, too good for this world you lived in. He hated how you never saw him as anything more than “good ol’ Joshua.” The guy who had never gone off the rails, the guy who probably never even had his dick wet before.

That’s what you thought, wasn’t it?

And fuck, he couldn’t stand it. The truth gnawed at him, because you had no idea who he was outside of your little bubble. You didn’t know about the times he’d stayed up too late, desperate to cum, the fantasies he’d let himself get lost in—half of them about you, goddammit. You didn’t know about the nights he’d spent grinding against someone, hands buried in their hair, feeling the warmth of their body pressed against his, the messy nights where he lost himself entirely.

You looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

His breath caught. You were joking—you had to be—but something in the way you said it, so casual, so sure that he wouldn’t… it broke something in him. The club around him blurred as he focused on you, standing there all relaxed, your lips still slightly parted, that familiar teasing glint in your eyes.

He couldn’t stop himself. “You really think I’m that fucking innocent, huh?” His voice was sharper than he intended, the words cutting through the thrum of the music.

You blinked, pulling back slightly, surprised by the edge in his tone. “What? No, I just—”

“You think I’ve never been with anyone? Never had my fuckin’ cock wet before?” He didn’t care how crude it sounded. Didn’t care that it was probably the first time you’d ever heard him talk like that. He was sick of it. Sick of the version of himself you’d created in your mind.

You feel the heat rise in your chest, a compound of anger and something else you don’t even want to admit. The way he said it—rough, out of character—like he was someone else entirely. Part of you wants to slap him for it, for breaking the image of the Joshua you knew. The good one. The clean-cut guy who’d never even raise his voice, let alone tell you he wasn’t so fucking innocent. But the other part of you… it liked it. The tension, the bite in his words, the way he stood there, all riled up.

You narrow your eyes, smirking just a little.

His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. For the first time, you see his eyes darken—none of that usual light. No soft Joshua anymore. His face shifts into something harder, almost dangerous. It catches you off guard, and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re playing a game you can win.

“Don’t push it,” he warns. It sends a cold lick from the beginning of your spine to the end, but you tilt your head, still smirking, testing him.

“What? Gonna do something about it?” You lean in closer, just inches from his face now, daring him. “C’mon, Joshua. Show me.”

And then it happens.

He’s on you so fast, you don’t even have time to process it. His hands grab your waist, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you feel it—the hard line of his cock pressing into your belly. Your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, testing the waters, your body instinctively reacting to the sudden heat between you two.

His mouth crashes onto yours, rough, almost desperate, all that pent-up tension is spilling out at once. His lips are soft but demanding, like they’re asking for something, but also taking it without permission. You kiss him back just as fiercely, a messy clash of teeth and tongues, the taste of alcohol on both your breaths mixing as you struggle for control.

His hands slide down your back, grabbing your ass with a roughness that makes you gasp, and he pulls you tighter against him, grinding into you just enough to let you know exactly how turned on he is. “Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, barely pulling away to speak. You can feel the frustration, the years of him being the good one, bubbling up in every kiss, every touch.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol, but you grab onto his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your nails digging into his skin through his shirt. It’s messy, frantic, and the sound of it—the heavy breathing, the low growls coming from him, the way your lips smack together—fills the small space between you like the only thing that matters is how fast and hard you can make this happen.

And god, it’s wrong. So fucking wrong. You can feel it in the back of your mind, the thought lingering, telling you this isn’t who Joshua is. Not the guy you grew up with. But right now, he doesn’t feel like the Joshua you knew. He feels like someone who’s been hiding this side of himself for too long, someone who’s finally letting the mask slip.

And the worst part? You like it. Maybe too much.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes are almost black with craving, his chest heaving as he stares at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You can see it on his face—how much he wants this, how much he needs to prove to you that he’s not as clean as you think he is.

“You sure you wanna keep pushing?” His voice is raspy, breathless, and his grip on your hips tightens. “’Cause I don’t think you can handle what happens if you do.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down. “Try me,” you whisper, barely able to keep your voice steady.

And just like that, he’s on you again. This time, rougher. His mouth moves down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin as he kisses you there, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and you feel the hard press of his cock grinding into your stomach as his hands roam over your body, touching, grabbing, pulling. He’s all over you.

You’re backed into the wall of the van now, his body trapping you there, and for a second, you think about the others. Your bandmates. The people who know Joshua—the real Joshua. You can almost feel their judgment, the silent “what the fuck” looks they’d give you if they saw this. If they saw how you’re fucking with his head, breaking him down until he’s someone else entirely.

But right now, none of that matters. Not when he’s kissing you like this, touching you like this. Not when his hand slips under your shirt, fingers grazing over your bare skin, making you shiver. Not when he’s showing you this side of himself that you never even thought existed.

And fuck, you realize. You’ve been wrong about Joshua. So, so wrong.

And he’s not done showing you just how wrong you’ve been.

Joshua’s hands slide under your top, squeezing your waist, his thumbs teasing your skin, brushing against the underside of your boobs until they find your nipples, flicking at the piercings. The sensation makes you gasp, your body betraying you as you fold under his touch. You clutch his arm, your breath heavy against his neck, before you moan right into his ear. You feel him twitch, nearly stumbling in front of you, his control unraveling.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking it back to force his eyes on you. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you can see the hunger there, the intensity, the rawness of it. “We need to stop,” you breathe, trying to sound firm, but even to your own ears, it’s weak.

Joshua’s mouth presses back against your neck, and he mutters between kisses, each one punctuating his words. “No. You don’t. Want. To. Stop. Do. You?” His breath is hot against your skin, each word hitting you harder than the last, unraveling your willpower.

“I’m serious,” you insist, but it’s pathetic, because the way he’s touching you—like he’s memorizing every inch of your body, like he’s known this moment was coming—makes it impossible to think straight.

He pulls back for a moment, eyes searching yours, checking if you really want to stop. His expression softens, as if he’s giving you an out.

“We need to stop, or we’re gonna end up fucking right here in front of everyone.”

For a second, you both pause, glancing around. The crowd is still buzzing, everyone too lost in their own world to notice what’s happening between the two of you. You could, technically. You could fuck right here, and no one would bat an eye, but that last shred of morality keeps you in check, pulling you back from the edge. Barely.

Joshua was imagining just how much worse things could get. But honestly, he liked every single one of these thoughts.

He grabs your hand, pulling you toward the club’s parking lot, and rushing toward the van.

The heavy door of the van slides shut behind you, and Joshua locks it with a rough click, sealing the two of you inside. The second the door’s closed, it’s like the floodgates open. His hands are everywhere—grabbing, pulling, needy. He kisses you harder now, more frantic, his body pushing you against the side of the van, and your back hits the first seat with a thud.

You stumble, the both of you crashing into a pile of boxed-up instruments. Your knee hits a guitar case, his ass bump on the drum box, but neither of you care. Joshua’s hand slides down to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you into him, making sure you feel every inch of him pressed against your thigh. You’re practically panting, the need between you both building, burning.

You push him back toward the last row of seats, hands fumbling at his belt as you go, your teeth grazing his jaw, his neck, tasting the sweat and the heat from the show earlier.

He moans down in his throat, a sound that rumbles through his chest and straight into yours, and you swear it’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever heard. His fingers dig into your hips as he backs into the seat, pulling you down on top of him, your legs straddling his lap, the hard press of his cock straining against his jeans beneath you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, grinding against him, and his head falls back against the seat, eyes rolling shut for a second as you move. You take advantage of it, your lips finding his neck, your teeth scraping his skin just enough to make him hiss.

The leather of your pants is sticking to your skin, but you barely register it as Joshua leans down, kissing you again, his hands slipping under your top and pulling it up, exposing you. His mouth moves lower, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, and then lower, until his lips are at your chest. He doesn’t hesitate—his mouth finds your nipple, and he flicks his tongue over the piercing, making you arch your back, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

The leather pants cling to you, slick with sweat, and you can feel every inch of them suffocating your skin. You groan in frustration, hands fumbling to yank them off. In your hurry, you knock your elbow hard against a nearby box, hissing in pain. Joshua’s hands are on you immediately, steadying you as you finally peel the damn pants down, tossing them aside like they personally offended you. He takes the opportunity to shove his own pants down to his knees, and as you glance up, he's yanking his shirt over his head.

You’re back on his lap before he even realizes what’s happening, grinding down on him through the thin fabric of your underwear and his boxers. It’s a hell of a lot better than the rough leather, and you feel the instant response—his hands grip your thighs so hard it’s like he’s holding on for dear life, his head falling back with this breathless, whiny moan.

His fingers slide down the front of your panties, finding you soaked, and he’s instantly wrecked. “Fuck, you’re dripping,” he growls, his voice ragged, eyes dark and hungry as they lock onto yours. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

The dirty words coming from him feel so wrong, so foreign, but god, it’s making your head spin, red flags of danger flickering in your mind, and you can’t stop.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mumble, still grinding against his hand, but then he pushes a finger inside you, and your whole body jolts. A hand flies up, palm slamming against the fogged window for balance, leaving a print there as you rock forward, riding his thick, calloused finger.

His finger feels huge, and the stretch of it makes you dizzy. You’re thankful for the seat behind you, giving you the support you need because you’re practically sprawled back on it, grinding on his hand like your life depends on it.

He’s watching you, eyes locked on every twitch of your face, every moan spilling from your lips, and then he slides another finger in. The stretch makes you gasp, thighs trembling as he moves them inside you, fingers curling and hitting that spot that makes your vision go blurry.

“Talk dirty to me,” he suddenly demands, voice low and gruff.

“You… don’t like it when I curse,” you manage, barely coherent as his fingers keep moving inside you.

“Fuck that,” he growls, fingers curling deeper, making you whimper. “Call me whatever the fuck you want. Call me a motherfucker, I don’t care. Just talk to me, let me hear it.”

Your body’s trembling, eyes rolling back as you grind harder against his hand, desperate for more.

You moan, feeling his fingers pumping inside you as his thumb brushes your clit. You’re teetering on the edge, and words are spilling out before you can stop them. “God, Joshua… Always acting so pure. I bet no one would believe how fucking hard you are for me right now, huh?”

His breath stutters at your words, his fingers thrusting harder inside you. “Keep going.”

“Is this what you’ve wanted?” you gasp, rocking your hips against him, feeling that coil tightening in your belly. “You want me to ride your fingers like a fucking slut, huh?”

He groans, low and deep. "Fuck, yes”

Your body’s trembling, every thrust of his fingers pushing you closer to the brink. “You’re such a motherfucker,” you whisper against his lips, your voice breaking. "You feel that? Feel how close I am? You're gonna make me—shit!—cum all over your fingers.”

Your head falls back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed as his rough, calloused fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your entire body tense. You're whimpering, struggling to keep the dirty talk going, but it's hard to form words when every nerve in your body is on fire. "God, Joshua, your fingers... they’re so fucking big," you manage to choke out, voice shaky.

He smirks, eyes dark, watching the way your body responds to him. “If you think my fingers are big,” he breathes, thrusting them deeper, faster, “imagine how you’re gonna feel when it’s my cock inside you.”

The thought sends another wave of heat pooling between your legs, and you grip his forearm, nails digging into his skin as he moves his fingers faster, relentless, pressing into your sweet spot over and over. Your walls clamp down around him, and a broken cry escapes your lips, your body trembling as the tension snaps, pleasure ripping through you in a rush.

"Fuck—Joshua!" you moan, your voice high and desperate as your orgasm hits you hard, your pussy squeezing his fingers so tight you can barely think. Your slick coats his hand, and he watches you fall apart, eyes locked on the way your body writhes against his, chest heaving, face twisted in pleasure.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, and you can feel him watching you, his expression mirroring your own without even meaning to. His lips part in a quiet curse, like he’s just as lost in it as you are, completely captivated by the way you cum on his fingers, riding the digits until you curl up on him.

His fingers slip out of you, slick and shiny, leaving you empty. Your breath catches in your throat when his hand dips down to his own cock, still hard and straining under the thin fabric of his boxers. He grunts softly, shifting, and you catch a glimpse of the outline of it through the fabric—big, thick. Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

He’s moving fast, lips already on you again, his mouth latching onto your nipple. You gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive bud, his tongue swirling over the metal of your piercing like he’s obsessed—after all, besides seeing it through your blouses, now he has them in his mouth. His grip tightens around your waist, pulling you closer, almost like he’s trying to devour you.

“Fuck, Joshua,” you rasp out, voice shaky, still buzzing from the orgasm he pulled from you with just his fingers. “Where the hell did you learn how to do that?”

He pauses for a second, teeth scraping your skin as his mouth moves up to nip at your collarbone, smirking. “What, you think just 'cause I look all neat and clean, I don’t know how to make a girl cum?” he leaves a wet hickey on your chest. “Trust me, babe, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

You arch into him, head tilting back as his tongue flicks against your other nipple, but this time, he looks inside your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me… always acting like a saint.”

His hand tightens on your thigh, sliding up between your legs again, brushing against your soaked panties. He smirks against your skin. “You’re the one who’s been driving me fucking crazy. Always teasing me. You know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?”

You’re about to reply, but his fingers are pulling at the waistband of your panties, dragging them to the side. The next thing you know, he’s pushing his boxers down, freeing his cock. Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of it—he’s big, thicker than you expected, the tip already slick with precum. And for a moment, you can’t help but wonder how many girls have seen this side of him, but then he’s guiding you back onto his lap, hands firm on your hips, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Shit,” you whisper, feeling the thick head of his cock brushing against your folds. The feel makes you hold your breath, the heat from his body and the sheer wrongness of it making your pulse race.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a brief second, there’s conflict there—like he’s torn between the best friend who used to crash on your couch, and the guy who's about to fuck you. He’s barely holding himself together.

He guides himself inside you slowly, inch by inch, and you can feel every stretch, every pulse of his cock as it fills you up. You gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as you sink down onto him, his size making your head spin. "Jesus, Joshua..." you groan, head falling forward, overwhelmed by how full you feel.

His cock feels impossibly big, filling you up completely, and for a moment, you wonder how the hell you’re even taking him.

His hands tremble slightly on your waist as he pushes the rest of the way in, a throaty moan slipping from his lips. “Fuck, this is so wrong,” he mutters, voice shaky, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re my fucking best friend, I shouldn’t be doing this—” His voice breaks off into another moan as you start to move, your hips rolling against him.

You watch him, grinning at the conflict flickering in his eyes, the way his face contorts with each movement of your hips. His best friend—the girl he’s never even crossed boundaries with—now stretched out, tight around his cock. It's almost too much for him, his mind clearly buzzing with how wrong it is, but his body craves more, needing the way you feel wrapped around him.

His moans meld with yours, louder now, whiny. "You're making me fucking lose my mind."

You lean in close, lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “Then lose it. Let me fuck you like no one else ever has.”

He growls low in his throat, his control slipping completely. He thrusts up into you, harder, deeper, and you moan, head falling back as your body rocks against his. His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulls you down onto him again and again, his cock hitting deeper with each thrust.

You press both hands to his chest, halting his frantic thrusts, pinning him back against the seat. “Whoa, slow down,” you say, eyes locked on his as you adjust yourself, shifting until you find the angle that makes you gasp. His cock twitches inside you, and you bite back a smirk. You know you’ve got him right where you want him now.

You flick your hair to one side, leaning back a bit, and start riding him slow, dragging it out, making sure he feels every inch. His mouth opens to say something, but you change the motion, circling your hips instead, and whatever he was going to say dies in his throat. You scoff, half laughing, half moaning. “What? Why so quiet now?”

His hands fly to the armrests, knuckles turning white as he grips the leather for dear life. You know exactly what he’s doing—trying to stop himself from grabbing you too rough, like you can’t handle it. Like you don’t want him to. But you take one of his hands and place it on the side of your face, his palm practically engulfing your head. You lean into his touch, biting your lip before saying it. “Slap me.”

His eyes go wide. “What?”

“Come on,” you grind down on him again, slower, teasing. “You’ve never slapped anyone before? Right on my face. Do it.”

He looks torn, breath hitching as you ride him harder. You can tell he’s struggling to even think straight, his stomach clenching, his abs flexing under your hands as the pleasure hits him hard. But it’s your pace that’s driving him insane, the way you bounce on his cock, taking him deep, then slowing down just enough to drag it out. He’s barely hanging on.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, “Fuck… I don’t—” He gasps when you clench around him on purpose, his hips flinching up into you, reflexive. His hand tightens on your jaw before he lets go, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can—”

“Shut up,” you whisper, eyes burning with challenge. “Slap me.” The way you’re looking at him, daring him, makes his heart pound in his chest. He hesitates for half a second, but when you grind down on him again, harder, his control snaps.

He slaps you, hard. Harder than he intended.

The sound of it rings out, followed by his shocked gasp. But you’re already moaning, your pussy clenching so tight around him that he almost loses it. He watches in disbelief as you react, the slap turning you on even more, your walls fluttering around his cock, soaking him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at you, wide-eyed, as you keep riding him like nothing just happened—no, like it made everything better.

Your body jerks with each bounce, the slap leaving a burning sting on your cheek, but all it does is fuel the fire between your legs. “See?” you taunt. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He groans, the sound low and desperate. “Fuck… you’re fucking insane.” His hands find your waist again, but this time he doesn’t try to hold back. He grips you tight, fingers digging into your skin as you grind against him, circling your hips just to watch his head fall back, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut.

Every time you clench down on him on purpose, his whole body flinches, like he’s trying so hard not to lose control. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” he growls, voice ragged. “I can feel… fuck, I can feel you squeezing me like you want me to fucking break.”

You bite your lip, eyes half-lidded as you meet his gaze. “Maybe I do.”

Joshua's thumb strokes the still-hot skin of your cheek where he slapped you. You bounce hard on his cock, the slap only making the tension between you snap tighter. His thumb lingers, gently caressing the mark like he’s making up for what he did, but you grin, biting your lip through the pleasure and ask for more;

“Slap me again.”

It’s the same voice you used when you asked him to push you harder on a swing—excited, impatient, full of that rush of adrenaline. He sucks in a breath, brows furrowed like he’s torn, but the way your pussy tightens around him makes his decision for him. His hand raises again, and this time, it lands with purpose.

Your face turns to the side from the force, cheek burning red-hot, and fuck, it burns even better than the last one.

Your pussy tightens around him instantly, and Joshua groans. He can feel the way your body responds, how you pulse around him every time he does it. You moan, “Fuck… I think I’m gonna cum again.” The whine at the end of your sentence makes his cock twitch, and it sparks something animalistic in him.

Joshua grabs your hips, lifting you just enough to pin you down on his lap, grinding his pelvis into you so deep that your vision goes hazy for a second. You roll your eyes, barely hanging on. Before you can catch your breath, he’s flipping you onto the seat, his cock never leaving you as he lays you down, spreading your legs up and grabbing the backs of your knees.

The new angle has you arching your back immediately, hands scrambling for purchase on the seat. He starts thrusting, and it’s so hard and deep you swear your body is melting into the seat. Each snap of his hips sends a sharp lock of bliss through you, his pelvis slamming into yours, and you know anyone outside can hear the van rocking, but you don’t fucking care.

You don’t care about anything except him, the way his thumb circles your clit just as he slips it down, thumb circling the base of his cock, spreading your slickness over the throbbing nerve. Your body jerks, an involuntary sob escaping your throat.

Joshua’s never seen you like this—ruined, makeup streaking down your face, thick tears rolling down your cheeks. His grin is huge, his breath ragged as he stares down at you, fucking relentless in his pace. “Aw, look at you. You’re crying on my cock,” he coos, his voice laced with sweet mockery. He presses harder on your clit, making you squirm, and he chuckles low, shaking his head. “Such a good girl, crying for me like that. You can’t even handle it, can you?”

You let out a strangled gasp, your body writhing under him as you feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, everything inside you winding so tight. “Fuck,” you choke out, “Josh, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he growls, leaning down, his mouth right by your ear now. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, gonna make a mess of me?”

You’re too far gone to answer, your head tipped back as your body reaches its breaking point. His thumb circles your clit faster, his cock hitting that spot inside you over and over, and your whole body shakes uncontrollably. You feel the coil snap inside you so hard that you almost black out, your pussy clenching around him like a vice as you cum, the orgasm ripping through you with inhuman intensity.

You scream his name, tears streaming down your face as you sob through it, your body trembling violently as your release floods out of you, soaking his cock and thighs.

Joshua watches, mesmerized by how fucking ruined you are beneath him, and he leans down, whispering against your lips, “That’s right. Cry for me more, baby. Show me how good it feels. Look at you… soaking me like that, dripping all over me.”

Joshua's hips stutter, and you feel the unmistakable swell of his cock inside you, growing thicker, pulsing as he teeters on the edge. He pulls out suddenly, leaving you breathless as he grips his cock, jerking it against your slick stomach. His hand is tight, desperate, moving fast as his chest rises and falls in ragged breaths.

His moans are a mess—whiny, high-pitched, slipping from his throat like he can’t control them. He bites his bottom lip hard, but the sly little whimpers escape him anyway, each sound more desperate than the last. His abs tense, his whole body trembling above you, muscles tight as a cord about to snap. His eyes flutter shut, head falling back slightly as he loses himself in the feeling.

“Fuck—” he gasps, his voice breaking as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. His grip falters for a split second, and then his cock jerks hard in his hand, spilling hot ropes of cum. It spurts in thick, messy streams, splattering across your belly, sliding up toward your chest, even reaching your chin. His knees buckle slightly, and he has to grab the back of the seat in front of him to keep from collapsing, his whole body shuddering through the force of it.

He’s panting, still jerking himself through the aftershocks, and his cum keeps dripping from the tip, mixing with the sweat that’s already covering both of you. Your legs tremble uncontrollably, falling to the side as your body finally gives out, utterly spent. The van feels suffocating, the air thick and humid, making it hard to breathe as the windows fog up completely now.

Joshua’s hand is still braced on the seat for support, knuckles white, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes flicker open, and when he looks down at you—covered in him, eyes heavy, body limp—you can see the disbelief, the satisfaction, and maybe even a little guilt.

But neither of you moves, too wrecked to do anything but exist in the humid silence of the van, your breaths slowly returning to something like normal.

Joshua settles into the seat next to you, staring down at you like he’s trying to make sense of everything. You both stay silent, like the weight of what just happened hasn’t fully hit yet. Neither of you moves; it's as if you need this stillness to process, to figure out what the fuck this was and where it might lead. Was it the alcohol? The adrenaline? Or maybe the tension between you two, the one you both never admitted but always felt.

He suddenly stands up, his voice breaking the silence. “Where’s your necessaire?” You barely register the question, too lost in thought, so you just point lazily toward the front of the van, your limbs too tired to follow his movements.

You hear the zipper open, the soft rustle of him digging through your things. Your legs ache from the awkward position they’re in, but before you can shift, Joshua is back beside you. Without a word, he gently lifts your legs, folding them in a more comfortable position, almost cradling you. You catch his eyes as he pulls out makeup remover wipes.

He starts with your face, wiping away the tear-streaked makeup, his touch as soft as it’s ever been. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs, brushing your cheek tenderly—the same cheek he slapped earlier, his movements extra gentle now, like he’s trying to undo any mark he left.

You close your eyes, feeling his hands glide across your skin. “You’re lucky I know how to clean this up,” he teases lightly, the sound of his voice strangely comforting. “You always were a mess after shows.”

You hum, half-laughing. “You should see me after the after-parties.” The humor doesn’t land quite like it usually does; there’s something too real now, something too intimate that makes the joke feel heavy.

He uses a fresh wipe to clean the cum from your body, starting at your chin and working his way down your belly. His touch lingers, but it’s not lustful—more like he’s making sure every part of you is taken care of, like you’re something precious. “Lift your arm for me,” he says softly, and you comply, feeling the coolness of the wipe brush under your arm and along your ribs.

When he finishes, his hand slips to your necklace, the little cross with the rhinestones—one you wear mostly because of him. His fingers fiddle with it for a second, the small gesture almost grounding, like it’s pulling him back to reality.

“You good?” he asks finally, eyes scanning your face, like he’s not sure if he went too far, if maybe you’re more hurt than you’re letting on.

“Yeah,” you breathe, and even though you’re wrecked, there’s something warm in your chest. “I’m good.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, his touch featherlight. “You sure? You need anything else?”

You smirk a little, exhausted but still yourself. “Yeah, I need a nap.”

Joshua chuckles under his breath, still holding your necklace. “Alright, you take that nap. I’ll watch over you.” There’s something sweet in his tone, a promise hidden in the words, something you know he means more than he’s letting on.

And as you start to drift, you can’t help but think that despite everything—despite the wild shit that just happened—Joshua is still Joshua. Sweet, caring, a little too good for this world, and somehow, still your person.

[...]

The nap you took wasn’t just any nap—it was wild, like the kind where time feels like it disappears. When you finally blink your eyes open, groggy and confused, the van’s already moving, and you hear muffled voices. Your crew is in the van now, going about their business like nothing happened. Instinctively, your hands fly to your chest, covering yourself, but you’re already dressed—the same clothes from the show.

Relief floods through you, though you’re not sure why. Then you realize where your head is resting—not on the uncomfortable seat like before, but on Joshua’s lap. His thick thighs beneath you are surprisingly comfortable, his body warm against yours.

You feel him stir beneath you, his body shifting as he wakes up too. His hand brushes against your arm, and you glance up, meeting his eyes. His hair’s a bit messy, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s this soft smile on his face, one that makes you feel like everything’s okay.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep, his hand absentmindedly stroking your arm.

“Mornin’,” you echo back, your own voice low and hoarse.

There’s a moment of quiet between you, the rest of the van oblivious to the weight of everything that passed between you two last night. You shift a little, feeling his thighs under you, and the memories flash through your head—the heat, the sex, the things you said and did. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

“You slept through everything,” he teases, his smile widening, though there’s a hint of something unspoken behind it.

You chuckle, adjusting slightly but still keeping your head on his lap. “Guess I was tired, hm?”

“Tired? You passed out,” he grins, his hand moving to gently fix your hair. “Had to dress you. Can’t have the crew thinking… well, y’know.”

Your face flushes a bit, imagining him trying to carefully dress you without waking you up. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” he says, his tone playful but gentle. There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just long enough to make you wonder what’s next, what happens after this.

You glance around at the others in the van, but it’s like they’re in their own worlds. No one’s paying attention, no one’s noticed how close the two of you are, how your head’s still in his lap, how his fingers are still brushing through your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You can get used to it, can't you?

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roosterforme · 4 months ago

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After the perfect weekend, three days without Bradley is harder than you could have ever imagined. It makes you think about what it will be like when you have to go months without each other. When he visits your classroom for the second time, your students make him feel welcome as they come up with an amazing idea.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, unprotected sex, oral sex, smut, Bradley in love, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You were at Bradley's house on Sunday night a lot later than you originally anticipated, but you just couldn't seem to make yourself leave. He kept luring you back to the couch with the promise of one more quick snuggle, and you fell for it every single time.

"I have to get my lesson plans in order for tomorrow," you whispered as you kissed your way along the scars on his cheek from your spot on his lap.

"Bring them with you next time," he murmured, big hands warm on your lower back.

"You wouldn't mind?" You knew what a turnoff it was for your ex whenever you even mentioned your classroom full of kids, so it would have never occurred to you to bring your work with you down to Coronado for the weekend.

Bradley's fingers stroked your bare skin as he said, "Maybe I could help you? I actually like a lot of the same stuff as your fourth graders. Like airplanes and dogs and their teacher."

You snorted with laughter against his neck, but you said, "Next weekend I'll bring my lesson plans with me."

"Excellent," he murmured. "Then you can stay even later."

You knew without a doubt that in a few more weeks, you'd be sleeping over on Sunday night and driving straight to work on Monday morning if he asked you to. How could you not? The entire weekend had been incredible even with Vanessa crashing in on Friday. Being around Bradley felt like something close to magic with the way he talked to you and touched you. Earlier this morning, you sent him out for a run with Natasha, and he came back to you all sweaty and needy. You even got an adorable photo of him stopping to tie his shoe on a bench which his best friend texted you. And after lunch, you took a spider outside for him when he begged you to get rid of it, and he thanked you with at least a hundred kisses.

But now, when you tried to stand up, Bradley pouted and wrapped his arms around you a little tighter. "I'll see you when you come up to my school on Wednesday," you whispered with a smile.

"That's so far away," he groaned, letting his arms go limp at his sides as you wiggled yourself free. "I don't like that at all."

You pressed your lips together to keep the massive, goofy smile that threatened to take over your entire face at bay while you collected your things. Bradley watched your every movement as you said, "It's not like I won't text you some potentially dirty photos and call you just to tell you I love you."

He was on his feet right then and there with a ridiculous looking grin of his own. "Say it again, Gorgeous."

You looked up at him as he closed the distance with three long strides, and you said, "I love you."

It took you another twenty minutes to finish making out with him, and then he carried everything out to your car where you made out a little bit more. You got home really quite late.

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

On Wednesday morning, you made the rookie mistake of telling your kids that a visitor would be spending the afternoon in your classroom, but you were too excited about it to keep quiet.

"Is it Lieutenant Bradshaw?" Violet asked immediately as she bobbed in her seat.

"You'll just have to wait and see," you replied, getting your language arts notes ready to teach.

"Is he bringing his Super Hornet with him?" Harrison practically screamed.

"He can't bring a fighter jet to school," Jayden scoffed. "It would take up too many parking spots."

"I never even said who our special visitor is!" you reminded them as you started writing a few spelling words on the board.

Nia sighed behind you and murmured, "If it's not Lieutenant Bradshaw, then what's the point?"

You had to stifle your laughter, because you didn't disagree. You weren't even sure what he had in store for your kids, but he insisted he was going to need at least two hours with them. When you had questioned him about getting leave from base for the afternoon, he just laughed. "The Navy loves it when we do classroom outreach. I'm sure my commanding officers will all make it a point to thank me for volunteering, so there's no way I'm telling them that I'm visiting my girlfriend's school. But I'm sure they'll catch on by the fourth or fifth time I ask for the afternoon off."

Whenever he used the word girlfriend, you couldn't stop smiling. And the insinuation that he would be visiting multiple times made you giddy. You just had to get through the morning and lunchtime, and then he would be here.

"Spelling words. Let's focus," you told your class. "We can worry about our visitor in a few more hours." But they were already antsy, and they remained that way until you sent them to the lunchroom to cause some havoc without you. That's when you realized that you were antsy, too. How in the world were you already so attached to Bradley that three days apart felt like a week? How were you supposed to do a deployment when the time came? Your heart ached a little bit whenever you thought about spending months away from him.

You picked at your lunch at your desk and checked your phone. Bradley texted you nearly an hour ago to let you know that he was on his way up which prompted you to scroll through some of the photos of him you had saved. "It never gets old," you muttered as you examined the first picture he ever sent you of his face. He looked so tall and handsome on the deck of the aircraft carrier, and you had to stop gawking when your kids came back to the room.

"Is Lieutenant Bradshaw coming soon?" Oliver whined on his way to his desk. "It's taking forever!"

There was no point in denying that he was the special guest, so you just said, "He should be here soon. Practice your spelling words quietly at your desk, okay?"

You walked to your door and peeked out into the hallway. The front office knew he was coming ahead of time today, so there shouldn't be much of a holdup. That's when you saw him. His combat boots squeaked on the floor as he turned the corner, and he ran his fingers through his wavy hair. Each long stride brought him closer to you, and you realized he was holding a large envelope that said CLASSIFIED as well as a coffee from Starbucks in his other hand.

"Gorgeous," he called out when his gaze met yours, and you memorized the way his pace grew quicker so he could get to you. He looked so big and strong in his flight suit, it was unreal. "I missed you," he promised, brown eyes wide and sincere, and then his lips were on yours in the sweetest kiss.

An eruption of voices from inside your classroom started a chorus of, "Oooooh!" as you laughed against your boyfriend's lips.

"She's kissing Lieutenant Bradshaw!" Violet hissed.

"I already told you they're getting married," Jayden insisted.

"I think they might already be married," Nia whispered.

"No, because her name would be Mrs. Lieutenant Bradshaw," Oliver told everyone while Bradley erupted into laughter as well.

"Are you ready for this disaster?" you ask as you nodded toward your open door where eighteen pairs of eyes were staring back at the two of you.

"Absolutely," he rasped. "Nothing like spending an afternoon with all of my pen pals."

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

Bradley followed you to the front of your classroom, fighting the urge to put his hands on your waist and pull you close the entire way. Your kids already saw him kiss you, for the second time. Maybe the third time if some of them witnessed him with his lips all over yours in the parking lot last week. You were holding the coffee he brought for you and glancing back to smile over your shoulder at him, and he had to remind himself not to cause too much of a scene in front of your class.

"What do we say when we have a special guest visit us?" you asked with a smile.

"Thank you!" your students all shouted in unison.

You were smirking at him as you said, "Thanks for visiting us again today, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"I can't seem to stay away," he replied, and when he looked up at the kids sitting at their desks, he realized they were as excited to see him as he was to see them. "I hope you're not sick of me yet."

Violet was shaking her head with her pencil poised over her notebook like she was ready to record everything Bradley said. Henry was halfway onto the top of his desk in anticipation. Jayden shouted out, "No way! You're the coolest adult I ever met!"

Bradley tried to hide his smile, but it was impossible. "You're the eighteen coolest kids I've ever met," he promised. Then he winked at you and said, "And you have a way cooler teacher than I ever had in elementary school." You sipped your coffee happily as he held up the envelope in his hand and said, "I brought a bunch of stuff with me today, including blueprints for some jets that are flown in the Navy. But first, does anyone have any questions they want me to try to answer?"

When one girl's hand shot into the air before the others, he pointed to her and said, "You're Nia, right?"

She nodded as you muttered, "I can't believe you remember who is which kid."

"Yes!" Nia said before pointing from you to Bradley. "Our teacher is really pretty, and we all saw you give her a kiss. Did you marry her?"

Bradley chuckled, and you nearly dropped your drink before ducking away from him. "Uh... not yet, Nia," he told the girl, and her face fell.

"Well, when are you going to?"

Bradley glanced toward Jayden who asked the follow up question and said, "I'm kind of hoping for next summer, but I'll let her decide."

You set the coffee down on your desk and turned to face him with surprise in your eyes. "How about we stay on the topic of aviation?" you asked your class, but your voice sounded soft and breathy. "What's in the classified envelope, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you asked, barely meeting his eyes as you smiled. "Is it really classified?"

Bradley cleared his throat and murmured, "Nah, I just thought it looked cooler." He really wanted to hear your thoughts on his comment about next summer, but that could wait. "But, at one point in time, these blueprints really were classified government property." He emptied the contents out onto Harrison's desk in the row and held up the first blueprint. "Does this look familiar to anyone? I might have sent your teacher a picture of me sitting in the cockpit of this type of jet."

"A Super Hornet!" called Oliver as he bounced in his seat.

"That's right," Bradley told him. "Anyone remember the other name for it?"

When nobody else immediately responded, you said, "It's called the F/A-18. Right?"

"Yeah," he told you with a grin. "That's a gold star and bonus points for the teacher."

You still seemed to be stuck somewhere between surprised and embarrassed, but you returned his smile and asked, "Which other blueprints do you have there?"

Bradley passed around the copy of the F-35 Lightning II before ultimately letting Oliver keep it. "I do recall you saying that flying it would be like slam dunking off the back of a dragon," he said as Oliver's entire face lit up. Then he let everyone look at the blueprints for the EA-18 Growler, the E-2 Hawkeye, and the P-8 Poseidon. There was still a stack in front of him as he said, "There are actually nineteen blueprints here, so everyone can take one home." He quickly swiped the Super Hornet from the pile and walked it over to you. "This one's yours," he told you softly, doing his best to fight the urge to kiss you.

"Cool!" shouted Henry as the blueprints ended up all over the desks. The kids were still examining them loudly as you took the one for the aircraft Bradley flew in your hands.

"Thanks," you whispered, holding it against your chest. "And thanks for coming today."

"Lieutenant Bradshaw?" called Violet. "What happens when one of the aircrafts is broken? Do all the mechanics know how to fix all the airplanes? Or do they only learn how to fix one kind each? And where do they fix them? And did your jet ever need a mechanic?"

"That kid has aviator written all over her," Bradley muttered, letting his fingers brush the side of your hand as he walked toward Violet. "You remember my friend Marty? The mechanic from some of the videos I sent?" When she nodded, Bradley said, "Well, he knows how to fix the Super Hornets and a few other kinds of planes, too. He fixes mine all the time. That's why mechanics get deployed to aircraft carriers just like aviators do. But they also work on base on North Island in San Diego. Where I work most of the time."

Violet looked stunned. "So there are mechanics who fix the planes in San Diego?"

"Yep," Bradley replied as she clutched one of the blueprints in both hands. "In fact, I saw Marty yesterday, fixing part of a combustion chamber in the hangar when I got out of my jet."

Violet squeaked. "Oh, please, Lieutenant Bradshaw. Please, let us go to work with you one day!"

He started laughing as he turned back to look at you, but you just shrugged in response. "I mean, it would be cool," you mused as the rest of your kids chimed in.

"We could see your Super Hornet with your name on the side!"

"We could see all the airplanes!"

"We could talk to Marty!"

"We learned so much about aviation this year! Please?"

Bradley looked around the room and everyone was looking right back at him, waiting for an answer. When he met your eyes, he asked, "Are they allowed to go on a field trip?"

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

When the final dismissal bell rang and your classroom emptied out, you kicked the door closed, leaving you alone with your boyfriend. "Are you serious right now?" you asked with a smile as he pushed you back against the wall and started kissing your neck. "I inquired about taking a field trip to the Naval base ages ago, and everyone essentially told me it's pretty much impossible."

"Mmm," he hummed against your jaw as you pulled him closer. "If you want it, I'll make it happen, Gorgeous."

Your mind was swirling with too much information that didn't all quite make sense but all sounded beautiful nevertheless. "I want it," you whispered. "I want the field trip, and I want you to come back to my place."

He was running the tip of his nose along your ear, and you were slowly melting. "I don't know if I can wait that long. I haven't seen you in three days," he rasped, making you shiver.

"What are you going to do when you're deployed?" you asked him softly, trailing your fingers through his wavy hair.

Bradley groaned. "Baby, we are not talking about that right now."

His deliberate kisses made their way from your neck to your lips, but after a few seconds, you couldn't hold back any longer. You broke the kiss. "Were you serious? About next summer? You and me?"

Bradley's expression was soft as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip and said, "Okay, that we can talk about." Your heart was hammering in your chest as you kissed the side of his thumb. "Gorgeous," he rasped. "Is it really so crazy that I'm convinced we have a future together?"

"No." Your answer was immediate and sincere, because you already knew you felt the same way. "It's not crazy."

He kissed you hard on the lips before taking a step away from you. "Let's get out of here. I'm not going to be able to behave for much longer."

You were all smiles as you added, "And you're going to need to be fed soon."

"See? You already know exactly how to handle me."

Bradley carried your heavy tote bag and travel mug to your car while you held onto the Super Hornet blueprint, and then he followed you back to your apartment in his Bronco. It was almost comical having him there, taking up so much space in each small room, but your smile vanished when he looked you up and down with those pretty brown eyes.

"We should definitely fool around before we eat dinner," you said, and he immediately had you in his arms.

"A hundred percent," he replied, stumbling along to your bedroom. His flight suit was rough against your fingers, but his kisses were soft and sweet. Half of your clothing was off by the time you reached your bed, but he was still trying to pull one of his long sleeves down his arm.

"This is awkward," he mumbled with a laugh as you unhooked your bra. "This fucking flight suit." His movements slowed even more as he watched you drop to your knees in front of him in just your tiny underwear, and you started untying his boots. You looked up at him as you helped him take them off and tossed them aside, and then you pulled his flight suit down to his thighs. "Oh fuck," he whispered, running his fingers along your cheek as you kissed his erection through his briefs.

With his flight suit around his ankles, you looked up at his face and reached for the elastic waistband of his underwear. "Is this okay?" You tugged them down, his cock springing free, and you ran your lips along the tip, waiting for permission to do more.

"Holy shit," he gasped, yanking his undershirt over his head and nodding enthusiastically. "This is never not going to be okay."

You laughed softly before parting your lips and taking the velvety soft head of his cock onto your tongue. Bradley's eyes were glued to your mouth as you swirled your tongue in deliberately slow circles before taking him a little deeper. He was big and thick, but you took him as far as you could over and over, bobbing your head until your eyes watered.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned when you licked at the strands of your saliva dripping down his balls. "Gorgeous. You're filthy." You looked up at him as you rubbed your cheek against his thigh. "And so damn sweet, Baby."

You nuzzled and kissed along his balls, taking his throbbing cock in one hand and giving him a squeeze. Bradley groaned and readjusted his footing, so you did it again. Now he was muttering your name softly and running his fingers along your hair as you sucked on his balls and jerked him off. He let you go for a few minutes, his abs flexing with each labored breath he took, and then you started to suck his cock again.

"Okay, okay," he eventually rasped, reaching for your shoulders and yanking you carefully to your feet. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were parted as you turned away from him and got onto your hands and knees on the bed. He made a strangled noise, but as soon as you glanced back at him, he was on you, pulling your underwear to the side.

"Oh my god," you gasped. His hands were a bit rough on your hips as he started to push himself inside you, and he took you just like that. After a few hard thrusts, you were whining for more, legs shaking with need.

Bradley was babbling as he fucked you, his chest pressed to your back, one big hand stroking down the front of your body to your clit. "You're so fucking tight. Holy shit." He kissed along your shoulder. "You smell so good. I love you, Gorgeous." It sounded like he was lost in you, his voice just behind your ear as he pressed two fingers to your clit until you were panting and coming apart.

Even when you were both spent, he pulled you to your feet while he was still buried deep, and you were slightly dizzy from your receding orgasm. His lips were soft on your neck, and he held you to his chest with his big hands on your body. "If you want a North Island field trip for your class, I'll get right on making it happen first thing tomorrow morning."

You melted against him and whispered, "We're not talking about tomorrow yet. Not when I get to spend the whole night with you first. Let's go make dinner." His stomach growled in response, and you kissed him and said, "I love you."

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

This is every kid's dream field trip! I'm actually a little jealous! Bradley better be able to make this happen for his pen pals. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 15

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arieslost · 8 months ago

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home to you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: oscar does what he should’ve done a long time ago.

word count: 2,978

warnings: healing sunburn right at the beginning, a touch of angst

masterlist — join my tag list here!

this is a PART TWO! read part one here :)

Your sunburn is peeling.

Oscar’s been watching you absentmindedly pick at it for the last ten minutes as you recount your day to him. He’s paying attention to what you’re saying, of course, but now he’s worried that you might accidentally hurt yourself.

“Stop doing that,” he says when you pause to catch your breath, reaching for his phone as if he could put his hand through and stop you himself.

“What?” You frown, and then look at your shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s weirdly satisfying though.”

“This is why you can’t go to the beach by yourself.” Oscar sighs. “You never put on enough sunscreen.”

“I know,” you reply quietly.

As much as both of you have tried, neither of you can help the awkward undertones that seep into every silence you share now. Oscar knows you love him, and you know that he doesn’t feel the same way.

You think he doesn’t feel the same way.

When he saw that look on your face that morning in the kitchen, it reminded him of the way he stared at you on prom night. Oscar didn’t get asked to the senior prom, but you did, and you had turned the offer down. Oscar asked you why, and you told him that you only wanted to go with him, otherwise you weren’t going. You’d dragged him back and forth from your table to the dance floor all night long, and it all would’ve faded into the mush of fleeting high school memories if your favorite song hadn’t come on. Oscar remembers every detail of how your eyes lit up, how you cried, “I love this song!” even though he knew you did, and how you’d grabbed his hands and started dancing with a refreshed energy. He felt like time had stopped and his world revolved around you, and it felt right.

So yeah, he knew the moment you gave him that look that not only did he still love you, but you finally, finally felt the same way. And, for the second time, he’d epically fucked it up.

He often wishes that he could go back and confess to you like he wanted to that night. You’d stayed over because you were too tired to drive home. You were both single. It was the perfect time. But now it’s four years later and he’s sitting in the hotel bathroom on the other side of the world, his girlfriend asleep in the hotel bed, and you on the other end of his phone screen picking at your sunburn that he could’ve prevented had he spent more time with you on vacation.

“You doing okay, Osc?” You ask, pulling on a hoodie of his that you stole from him before he left for his very first F1 race. “Aside from the races, I mean. I know you’re doing great with those.”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” The words come out with practiced ease. “I’d rather hear about how you’re doing though.” I miss you like you wouldn’t believe.

“I think I’ve told you everything like five times now,” you giggle. “I could tell you about the guy that came up to me in the grocery store this afternoon and took a painstakingly long time to ask for my number, but that’s not a long story.”

Oscar’s heart stops. “What?” He replies, teeth gritted, before he clears his throat and lightens his tone. “I mean, what?”

“Yeah, it was kind of strange. He started the conversation by asking me how you were doing, obviously, because you’re so cool and famous-” Oscar flips you off when you roll your eyes, and you laugh. “Anyway, I guess that was his icebreaker, because then he just abruptly segued into grilling me right there in the cereal aisle about my life and how he ‘couldn’t believe he’d never seen me before.’” You recount dramatically. “I’m telling you, Osc, it was nonstop cheesy line after cheesy line. I felt so bad for him I let him have my number.”

“So, he used me as an in and then harassed you until you gave him your number?”

You nod slowly. “Pretty much.”

“You better not actually be considering going out with this guy.” Oscar scoffs.

“Oh, no, I’m not!” You rush to clarify, and he can see a faint blush rising on your cheeks. “I mean, it’s not like I’m waiting for anyone-anything. He was just weird. I only gave him my number so he’d leave me alone… I blocked him when he texted me.”

“You’re horrible,” he starts laughing now, relieved that this guy never even stood a chance. “I love it.”

“You’re supposed to be encouraging me to get out there and find a boyfriend, loser. Brush up on the best friend manual.” You complain, pulling the hood over your head and hiding your face from him so he can’t see how much it hurts to think about finding someone that isn’t him.

He doesn’t notice anyway; he’s distracted by the sound of the covers moving and his girlfriend yawning.

You hear it too, and glance up at the camera. “You have to go?”

His heart breaks at how sad you look. “Yeah, sounds like she’s actually waking up this time. Sorry, honey.”

You shrug, and he knows you’re trying to appear unbothered. “It’s okay. We got, what, an hour and a half? That’s a whole extra 45 minutes or so.”

“You’re allowed to tell me how you really feel, y’know.”

“Damn it, Oscar. You just see right through me. I don’t know why I even bother.” You sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know why, either,” he attempts to joke. “Look, I-”

“Oscar? Where are you?” His girlfriend calls, and you stiffen up at the sound of her voice.

“Be there in a minute!” He responds, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll call you again as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Osc.”

You hang up first.

“I love you,” he whispers to his blank phone screen, and gets up to start his day.

You say it back to your own blank screen and go to sleep.

Oscar comes to the steadfast conclusion that he wants you and only you at his side at his home race, and not as a friend.

Breaking up with his girlfriend still looms over him. He lies awake for way too long at night trying to figure out the nicest way to do it, but his thoughts always end up taking a detour to you and how he wishes it was you sleeping next to him instead.

Despite the struggle going on in his mind, he goes through the motions of PDA with her for all the cameras and other drivers in the paddock to see. Lando is the only one who realizes what his issue is.

“Mate, you have to figure this out.” The older driver said out of the blue as they were lounging in McLaren hospitality after qualifying.

“Huh?” Oscar frowned at him, tearing his eyes away from his texts with you. “I know I fucked up that quali, but it’s not like I can’t improve.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you muppet.” Lando rolled his eyes, and said your name like it’s obvious. “You just have to break up with the girl you’re with now so you can have the girl you really want.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Oscar mumbled, looking at the text from you that had just come in.

Just focus on the race, Osc. Quali’s behind you, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll be cheering you on, what could possibly go wrong??

“It is, if you think about it. Besides, you’ve been acting so weird lately she might already think something’s up.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.” Oscar groaned, sinking lower into his chair.

“Always here for you, mate.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I don’t care.”

That enlightening conversation gets Oscar to finally work up the courage to tell his girlfriend those dreaded words following the race– “We need to talk.”

He waits until they’re in the hotel room after dinner to say it so there’s no audience, primarily because he knows that she’s prone to throwing fits when things don’t go her way. The memory of her losing her mind when he took you to breakfast during vacation comes screaming back to him at the speed of light.

She doesn’t say anything at first; instead, she takes her time removing her shoes and taking the pins out of her hair. Oscar can’t stand the silence, so he starts speaking again.

“It’s about-”

“I think I know what this is about.” She interrupts him.

“You do?”

“I’d have to be stupid not to know, Oscar. You’ve been off for the past few days, it’s only with me, and every time I wake up you’re hiding in the bathroom on the phone.” She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. “I know it’s her, and I’ve known since that vacation. You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re… you’re not gonna yell?” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It won’t get me anywhere, will it?”

“It never did.”

She smiles matter-of-factly. “I guess I have to work on that.”

She packs her things without argument. Oscar offers to buy her a plane ticket somewhere, but she waves him off and thanks him anyway before walking out the door.

The Australian Grand Prix is in two weeks. Oscar doesn’t think before he calls you.

“I’m coming home. I need to see you.”

Your heart has been in your throat ever since Oscar called you this morning. He was so hasty that he didn’t even tell you when he was coming, so every little movement you see outside your window has you running to see if it’s him or not.

He doesn’t show up until almost 9:30 at night. You can hear the engine of his car as he flies through your neighborhood with practiced ease and nearly drifts into your driveway. Your stomach is jumping with nerves and excitement; you didn’t think you’d see him for another two weeks, and despite the awkwardness that your feelings have brought to your friendship, you want nothing more than to hug your best friend.

He starts impatiently knocking on the door as you nearly trip down the stairwell in your rush to let him in.

“Hold on!” You shout, fingers shaking as you unlock the door and wrench it open. “Are you trying to break my door?”

“Jokes later, let me hold you,” he says, reaching for you and meeting you in the middle of the doorway as he pulls you into his chest for a tight embrace.

You melt into him immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck and your nose pressed to the warm skin that peeks out of his hoodie. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you mumble, squeezing him.

He shivers, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, baby.”

I’m sorry, baby. You think about that so much that it shouldn’t hurt anymore. It sobers your mood a little.

“Why, though?” You ask, pulling away a little to look at him. “Don’t you have things to be doing?”

“I may have forced them to clear my schedule by coming home without telling anyone.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim. “Why? You could get in trouble!”

“Can we talk inside?”

“Yeah, of course. C’mon.” You take his hand and lead him into your house.

He takes off his shoes, leaves his suitcase in the hall, and goes to your living room on autopilot, where he flops down on the couch and lets out a long breath. You sit next to him, knees bumping together as you look at him with a reasonable amount of concern. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong with you?”

“I broke up with her.” He says, rolling his head to the side so he’s looking at you. “So, nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit, Osc, it seemed to me like you really liked her.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“Who cares what I think?” Your brain fully computes his words. “Wait- actually, no. I’m not even going to act surprised by the fact that you knew that.” You sigh.

“I care what you think. I care about you. A lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sits up straighter now, turning his whole body to face you. “Like, in a romantic way.”

You blink at him a couple times. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t?” He repeats incredulously.

“You can’t. You don’t.” You say. “You’re lying.”

“I’m lying?” He says through a laugh. “You’ve known me your whole life. When have I ever lied to you?”

You press your lips together. The only time he’s ever lied to you is when he planned your surprise parties. “I’m gonna need you to do a really good job explaining yourself, otherwise I’m kicking you out. You can’t do this to me, Oscar, you know how I feel-”

“Yes, I do, and I’d love to explain if you’d stop spiraling for a second.” He interrupts, taking your hands to ground you.

You’re once again having the dilemma of wanting to push him away and pull him closer simultaneously. The pressure of his hands holding yours succeeds in calming you, so you allow it.

“The whole reason I knew how you felt in the first place is because of the way you looked at me in the kitchen. You didn’t notice, but I looked at you the exact same way at the prom.” He says, gauging your reaction by how your face contorts slightly as you try to remember the prom at all, aside from the fleeting memory of forcing him to slow dance with you. “That feeling like time stops? Like-”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you recall, looking down as he runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Right.” He nods. “Look, the bottom line here is that I screwed up by not telling you then, and if I had, we would’ve been dating for years at this point and this conversation wouldn’t even be happening.”

You feel like you look like a fish out of water with how your jaw is opening and closing, searching for something to say in response. “Osc-”

“If this makes you change your mind, I get it.” He continues. “But the whole reason I came here is to tell you that I love you. I’m in love with you and I have been since we were 18.”

You go to muster up something to say in response when he says one more thing. “Oh, and I’m tired of only being able to see you through the phone. That’s the other reason.”

You can’t help it– that, paired with his polite cat smile, his flushed cheeks, and his confession has you dissolving into giggles. That quickly morphs into laughter that sends you leaning so far forward your head is practically in Oscar’s lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he’s laughing too.

“I hate you so much,” you gasp out, pushing yourself back up so you can look at him when you tell him the complete and total truth. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 14.”

“Shit, that means I have eight years to make up for, not four.”

“Sucks to suck.” You say, easily falling back into your age-old banter.

“You sound like Lando,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “And I was gonna ask if I could kiss you.”

“Ah, shoot. I ruined it.”

“Hmm, no. I’m gonna ask you anyway.” He shifts closer to you, brushing your hair out of your face with both hands. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You start nodding before he even finishes asking, maybe too enthusiastically, but it’s Oscar. He knows you. He wants you. You don’t need to be embarrassed.

The press of his lips against yours is soft, gentle. You always thought that if you ever kissed Oscar it might be too weird, but the only thing you feel now is right.

It feels right to thread your fingers into his hair. It feels right to let him tug you closer, closer, closer, until you have no choice but to straddle him so you can be as close as he wants you. It feels right when his hands slip under your shirt and lightly run over the skin of your back, when his tongue meets yours, when you give his hair an experimental tug and he moans into your mouth.

The only thing wrong about it is that you have no choice but to break the kiss in order to breathe, but even then you don’t move far from each other, breaths mixing in the minimal space between you both.

“We could have been doing that for a long time,” Oscar sighs, throwing his head back against the couch.

“We have all the time in the world now that we stopped being idiots and confessed.” You point out.

“D’you think you can come to the race in a couple weeks? We can take it slow with this, no one needs to know… I just want you to be there.” He asks.

“Of course, Osc, are you kidding?” You run your hands over his shoulders and down to where his hands rest on your hips. “Though, if you win, I can’t promise no PDA or anything.”

“I’d expect nothing less from my girlfriend.” You can feel him tense up a little, like he’s expecting you to react negatively, but he relaxes immediately when your smile lights up your whole face and you kiss him again.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

No one else needs to hear it just yet. You only need to tell each other.

note: i sincerely hope this made up for any tears i may have caused with the angst in the first part. this is the first time i’ve ever been inspired to write a part 2, and i think it’s because i desperately needed it to end happily. thank you so much for all the love on falling for you; i never expected it to get as much attention as it did!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @niallerswolf @fangirl-dot-com @hood-jabi @vellicora @k-pevensie28 @cami26cami @arian-directioner @vildetry06 @hauntedphotographybookstaco @bigheartsthings @northpizzasposts @notturlover @riv3rbank @gesfjjsl @oliveisunstable @lily1sposts @sadbut-true0 @lilcowboy0 @alltoowelltaylor @kimis-gloves @superheroreader @alexmarie29 @anedpev @lalalaphie @waitingforsmartpeople @arrowenchantress @zillygoose @its-cat-eyes @gxllumsriddles @fionaschicken @mrsgeorgerussell63 @bre013 @lizzypiastri @blldsnjs @samantha-chicago @homosexualjohnwayne @opheliabluewolff @catbat011 @drivelikeiido @what-is-happening-helpp @decafmickey @tania2748 @steviesscoops @annahowardsworld

#full fic #op81 week #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 fluff

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loggiepj · 1 month ago

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Crush

Cheerleader Wanda x Nerd Fem Reader Short Stories

Wanda walks in, wearing her school's cheerleading uniform, along with her friends Natasha, Maria and Carol. Every student in the hallway stares at them as they pass along, books falling from grasp, whistles from all corners and sound of clapping from the basketball team.

You on the other hand is busy with your camera, a vintage Olympus Pen EE-3. You are to meet Pietro in the school's darkroom to have the pictures you have taken earlier that morning developed. You are a senior transferee from a neighboring school and have only started three months ago, yet you have no problem finding friends like Pietro and Yelena.

Unaware of the popular girls heading your way, you accidentally bump into Wanda as they begin to turn around the corner.

"Watch where you're going!" Wanda yells when her uniform is ruined by the cup of coffee she is carrying.

"Shit, sorry, Wands," you apologize. You take tissues from your bag as you attempt to wipe the stain off her uniform.

"Oh, it's you, Y/n," Wanda says. Her demeanor has softened when she sees your pretty face, smiling from ear to ear. "It's okay, I brought a spare uniform in my locker. Why don't you buy me a cup of coffee instead as payback? Later at 4pm after cheer practice?"

You nod, breathless. "Yeah, sure, Wands. I'll see you later then."

Wanda smiles before leaning in to kiss your cheek, making you blush and frozen on the spot.

The girls then walk away, Natasha laughing with others. "Gosh, why is she so oblivious?"

Wanda sighs, wiping her uniform with the tissue you gave. "I don't know. I don't know if she even likes me."

"Come on, Wanda," Carol interrupts. "You're everybody's type."

"Not hers," she complains as as she arrives at her locker and takes the extra uniform she brought with her to school.

Wanda thinks it was love at first sight when she saw you in her house months ago, playing video games with her brother Pietro. You are in the same class as him. Wanda has heard about a new student starting that day and she has been so ecstatic to meet you and endorse her candidacy as the class president. She has no idea that you will take her breath away when meeting you.

Wanda is used to have a number of suitors, both boys and girls, but no one has caught her attention yet. Wanda thought being a cheerleader would help her romantically, but somehow she was never interested in anyone after a single date. She will probably die a virgin.

But when she hears you laugh, it is the most beautiful thing Wanda has ever heard in her life. And it has become her mission to get to know you and be hers.

The only downside to it is you never seem interested in her. In fact, you are the only one who hasn't asked her out. She tried to ask Pietro if you were dating someone and if you liked girls, but he was also unaware of the answers.

Unbeknownst to Wanda though, your cheeks never return back to normal as you head to the darkroom to find Pietro. You have been crushing on his sister for too long now, but you know you have no chance.

You're barely a nobody. While Wanda is part of the popular girls, you are just the school's newly assigned photographer.

You fell in love with Wanda when you took a picture of her in one of their cheerdancing practices, as ordered by the principal for the school newspaper.

You are basically a nerd, standing on the very last level of the food chain. She won't see you that way.

Wanda nods then turns back to her locker. She smiles as she brushes the selfie of you two together taped in her locker before closing.

But Wanda has seen you in every way.

"Come on, Wanda," Natasha calls, bringing Wanda back to the present. "We're going to be late for cheer practice."

Author's note: This will be a part of a series of short drabbles about Cheerleader Wanda, because I want to read more about Cheerleader Wanda but I don't have enough words to turn it into a fanfic. 😂✌

"Girls! Wait for me!" Wanda shouts as she runs towards her friends.

#wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda cheerleader

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peachyhalstead · 9 months ago

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married man | j. halstead

request:Can you do a Jay Halstead x Reader. They are both married and have a child together. The child just started pre-k or kindergarten and since the reader is heavily pregnant Jay has been dropping off and picking up their kid. And maybe like the single moms are flirting with Jay since they think he might be a single dad but they get surprised when the reader picks the kid one day after giving birth.

pairing: established (married) fem!reader x jay halstead

word count: 1.75k

warnings: none??

a/n: dad!jay dad!jay dad!jay !!!!! they have a little boy (his name is dylan) and a newborn girlie (what should her name be)

------

Grumbling as the alarm went off, you blindly reached over and whacked Jay on the chest. “Why’s it have to be so loud?”

Jay chuckled, silencing his phone’s alarm. “It’s not even that loud, babe.”

You glared at him through narrow eyes. “If I wasn’t about to pop right now I’d give you a piece of my mind.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, Jay got out of bed and folded his portion of the comforter back up, trapping the heat for you. “Only a few more weeks, babe. Then you’ll be able to move without having to pee every two seconds.”

You slowly followed Jay, yawning and rubbing the nine-month bump as you headed into the kitchen to package your son’s lunch.

He had recently started kindergarten, and loved telling you and Jay about all his escapades with his classmates as he learned different things.

“I could’ve done that, you didn’t have to get up.” Jay said, popping a capsule into the coffee machine and starting it.

Shrugging, you zipped the lunchbox closed and set it next to the matching blue backpack, one hand going to rub at the sore spot on your back. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep.”

Jay noticed, and his hands slowly made their way to the exact spot that bothered you in your first pregnancy. “Who do you thinks going to ask me out today, hm?”

Laughing softly, you clicked your tongue at Jay. “You really enjoy that, don’t you? Miss getting hit on?”

Jay shook his head. “Don’t miss it one bit. Just enjoy seeing those soccer moms think their whispers are quiet.”

A few weeks ago Jay had mentioned that some of the moms at drop-off had been talking about Jay, commenting on his lack of wedding band and no significant other ever at drop off or pick up.

“Momma, when will you go to school with me?” Dylan asked, your son finally making his appearance in his pajamas.

“Soon, little bug. Once Little Sister is here, I’ll drop you off with Daddy some days.”

Dylan frowned. “Can Sissy come now?”

You huffed, wanting nothing more than to deliver the weight that seemed to be constantly on your bladder. “I wish, but I think she needs a few more weeks.”

Jay smiled into his coffee cup, phone chiming with a text from Hailey. “Come on, Dyl. Let’s get dressed so you can show your friends your new shoes.”

Dylan beamed at the thought, and followed Jay back to his room, leaving you alone in the warm kitchen. The aroma of coffee lingered as you found a chair to rest in, hand absently tracing circles over your distended belly.

A sigh of contentment escaped you; this was your world, and despite the groggy mornings and occasional aggravations - like trying to convince Dylan to brush his teeth properly - you wouldn’t change it for anything else. That was the beauty of family - it wasn’t always perfect, but it was yours. And that made all the imperfections precious in their own odd way.

The sound of Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts as he asked Dylan to choose between two shirts. You smiled, knowing how seriously your little boy took these morning decisions. Sipping on some water and slowly standing up, you decided to start breakfast.

The scent of eggs and bacon soon filled the room, joining the still lingering coffee aroma. Dylan would be excited; he loved his simple morning breakfasts. As you were flipping an egg, Jay returned with Dylan in tow. Their matching grins caught your eye.

“What are you two up to?” You questioned playfully, adjusting your hold on your bump.

“Nothing,” they both chimed in unison, their grins growing even wider.

“Okay,” you drew out the first syllable, grabbing a plate and moving the eggs for Dylan to eat, blowing on them as you cut them into pieces.

“Eat, then Daddy will bring you to school.” You smiled, cracking a few more eggs and grabbing a tortilla and the toppings you knew Jay liked, quickly making a breakfast wrap for him.

Wrapping it in foil, you smiled to yourself as you heard Jay helping Dylan put on his sneakers.

“Ok, we gotta go, Little Man! Go give Momma a kiss.”

Dylan skipped over to you, wrapping his little arms around your legs, promising you he’d come home with a drawing to put in the nursery.

Thanking him, you smiled at Jay as he grabbed the wrap and his badge, stopping to press a kiss to your forehead. “Take it easy today, babe.”

“I will. Go break hearts and catch perps, Jay.”

——

Jay hid his eye roll as he followed Dylan to the drop off location, ignoring the looks from the few single mothers nearby.

“I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t grab that ass? He’s such a good dad, too.”

Jay overheard one of the mothers and shook his head, stifling a laugh. He still found it amusing and somewhat flattering to know that he was the topic of their little gossip circle. But he also knew firmly where his heart lay - at home with you and Dylan, and soon, your new little girl.

As Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, he turned to Jay with a big grin. "Daddy, do you think I can tell Mrs. Johnson about Sissy coming soon?"

Jay bent down to his level, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Of course, buddy. I'm sure she will be thrilled to hear it."

At that moment, a pair of giggling women walked by, shooting him suggestive glances over their shoulders. He merely smiled politely before turning away.

Arriving back at the car, Jay pulled out his phone and saw a text from you: Feeling better now that the house is empty. How did drop off go?

He quickly typed back: Smooth as always. He's telling all his teachers about his soon-to-be little sister.

Satisfied, he started the vehicle and headed towards the precinct. His phone chimed again with your response: That's my boy! Take care at work, Jay.

He chuckled as he imagined you grinning at your phone, feet kicked up on the coffee table even though you often chided him for doing the same thing.

——

The routine didn’t shift for the next few weeks, but the gossiping mothers were surprised when Dylan was dropped off by Will one day, Jay at the hospital where you were currently resting with the newest addition to the family.

“Uncle Will, can we see Momma and Sissy after school?” Dylan asked, tugging on his uncle’s hand.

"Of course, buddy," Will replied with a soft smile, watching as Dylan's face lit up with joy. "I bet they can't wait to see you."

Once Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, Will indulged in a moment of silence. He was used to the emergency room's relentless noise and bustle, so the unfamiliar hush of the school yard in the early morning was a welcome respite. A group of mothers were huddled together, shooting glances his way. Perhaps he was becoming part of their gossip routine now too - he silently hoped otherwise.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Jay could barely tear his gaze away from you sleeping peacefully, the tiny bundle in his arms a testament to your strength and love. His heart swelled in his chest at the sight; you looked more beautiful than ever, your face radiating an exhausted but blissful glow as your daughter, their daughter, clung onto his finger with her small hand.

Just then, she stirred awake and let out a soft whimper which turned into a loud wail. He quickly got up and started to gently rock her, not wanting her cries to disturb your much-needed rest.

“Hey there, little princess,” he cooed softly as he bounced her gently in his arms. “Let’s not wake Mommy up now.”

After a few minutes of gentle rocking and hushed lullabies - Jay trying his best to remember the ones you sung to Dylan when he was an infant, the baby quieted down, blue eyes peering up at her father.

“Hi, munchkin. You already have half of Chicago’s first responders wrapped around your finger.” He whispered, soft smile at his lips as he thought back to the replies from his team when he sent the photo of the baby in the group chat.

"The other half is itching to meet you. Just wait until Uncle Will gets a hold of you. You're going to be spoiled rotten." He laughed softly, mindlessly tracing a finger over his daughter's tiny forehead.

His phone buzzed where he had left it on the bedside table. It was a message from Will letting him know that Dylan had been dropped off at school and asking if they could come by after school to see the baby.

Jay's heart swelled, even more, knowing his son was equally excited about his little sister's arrival. Jay quickly typed a response, assuring Will they would be more than happy to have visitors later in the day.

——

The day passed in a flurry of nurses checking vitals and bringing meals, phone calls from family and friends, and quiet moments spent marveling over their newest addition. Dylan was bursting with energy when Will brought him by after school, his wide eyes taking in everything with an infectious excitement that had everyone in the room smiling.

"Momma, Sissy is really small!" Dylan whispered in awe as he approached the bed, carefully peering over the edge of the bassinet.

You chuckled at his innocent observation as Jay helped him climb up onto the bed to get a better look. "Yes, she is," you agreed with a fond smile. "You were that small, too, Little Man!”

Dylan looked at you with wide eyes, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh!”

“Mhmm!” You replied, fixing his shirt as he squirmed to get another look at his sister.

“When can you and Sissy come to school?” He asked, looking at you.

Jay laughed quietly, and you looked at your husband. “Soon, Dyl.”

——

Two weeks later, you consoled the crying baby as Jay helped Dylan put his backpack on. “Can Sissy come meet Mrs. Johnson?”

Shaking your head, you carefully strapped the little girl into her carrier, softly rubbing her cheek. “Not yet. Maybe during the spring concert, but she’s still too little.”

Jay stood up and grabbed his keys. “She can help Momma and Daddy drop you off, though. That sound good?”

Dylan’s face lit up at the thought. “Yeah! Everyone will get to see her!” He jumped excitedly before Jay guided him out the door.

Satisfied with your successful early morning, you carried the baby carrier to the car and buckled it in securely at the back seat. Moving around was still a little tough for you but you were slowly getting the hang of things. You climbed into the passenger side, glancing back at Dylan who was squirming in his seat with anticipation.

The drive to the school was filled with Dylan's non-stop chatter about what he was going to show his little sister. Jay had a soft smile on his face as he listened to his son, occasionally glancing at you in admiration and shared joy.

Once they arrived in front of the school, Dylan unbuckled himself and carefully opened your car door for you. “Be careful, Momma!” He cautioned, making Jay chuckle as he followed behind with his son’s backpack.

You smiled, letting Jay go ahead with Dylan so he wasn’t late, working to unstrap your daughter’s carrier so Dylan could see her one last time before he was in school.

“Jay, haven’t seen you the last few days. Is everything okay?” One of the mothers who had tried to hit on Jay asked, faux worry on her face.

Jay wore a smile as he turned to the woman, Dylan's hand tucked safely in his own as they made their way toward the school entrance. "Yeah, everything’s great, actually. My wife just gave birth to our second child," he responded casually, nodding his head towards the car where you were carefully lifting the baby carrier.

The woman blinked in surprise before offering a tight-lipped smile, "Oh, I didn’t know... congratulations."

"Thanks," Jay replied with a nod before turning his attention back to Dylan whose bundle of excitement was barely contained. As Jay opened the door for him to enter he looked into the bright eyes of his son and smiled reassuringly, "You ready?"

Dylan nodded eagerly, already tugging on his father's hand to drag him inside. Jay followed docilely, striding up the hallway towards Dylan's classroom.

Meanwhile, you were still out by the car, struggling slightly with the baby carrier that seemed to weigh even more than your now two-week-old daughter. A few mothers noticed and stepped forward to help you, their faces lighting up at the sight of the infant bundled up against the cold.

"Oh she's absolutely adorable!" One woman cooed, and you recognized her from when Jay was telling you how one of them started to wear low-cut tops after he started doing drop off duty.

You walked with them to the doors, smile brightening when you saw Jay and Dylan at the door, the young boy wanting to say goodbye to his sister.

“Bye, Sissy! Bye, Momma!” Dylan smiled, giving his sister a kiss and hugging your legs, unaware that his farewells caused the mothers who had walked with you to gasp lightly.

Jay’s smile widened at Dylan's display of affection, ruffling his son's hair gently, "Alright, champ. We’ll pick you up later. Have a great day at school."

Dylan nodded eagerly before disappearing into the bustling school building with his teacher. The remaining mothers turned to you, their surprised expressions replaced by warm, slender smiles as they admired your little girl.

Back in the car, you laughed as Jay started the ignition. “Think I felt the daggers from some of the moms when they found out you’re married.”

Jay snorted, turning back to the road to your house. “Well, that or when they found out we have great sex. Either way, watch your back, babe.”

You gawked at Jay’s remark, hitting him in the chest. “Jay! Your daughter is listening!”

“Oh, she’ll hear worse when Ruz babysits her." ------ a/n: send requests if you wanna!!

#jay halstead x fem!reader #jay halstead x you #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead #chicago pd fanfic #chicago pd #one chicago

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skeltnwrites · 1 month ago

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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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yujisgirl · 11 months ago

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Yuji NSFW Links / Visuals ᥫ᭡

... with short fics <3

These are real ns//fw links btw! Human bodies etc not animated! Need to be signed into Twitter/X to see these videos ♡

These stories happen in chronological order! ... ! afab reader

Next: Toji + Choso + Gojo + Nanami + Shiu + Sukuna + Higuruma... so stay tuned!

𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪 Toji's Visuals: Click Here ❤︎

"Come over to my place after school?"

was all you told your highschool boyfriend, Itadori yuuji. It was supposed to be a little hang out; especially since exams had just been over and you both had missed each other so much.

Needless to say, you guys definitely "caught up" ...

Highschool boyfriend Yuuji!

જ⁀➴

"Does this look good on me?"

You definitely used this mall date as an excuse to rile yuji up even more. He's sure of it. Why else would you be picking the skimpiest swimsuits to "try on" - you're not even part of the swim team!

As soon as you guys left the mall, he grabs your arm and brings you over to an alley, "Need to fuck this hole before we leave"

In public with Yuji

જ⁀➴

"Do you want your present now?"

you said . Yuji tilts his head in confusion, his graduation cap threatening to fall of his pink hair as he raises his wrist, dangling the bracelet you had just gifted him, "Isnt this your present?".

"I have another one you know" You gesture to the Love Motel just down the street.

Your graduation gift to Yuuji

જ⁀➴

"I love you. I love every part of you"

The first time yuji had said "I love you" was when you came to visit him in college. The pain of being away from you only heightened his desires and needs. He needs you, not just in a sexual way but in every part of his life, through and through.

He worships every inch of your body

જ⁀➴

"Lets test our new bed, yeah?"

Maybe it was the adrenaline of finally moving in with yuji, Maybe it was the stress build up from the moving process but as soon as the land lord left your new house you guys were onto each other like animals.

You tested the firmness of every single furniture you bought. The bed, the new sofa, the kitchen counter, the beanbag that you got from Yuji's old house, and of course the balcony.

Testing beds with Yuuji

Testing beds Part 2.

જ⁀➴

"Is this why you wanted to move in together?"

you giggled. "Fuck." Yuji was too pussy drunk to even form a coherent reply, "m'you feel so good. Wanna live in this pussy forever"

Morning's with Yuuji

જ⁀➴

"Im reading right now"

you said.

Yuji pouts.

Shit. Thats your soft spot.

"Fine, you win."

જ⁀➴

"Babe, you really shouldnt wear that around me"

yuji's eyes werent even looking into yours, he was staring right at your boob window.

"Why?" You questioned.

"Makes me wanna suck on your tits" He deadpanned, eyes tracing the curves of your breasts.

"Whats stopping you?"

જ⁀➴

"Good job baby"

was all you said. Really.

How were you supposed to know that it would result in a marathon of rounds with Yuji?

He finally got recognised as a Jujutsu sorcerer by the elders, and you couldnt be more happy for your boyfriend. You expected him to come home with tears in his eyes, or something but no- he came home and went straight to your room, "Baby, I need to fuck you"

Is it his fault that youre all that plagues his mind night and day, and when he experienced emotions in a grand scale, he immediately gets horny?

Maybe you're all he needs

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winterarmyy · 4 months ago

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Steal Me Away

Glimpses of the grumpy chubby alpha!bucky's love life.

Summary: When Bucky was stuck in an unpleasant lunch with his co-workers; he thought about how nice it would be if someone comes and steals him away.

Navigation: Prequel || Main Story I || Main Story II || Main Story III

Pairing: chubby alpha!bucky x omega!female!reader

Words: 2.6k++

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics. no plot, just fluff. low-key body shamming, bullying, bucky and his omega being adorable. (tell me is there's anything else I missed)

P/S: Impulsive writing at 3am in the morning because I couldn't sleep, then left the draft to rot for weeks, now posted. Also tagging @serendipitouslife90 because she's the biggest fan of this au. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short fic and happy reading! 🤍

Read my other works here: Masterlist

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Bucky’s cubicle, casting narrow strips of light across his cluttered desk. The office was its usual sanctuary of muted tones and hushed conversations. Colleagues navigated the aisles like cautious explorers, their brief nods to Bucky barely concealing their unease.

He didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Solitude was his comfort zone, and he relished the uninterrupted focus on his work.

Bucky tapped away at his keyboard, the rhythmic clacking serving as his meditation. His thoughts were like the lines of code he worked with; orderly, precise, and devoid of unnecessary embellishments. Socializing was a distraction he neither wanted nor needed.

The occasional murmurs of sympathy about his less-than-ideal body shape for an Alpha like him, or the prosthetic arm he wore to make up for his imperfection, had long since ceased to bother him. They were background noise in the symphony of his workday.

Two weeks had passed since Bucky had last seen y/n, their second date now a vivid but distant memory. Their time together had been cut short, both of them consumed by the relentless demands of their careers. Especially for Bucky, the high-pressure world of software engineering was unforgiving.

Ever since he was in school, he always had the knack for tech but as he grew up, his path lead away from it. Then after his abrupt release from military service, he was lost for a moment. He lost his position and quite literally his limb. After he was introduced to Stark Technologies for is prosthetic, his interest in tech bloomed once more.

Fast forward, he had transitioned to civilian life with a single-minded focus on his career. The transition from soldier to software engineer had been a challenging yet rewarding shift, one that demanded every ounce of his dedication.

His days were a blur of client meetings, coding marathons, and sleepless nights, leaving him barely enough time to recharge. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't escape the gnawing sense of guilt that tugged at him.

Y/n had been understanding, insisting that they could take things slow and that she was patient. Yet Bucky felt a pressing need to make up for the lost time, to show her that she was more important than the endless stream of work that consumed him.

His longing for her was a constant undercurrent in his daily routine, a reminder of the connection he cherished and the promises he hoped to fulfill, even amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule.

Lunchtime arrived with an uncharacteristic intrusion; Brock’s insistent presence. Bucky had settled into his usual corner of the break room, anticipating a quiet meal alone.

But Brock, with his usual smirk, plopped down across from him, completely unfazed by Bucky’s visible discomfort.

“You know, Bucky,” he started, his tone laced with false camaraderie, “maybe you should join us for lunch this time. Walk off that fat in your belly, and maybe, just maybe, might help you lose a few pounds and get that soldier body of yours again.”

The comment triggered a ripple of reactions around the break room. A few colleagues, particularly those who fancied themselves as superior alpha, snickered behind their coffee cups, enjoying the moment at Bucky’s expense. The rest of the room fell into an awkward silence; some looked away, unable or unwilling to get involved, while others exchanged nervous glances, wary of crossing the line with either of the alpha males.

Bucky’s mind raced with a mix of frustration and contemplation. Brock’s taunts were nothing new, but the timing was particularly irritating. With his packed schedule and the constant pressure of meeting deadlines, Bucky had barely had a moment to breathe, let alone deal with petty office politics.

The jabs felt like an unnecessary complication in an already strained day. His thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration; he wondered why he always ended up the target of Brock’s remarks and whether it was a reflection of his own choices or just Brock’s way of asserting dominance.

The palpable tension in the room only added to his mounting irritation.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his irritation simmering beneath a thin veneer of politeness. “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He didn’t bother hiding the grumble in his voice. His work would have to wait, and so would his patience.

The café buzzed with conversation and clinking dishes, an atmosphere of forced cheerfulness that did little to mask the underlying tension. Bucky took his seat with a sigh, his mind already drifting to y/n, the image of her smile a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

Brock wasted no time in launching his passive-aggressive jabs, each comment about Bucky’s weight or his vibranium prosthetic arm more cutting than the last. Bucky could feel the rage bubbling up, but he forced himself to stay calm, focusing instead on the thought of y/n. The warm glow of her presence seemed to wrap around him, even in the midst of Brock’s taunts.

Brock leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know, Bucky, it's always something watching you eat alone. Maybe if you spent less time working and more time mingling; hit the gym with us after work or something. Who knows you might actually find yourself a date for once.”

The remark seemed casual, almost playful, but it carried a veiled sting. It wasn’t just about Bucky’s solitary lunchtime habits; it was a pointed jab at his single status, suggesting that his lack of romantic success might be due to his social ineptitude and undesirable body.

Bucky’s patience snapped. He leaned forward, his voice cold and controlled. “I don’t know, Brock. Honestly, it’s much better to be alone than to ‘mingle’ with someone who’s all bark and no bite.” He fearlessly maintained his cold gaze; eyes seemingly bore the words his lips never spoke. “…Like you”

Brock's face flushed a deep crimson, and his jaw tightened in a futile attempt to maintain composure. He muttered something about needing a smoke before hastily exiting the room, his pride stinging from the unexpected jab. The rest of the team sat in an uneasy silence, the tension almost tangible.

They watched as Bucky’s eyes bore into Brock’s retreating figure, cold and unyielding. There was something almost feral in his gaze, a silent promise of consequences that only someone with true authority and control could convey.

Everyone knew better than to provoke him further; Bucky's look was a chilling reminder that he played by his own rules.

Brock stepped out of the café, his frustration boiling over as he lit a cigarette. With each inhale of nicotine, he muttered darkly under his breath, cursing Bucky and grumbling about how that fat-ass loser like him had the audacity to undermine his clearly more superior alpha status.

His anger was a tempest, raging against the affront to his ego.

As he paced, his gaze drifted to the sidewalk next to the café, where a striking woman in a sundress was engrossed in her phone. The late afternoon sun highlighted the gentle curves of her figure, and her unblemished skin glowed softly, exposed at the back of her neck.

Brock’s eyes raked over her with a predatory appreciation, the male gaze undeniable in his scrutiny.

Her poised stance and soft demeanor hinted at an aura of femineity that intrigued him. A smirk curved his lips as he took another drag from his cigarette, already imagining how he might woo her, hoping that a little charm could be the distraction he needed from his bruised pride.

Back in the café, Bucky was still seated at the table, surrounded by the typical midday hustle, yet he remained ensconced in a bubble of tranquility. His attention was focused solely on his phone, where a soft, contented smile played on his lips. The noise of the café faded into the background as he read through y/n’s messages.

Each word from her was a thread that connected him to a part of his life that felt more real and meaningful than the relentless grind of his daily routine.

Y/n had inquired about his lunch, her questions laced with genuine curiosity. “How was your lunch?” “Was it any good?” “How’s your day been so far?” The inquiries seemed almost innocent, yet they carried a warmth that enveloped him.

And then, the message that tugged at his heartstrings: “I miss you.” It was as if her words had the power to reach through the screen and touch him directly, offering a solace that was hard to find amidst the chaos left from the prior event.

He missed her deeply.

The absence of her voice, the comfort of her presence. He wished that she could just steal him away; or perhaps he would be stealing her away?

Eitherway, he just wants to get out of here.

As he glanced at the time, noting that he still had about thirty minutes before he needed to return to the office, he made a quick decision. He would step outside for a moment, away from the unnecessary drama, and maybe give her a call.

The thought of hearing her voice, even if only for a brief conversation, was a beacon of light in his otherwise frenetic day. As Bucky stepped out of the café, his gaze remained fixed on his phone, where y/n’s last message glowed softly on the screen.

Unbeknownst to him, the scene unfolding just a few paces away was far less pleasant. Brock, still nursing his bruised ego from their earlier encounter by relentlessly flirting with the girl. “Come on, sweetheart, just one date.” Brock said, his voice low and laced with insincere flirtation.

He leaned in close, a smirk playing on his lips as his hand reached out, brushing against her exposed shoulder. Y/n recoiled slightly, her discomfort palpable. “I’m really not interested,” she said firmly, though her voice carried an undercurrent of unease. “and I have a boyfriend.”

Brock’s persistence only grew more insistent. “I doubt that. I can see you do not have his mark here,” he persisted, his hand lingering uncomfortably on her shoulder, close to where her mating mark supposed to reside. Despite her attempts to shrug off his advances, Brock didn’t relent. His touch was intrusive, and his words edged on harassment. And she can sense the scent of arousal coming from the alpha.

Y/n’s eyes darted around, seeking an escape from the unwanted attention. As her gaze fell behind Brock, she caught sight of a familiar figure; one that seemed to offer a lifeline amidst her distress.

“Bucky?” she called out, her voice tinged with both relief and surprise. The name escaped her lips before she could fully process the situation, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of Bucky walking toward them.

Bucky knew that voice. It was a sound that resonated deep within him, as familiar as his own heartbeat. He lifted his eyes from his phone, and the world around him sharpened into focus. The scene before him was both infuriating and unmistakable: Brock, with his sleazy smirk and inappropriate proximity, stood uncomfortably close to Bucky's omega, his hand hovering dangerously near her exposed shoulder.

A surge of primal fury shot through Bucky, a blaze of anger that burned through his veins and coiled tight in his chest. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity, a low, guttural growl forming in his throat as he prepared to confront the intruder. His body tensed, ready to pounce.

But before he could make a move, y/n was already in motion. She leaped into his arms with a mix of desperation and joy, catching Bucky off guard. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely against his chest.

Her arms clung tightly to his nape, her face burying itself into the crook of his neck as if seeking refuge; shamelessly scenting him. Her warm breath and soft sighs was a soothing cure to his simmering rage.

The anger that had been boiling inside him began to fizzle away, replaced by a profound sense of relief and love. The sound of her happy purrs, the feel of her soft body pressed against his, and her intoxicatingly sweet scent; all of it made his anger dissolve into a tender, protective affection.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his arms tightening around her waist as he relished in the comforting closeness. “Hi, sugar.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection and relief.

Bucky's hold loosen as he leaned down, his gentle smile never faltering as he closed the distance between them. His eyes softened with affection, and he pressed his lips against y/n's in a kiss so tender it felt like a whisper. It was a soft, loving caress that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

But before he could pull back, y/n’s playful energy erupted. She cupped his cheeks in her delicate hands, pulling him down to her level with a sudden, joyful enthusiasm.

Her lips attacked his with a flurry of kisses; quick, warm, and full of exuberance. Each kiss left behind a trace of her strawberry-scented lipstick, creating a trail of smudged rosy color across his face. The marks dotted his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and even his lips, a vibrant testament to her affection.

Amused laughter bubbled up from Bucky, the sound a rare and delightful departure from his usual stoic demeanor. His eyes twinkled with genuine mirth, his grumpy alpha persona completely melted away in the face of y/n’s loving onslaught.

He reveled in the smothering of her kisses, his initial tension and anger forgotten. A satisfied rumble vibrates on his throat, across his chest. The contrast between his earlier anger and the unrestrained joy he now experienced was stark; the shift was almost palpable.

Lost in their own world, the two seemed oblivious to their surroundings. Their display of affection was unabashedly public, a stark contrast to the earlier tension. Y/n looked up at him with bright eyes, her voice filled with eager excitement as she asked if he still had time.

“I want to steal you away.” she said with a playful smile.

Bucky’s smile widened, his heart swelling with happiness. “Of course, sugar. Anything for you.” he replied, his voice tender and filled with genuine warmth.

But as Bucky’s gaze shifted away from y/n and landed on Brock, his soft features momentarily disappeared. His expression hardened, the warmth in his eyes turning to ice. The switch in his demeanor was chilling; an instant transformation from the tender lover to a menacing figure.

The coldness in his eyes was a silent, yet unmistakable warning. It was as though a dark storm cloud had settled over him, a clear signal that Brock's earlier arrogance had crossed an unforgivable line.

The intensity of Bucky’s stare spoke volumes, a silent promise of retribution and a reminder of the strength behind his calm exterior. The abrupt shift in his demeanor was a jarring contrast to the affection he had just displayed, sending a clear message to Brock that any further provocation would be met with unspeakable consequences.

As Bucky and y/n walked hand in hand away from the café, Brock stood there, fuming and humiliated. His attempt to belittle Bucky had backfired spectacularly.

Inside the café, Bucky’s colleagues had their jaws dropped. They were astonished not only by y/n’s ethereal beauty but also by the sight of Bucky, usually so composed and reserved, smiling so openly. They were completely stunned by the unexpected display of vulnerability and affection from the grumpy loner.

The couple continued down the street, their hands clasped together. The afternoon sun cast long shadows as they headed towards their next destination.

Bucky’s smile was genuine, a rare and precious sight as he looked down; memorizing the way her hand perfectly intertwined with his. At that moment, he couldn’t help but think how much he wished y/n would steal him away more often.

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for staying to the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy reading it!

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #alpha!bucky x reader #alpha!bucky #and you're mine au #bucky fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic

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vespertiliosworld · 4 months ago

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Friends

Damian Wayne x Reader

Note: If I made a mistake, please forgive me, English is not my native language.

『••✎••』

You don't even know how you managed to be friends with the little arrogant Damian Wayne. Among the art of the students in the small gallery opened by the school, the arts of the two of you were the most striking among everyone.

You always saw drawing as the best way to express problems. The view 'Art is for people' was valid for you.

On the other hand, the view that 'Art is for art's sake' was more appropriate for Damian. I don't think this arrogant demon will care about people.

Nevertheless, you became friends, You spend many time just talking about art, after that Damian realized that, you are different from others. He appropriated your knowledge. He was start to get interested with you. He was listening your talks closely.

That boy never stopped rattling about you. Especially to Tim. He never miss an opportunity to telling him to how smart you are and your being better Tim, without doing anything. He kept talking about you while criticizing Tim. This take Dick's attention.

Dick get suspended about Damian's attention to you. Even Jason, realized Damian's interest on you. That was unexpected. Of course, Damian was growing, of course he was going to get some love interest but you were the first civilian one, Damian liked.

Just think about that little gremlins just standing there, his arms wrapped around his chest, looking Tim by with his eyes before starting to compare you both and praise you.

While time passes you two get closer. He was now judging every single person who try to flirt with you. He wasn't thinking that anyone can be good for you but him. He invited you to an art gala.

It was simple and quick. You two was sitting on grass at school. You were looking to social media and showed him to an art gala. "Look at that! Most important artist were coming."

He turn his gaze to your phone from his book with frown eyebrows. "Tch, I know that. My family are going to." He said this like nothing.

You turn your phone to yourself. "Gosh! You are so lucky." I whimper to him with a bit jealousy.

He closed his book and turn his eyes to you. "If you want, you can come to."

You look him with widening eyes in disbelief. "Really? But I'm not invited and also I'm not important person like other guests." You turn your gaze back to your phone hesitantly.

He shrug his shoulders. "I bet, you are more intelligent more than others." His eyes catch your hesitant. "Just come with me. It's better to talk with you than talking to my father's adulatorys." He grimaced at the thought.

You chuckled softly. "I can't say no to this opportunity." You take a deep breath with happiness. "What should I wear? Like a long dress?" You looked at him with teasing gaze.

He rolled his eyes. " Just don't exaggeration."

You looked at him giggling. "But I was thinking of coming in a gold-plated dress." You patted his arm jokingly.

His lips curled to up, a little smile's shadow appeared. "Then maybe I should send you a dress so you don't have to do that," He said teasingly as he turned his gaze back to the book.

You turned your head to him with a slight chuckle. "Don't worry, I won't embarrass you. Still, thank you for inviting me." You looked at him with a warm smile.

When Damian's eyes fell on your smile, he couldn't help but feel proud of himself. "I know." He said simply. Before getting up from where he was sitting, he looked at you. "We will pick you up at six on Saturday."

You nodded and smiled. "Okay."

He reached out his hand to to lift you from the grass

***

You started to think about what to wear with worry from the morning on that day. Until a box arrives for you. After receiving the box from the courier, the note on top caught your attention. 'Wear this. -Damian.'

When you opened the box with a smile, there was a dress exactly as you wanted. It was absolutely beautiful, just your style. The thought of Damian getting it for you excited you. After putting on the dress and wearing short heels, you spent a few hours doing your makeup and hair. You were excited and a little worried because it was the first time you would be in such an environment. You were also thinking about not embarrassing Damian.

But when the doorbell rang, you hurried forward in your heels. As you opened the door, you were met with Damian's green eyes. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a stylish suit. From head to toe, her green eyes scanned you. "Looks good."

You looked at him with a smile. "Thank you, you look very handsome too." You tensely pushed your hair behind your ear. "I'm very nervous ." You admitted.

He raised an eyebrow and reached out his hand to you. "There's no need to get tense for a few snobs. Just ignore them."

You took his hand and left the house. Alfred was waiting for you in the car. Damian, as a gentleman, first helped you get in, and then got into the car himself. After entering, you looked at Alfred. "Hello, Mr. Pennyworth, it's a pleasure to meet you," you greeted him with a soft voice and a smile.

He gently bowed his head and looked at you in the mirror, greeting you. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, young lady."

When the car started to going, you started feeling more tense. You tried to calm down by looking at the hands you placed on your knees. Damian noticed your situation and reached out, wrapping his little finger around yours. Although he didn't like physical contact, he always did this when you needed it.

When you smiled at him, you noticed that instead of looking at you, he was looking out the window. Still, the small touch was enough to relax you. When you arrived in front of the gala, Alfred had already gotten out and opened your door for you. Damian get out car reached out his hand for you to hold.

After holding his hand and getting off, you lowered your head uncomfortably because the lights of the cameras of the journalists and reporters around were very bright. Damian, on the other hand, continued to walk upright and strong as if accustomed to this attention.

You relaxed when you entered to art gala room. Damian was still holding your hand, his eyes quickly found his father and directed you in that direction. When he stood in front of his father, he was confident and resolute. "Hello, father. This is my friend, Y/N."

When Bruce's eyes shifted to you, he looked at you with a gentle and rich smile and reached out his hand. 'Nice to meet you, young lady. Damian mentioned you very much."

You smiled at him and reached out your hand to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce's eyes briefly turned to Damian before shaking your hand. "I wasn't actually expecting Damian to make friends, he's usually quite selective." He drank the champagne in his hand and turned to Damian. "How about introducing your young friend to your brothers? They should be around."

Damian frowned. "They are annoying, we'll look at paintings instead." Without thinking, he rejected his father and dragged you towards a random painting.

As your eyes wandered around, he stopped in front of a beautiful painting. When your eyes were fixed on the picture, you carefully examined it, squinting your eyes. "Aren't brush strokes very simple? As if it's done without any emotion." You whispered to him.

When Damian's eyes shifted to the painting, he received a scornful look. "You're right, it is. Even when I was five, I could have done better than this."

You chuckled lightly and looked at him. "Ah, definitely." You moved on to another painting. "This one is more beautiful, I can see the artist's nervousness in the hardness of the brush strokes."

He shook his head. "The brush strokes are too harsh for a picture of a cheerful girl swinging on a swing," he said as he examined the painting.

You looked at him with a smile. "Perhaps he painted this picture with the hatred of his childhood." You came up with an idea.

Damian looked at you. "Maybe." After a while of silence, he turned back to the painting. "You know, I'm glad you came today. If you hadn't come, I might have thought about stabbing someone."

You looked at him with a slight chuckle. "You probably would."

As a slight smile formed on Damian's face, he took your hand and pulled you out to the balcony. "Come on, it's too stuffy inside."

When you stepped out onto the balcony, the sun was setting. Gotham had a rare clear sky, and today was one of those days. It was just you and Damian on the balcony. You took a deep breath and smiled as you looked outside. "The weather is nice."

Damian stood next to you with his hands behind his back and looked up at the sky. "It is." When a strange silence passed among you, Damian felt the need to speak. "You know, you're one of the tolerable rare people."

You turned to him with a slight smile. "Thank you, you are also a good friend."

When his eyes shifted to you, the ghost of a smile played on his lips.

After a brief silence, this time you spoke. "You know, your father is very attractive."

Damian took a breath filled with frustration. "You're starting to being annoying now."

You chuckled lightly. "But he is. Is he single?"

Damian turned his stern gaze to you. "Maybe I should stab you."

You chuckled softly, of course he wouldn't do it.

『••✎••』

Thanks for reading♡♡

#damian wayne x female reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x y/n #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne #damian x reader

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guilty-pleasures21 · 5 months ago

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Fic rec: frat!Miguel by @kissitbttr

The roommate

Note: fem!reader × roommate!Miguel

Part 1

Part 2

BONUS! Halloween story

Warnings: none. Just fluff and tension.

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

Roommate!Miguel who opens the door to his off-campus uni accommodation with a confused look on his face. You explain that you'll be taking the extra room in his apartment because of an administrative mix-up and he moves aside to let you in.

Roommate!Miguel who is most definitely the best-looking guy you've ever seen in your whole life, but who's probably a f*ckboy because of course he has to know how good-looking he is.

Roommate!Miguel who's been single ever since he got out of a bad relationship a while back, but who can't ignore the way his knees go weak whenever you shoot him what has to be the sweetest smile he's ever seen in his life.

Roommate!Miguel who you quickly fall into an easy routine with, studying together in the afternoons, teaching each other how to cook in the evenings, struggling against his grip when he drags you to the gym every morning. "Can't have my roommate collapsing on me in the middle of finals," he always teases you as you dig your heels into the floor in protest.

Roommate!Miguel who finds his missing hoodie in your room, slung over the back of your chair over your backpack. "Princesa," he calls as he walks out of your room, damning evidence in hand, "what the hell are you doing with my hoodie?" You stroll over to him, not embarrassed in the slightest, and pluck the soft fabric out of his hand. "I wear it to the library! And lectures! It's just so warm, jellito!" He frowns at the ridiculous nickname, folding his arms across his chest, and you feel your heart swell at the sight of the exasperated look he always reserves for you.

Roommate!Miguel who acts like he's annoyed, but who's secretly delighted by the thought of all the people who must have seen you in his hoodie - all the people who probably think that you're his now and he's yours. He wonders if his scent has rubbed off on you, but thinks it would be too creepy to try to get a whiff of you. He sucks in a breath discreetly anyway.

Roommate!Miguel who you accidentally say "night, love you!" to while heading to your bedroom after your regular Friday night movie night. He freezes at the declaration, but you laugh it off, apologising and telling him it's a force of habit. Then, so softly you thought you might have imagined it, "night, love you too, princess. " You spin back around to shoot him a wide grin and he feels his heart threaten to burst out of his chest.

Roommate!Miguel who convinces you to go for the annual Halloween costume party at one of the frat houses some of his friends are in. "I'll be right there with you, princesa. We don't have to drink anything if you don't want to and we can always leave if you get too uncomfortable. But I know how much you love dressing up." You chew on your lip as you think about it, regretting showing him pictures of all the costumes your mum had sewed for you whenever there was a dress-up event at school. You finally agree, but only if he'll dress up as the Marc Antony to your Cleopatra.

Roommate!Miguel who swears his heart stops when he sees you in your costume: golden snake tiara perched atop your dark curls, almond-shaped eyes accentuated by your perfectly winged liner, curvy little body almost completely visible beneath the sheer white sheath that bunches around your chest and hips. His eyes drink you in as you approach him, his gaze trailing down your toned leg, tanned skin exposed by the slit that runs down from your waist. "Is it okay?" you ask, completely oblivious to how badly he wants to throw you onto the sofa and lick you up. "You can't see anything, can you?" You gesture to your ass and he swallows down the saliva pooling in his mouth as he shakes his head. You move closer to him and fix him with a conspiratorial look, your lips curled into a wide smile as you reveal that you're wearing a thong. His heart melts in his chest when you giggle at your own confession and all the blood rushes to his core as your point to your chest. "And something called 'nipple tape'?"

Roommate!Miguel who keeps you close to his side throughout the night, his fingers sliding along your waist and lower back, always hovering dangerously close to your ass. He looks so handsome in his costume, his chiselled features making him look like he stepped out of a historical movie.

Roommate!Miguel who sinks into the last empty space on one of the sofas then gestures for you to take a seat on his lap. You gulp nervously at the thought and your stomach flips when he raises an eyebrow at you. You perch on the tip of his knee, but he slides his arm beneath your legs and pulls them over both of his, his other arm guiding your hand to his shoulder.

Roommate!Miguel whose insides are on fire at the feeling of his sweet and gorgeous roommate settled on his lap for everyone to see. He keeps his gaze fixed on yours as his hands wander over your body, his fingers sneaking through the slit in your dress to stroke your bare thigh. "Miguel," you whine, the sound like music to his ears, "isn't this is a little inappropriate?" "More or less inappropriate than those two practically having sex on the couch?" he retorts, his eyes never leaving yours as he gestures to a couple vigorously making out across from you. You flinch, embarrassed by the sight, and Miguel groans at the feeling of your ass brushing against his cock.

Roommate!Miguel who took the time to get to know you: your likes, dislikes, favourite foods and the most minor of pet peeves. He'll open the windows every morning so you can get the sunlight when you awaken and you'll rush to the supermarket during finals to keep the fridge stocked with the pickles he likes to munch on while studying. You run your fingers through his soft chocolate waves as you gaze into his fiery copper eyes, your lips a breath apart, the air around you crackling with tension.

Roommate!Miguel whose kiss is just as sweet as he always is to you, his lush lips brushing against yours, the tangy taste of him so delicious on your tongue. You slide your hands along the hard planes of his chest as you kiss him, your fingers sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair. You'd dream of this moment every time you'd see the sweat glistening on his skin after a workout or catch his dark hair curling around his ears after a shower, but none of your fantasies could have ever compared to the real thing.

Continued

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lovelettersfromluna · 1 year ago

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⋆｡˚☾ Silver Springs☽˚｡⋆

Summary: A step by step guide on how not to get over Ellie fucking Williams

an: AHHHH!! Here it is you guys! I wanna start off by thanking every single one of you for all the support not only did the first part of this series receive, but how much support my return received! I missed you all so so much and I’m so happy you’re enjoying this series just as much as I am enjoying writing it! I had some trouble tagging a few if you guys, as it wasn’t allowing your users to show up, so I really do apologize about that :( if any of you would like to dm me so we can solve it, feel free! I hope you all enjoy the second part to this series, and so much more is in store for this one! So stick around 🖤🖤🖤

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+, MDNI, Alcohol and Marijuana usage, jealous!Ellie, slight asshole!Ellie, cheating, oral r!receiving, edging, fingering r!receiving, pet names, kissing, let me know if I missed anything!!

You can read part 1, here!

Tag list: @eveshyper @mattm1964 @teawithnosugar @macaroni676 @ximtiredx @gold-dustwomxn @mina-281 @aethelwyneleigh27 @abbysmainbitch @lil-elliesgf @franreadss @fairyysoiree @r3wbeef @liizzygrant @elliewilliamsgf69 @mabelle-cherie @cauliflowerpatch @forelliesposts @lunasolac @nil-eena @pillowprincessleia @pedropascalsbbg @ellieswifeyy @lesbiantothemoonandback @dummysimp011 @miniaturebananadefendor @sweetpumpkins @thesmutconnoisseur @miksde @delicategirlie

Ellie had always been possessive.

Over anything, really. Over her father, or her favorite forest green hoodie, or the bracelets you two made for each other when you were both in middle school. If it was hers in any way, there was a pretty good chance that she’d be possessive over it.

She was also, very possessive over you.

You never really noticed, mainly because she’s usually extremely discreet about it. Often time, it’ll go unnoticed by those around her, because Ellie knows not to make a scene over someone tugging you along to ride home with them after a party, or to have you stay in their bed instead of hers. And she only does it because you’re her best friend, not theirs. They shouldn’t be trying to take you anyways.

Yeah. That was the only reason.

So the shock you felt when she acted the way she did in front of Alex was something you’d never really seen before. Sure, your best friend had a temper. You couldn’t count on your hands how many times you had to talk down a very drunk Ellie from fighting some idiot jock because they told her she couldn’t beat them at arm wrestling, but that was stupid party banter. What happened at the beginning of class? That was just unwarranted.

And as much as you hoped it was simply Ellie being in a mood that morning, that wasn’t the end of it.

After that day in class, you and Alex grew nearly inseparable. You showed her around to all of her classes, she followed you to the library to study, and to the cafe to have lunch, she even ended up coming back to your apartment to play video games one night when your study session ran past the opening hours of the campus library. Days had gone by, and as much as you didn’t want to admit it, Alex had almost fully taken Ellie’s spot as your best friend.

But then again, Sofia took your spot too.

That was another thing, what used to be like pulling teeth to see your best friend after she had gotten herself a girlfriend, had suddenly taken a drastic change.

After the first initial situation with Alex, Ellie was suddenly almost always in the picture.

It first started with the text messages. When Ellie first started dating Sofia, there were only a few messages here and there, a few stupid tiktoks sent between one another, and the less than frequent plans that you’d try to make with each other that would almost always be cancelled due to last minute plans Ellie ended up making with Sofia.

Now? Now Ellie would text you all the time. She’d send you video after video telling you what kind of cat you were, or which season you were, and she’d make sure to never miss out on sending you pictures of her homework, asking you if it looked good enough to submit, and she was constantly trying to make more plans with you. It was just like how things were before Sofia, back when it was just you, and Ellie, and the little traditions that you and her had every weekend.

Only it wasn't just like those times...now she was...so much more.

It made things a bit awkward when you were studying with Alex one afternoon, the silence of you and her falling comfortably between the both of you as you simply scribbled notes in your books, enjoying each others company, when suddenly your phone went off. It was a message from Ellie.

Waddup dorrrrk

U busy tonight?

You frown softly as you look up from your phone, catching a glimpse of Alex's face as she types away at her computer before you looked back down at your phone, typing out a response to Ellie.

Yeah

prob gonna head home after this and sleep

wya?

library

lemme come pick you up then

no thats okay. Im with Alex

You stare down at your phone as you await a response from Ellie. you see her little chat bubble pop up, stay for a moment, and then disappear. It does this for a minute or two, and you know she's struggling to find the right words to say. She always does this whenever she doesn't know exactly what to respond with

u know Alex is a prick right?

what makes you say that?

she just is

mmm

good to know

ditch her for me

im not gonna do that

where's Sof?

at her dorm

cool

well I'll catch you later Ellie

Ellie never responded after that

and thats how things were for the most part. You would spend your time with Alex, and Ellie would try her best to intervene between that time that you spent with her. Whether it was swooping in and trying to pull you away from Alex while you were walking together, or blowing up your phone whenever she knew you were together, she’d make herself known.

And you still had that damn party to go to that following weekend

You let out a soft sigh as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your hands came up, smoothing down the clothes that you had on. The strapless black top you wore hugged your middle perfectly, a contrast to the usual baggy, comfy clothes you wore, and the denim jeans hung low on your hip, hugging your curves perfectly. Your hair was styled, and your makeup was done, but you couldn’t help but pout softly at yourself, turning around and eyeing yourself in the mirror, shaking out your hair, pursing your lips together before releasing them.

God….you really didn’t wanna go to this party.

And you were very close to cancelling. You already had your excuse thought up too, you were going to text Ellie and tell her that you had come down with a cold, and that you couldn’t make it out tonight, that you’d catch her and Sofia at the next one.

But she was already pulling you aside after class to make sure you were going.

You were walking out of your last class for the day, the idea of the party on your mind the entire afternoon. You didn’t want to deal with Ellie, as bad as that sounded. She had been so weird ever since you and Alex became friends, and it bothered you how clingy she had suddenly become now that your time was suddenly taken up by someone else.

She was being possessive, and childish, and it wasn’t your job to make her feel better about you having other friends or apologizing for the fact that you were finally moving on-

“Hey! Hey wait up!” The familiar voice called out from behind you, and it almost made you wince. Ellie’s footsteps grew closer and closer as she ran behind you to catch up. You almost wanted to put your headphones on, a silent gesture that you didn’t want to deal with any of Ellie’s antics in that moment.

But she was still your best friend

You gave a tired smile once she finally catches up with you, and you can see the way her eyes twinkle the second she’s looking down at you. You figure it’s because she’s catching you on a rare moment when you’re not with Alex.

“There you are…” She mumbles softly, and you’re sure that if you weren’t so annoyed with her recent behavior, you’d be swooning over how fucking good she looked. Despite the fall weather, it was a bit warmer that day, so she opted for a loose fitted white t shirt, her signature baggy blue jeans, and of course her favorite rings. Her brown hair was tucked into a loose bun, and she wore a backwards faded maroon colored baseball cap.

Once again, Ellie Williams was a fucking dream.

“Here I am…” you mumble awkwardly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before you watch her, prompting her to get out whatever it was that she needed to talk about. Instead, she simply stares for a bit, seemingly taking in your appearance for a moment before she hums softly.

“No Alex today?” She questions, looking around to see if she just missed her. You could hear that tone in her voice, the one that was hopeful for a specific answer from you. You let out a soft sigh, shaking your head as you push past the doors of the building that lead to the campus courtyard. “She left early to run some errands” you explain, a soft frown on your face as you catch the familiar smug smirk of triumph on your best friends lips.

“You know she isn’t that bad, right? I think you two would get along…you have a lot in common” you tried, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you looked up at Ellie.

It was true, Ellie and Alex were extremely similar. In the time that you’d been spending with Alex, there were frequent moments where you felt like you were with Ellie. Certain things she said or did, or the type of jokes she’d make, or the music she listened to. Hell, they even dressed similarly, you were sure that if they gave each other a shot, they’d become just as close, if not closer than you were with either of them.

Or should you rather say, if Ellie gave her a chance.

Your words make Ellie scoff, the girls veiny hands shoving into her pockets as she strolled along with you. “Get along? Yeah fuckin right…I’d rather drag my bare ass along the concrete than hang out with that moron” she huffed out, her words making you scrunch your nose in disgust at the vivid picture she was painting for you, meant to express her distaste for the girl.

“But why? You really don’t have any reason to hate her, Els…because she sat in your seat? You don’t even sit there anymore…” you mumbled the last part of your comment under your breath, your eyes trailing down towards your feet as you frown softly, thinking back to the times before Alex showed up. How lonely it was sitting alone, walking to and from classes by yourself, spending the weekends cooped up in your home with nothing to do, no one to talk to.

Ellie frowned with you, her own green eyes zeroing in on the ground similarly to the way you did as she found herself deep in thought. It confused her too, why it bothered her so much. When you’d ask, her excuse was that she just felt Alex was bad news, and that she didn’t want anyone taking advantage of you or ruining your friendship with her.

That was always her excuse.

She inhaled deeply, replacing her frown with a bright smile, almost as if she were trying to distract you from your question before she changed the subject entirely. “Do you know what you’re gonna wear tomorrow? I heard this parties gonna be fuckin dope” she breathed out, turning towards you and flashing her pearly whites.

It almost gives you whiplash. She’d done it before, completely disregarded your attempts at trying to figure out why exactly she hated Alex so much, wanting more of a reason beside Ellie’s ‘bad feeling’ about the girl. It made you feel even more confused and frustrated with her and how she was acting towards you.

But every time she flashed those pretty teeth your way, it was like your mind went blank.

You blinked a few times as you stared up at her, clearing your throat before your mouth started moving before your brain could properly form a the sentence you wanted to say. Which was something along the lines of ‘im not feeling well! I’ll probably skip this one’

But that isn’t what leaves past your lips.

“I’m uh…not sure yet. I guess you’ll see once I’m there” you breath out softly, followed by a soft chuckle that sounds similar to a sound of defeat, because that’s exactly what’s happened, you’ve been defeated. Ellie has once again wiggled her way into that little soft spot she knew she had for you, and managed to have her way with you, no matter how annoyed you were with her.

Ellie beams the second she heard your words, nodding as she gives you a nudge with her elbow. “That’s why I like to hear! Hey, I’ll text you, okay? Keep you updated on what’s happening” she promises, giving you a nod. Before you can respond, her phone vibrated in her back pocket, to which she pulled out to check it, and you already know who it is. It rips you away from the little interaction you’re having with her, and it makes you sigh softly as you give Ellie a soft nod. “I’ll see you there, Els” you promise, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before you began walking ahead of her.

“I’m pretty tired so…I’ll head home” you nod, not giving her anymore room to stick around and tell you how she can’t stay with you any longer because she has to meet Sofia somewhere. That hurts much more than whatever the hell it was that was happening between you and her within that moment. She watched you, opening her mouth to stop you from leaving but you were already giving her a small wave, paired with a soft smile as you began making your way home.

And that was that. You went home and spent the rest of the day hating the fact that you had said yes to Ellie. You hated that she still had this weird power over you to get whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it.

It’s how you found yourself staring blankly at yourself in the mirror, feeling ridiculous in your outfit, unable to even recognize yourself, and feeling even more ridiculous for going to the stupid party in the first place.

On your bed, you hear your phone buzz, and you already know who it is. You let out a soft huff, grabbing the platform sandals you had settled next to you in the mirror and sitting on your bed to put them on. You open up your messages to read through them while you do so.

yooooo

What time u want us to pick you up?

The messages make you frown, and for a minute your eyes trail towards the bubble at the very top of your phone, the one that has a silly picture of Ellie that you had taken of her when she was high out of her mind and babbling about something that was too incoherent to understand. Once you’ve put your shoes on, you grab the phone and begin typing out a message back to her.

sup

you guys head out without me, I’ll meet you there

huh?

I stg if ur flaking on me

I’m not

I’ll be there relax

ok who’s bringing you then?

The text makes you frown further, because you can practically hear the tone of accusatory thick within Ellie’s words from the text alone, and it pisses you off. Because why the hell would she be prying on who’s taking you to the party? And why does it even matter in the first place?

You sigh softly, eyeing the text for a few more moments before you stand up off the bed, shove your phone into your back pocket and leave your room to head out into your kitchen.

Once you’re there, you open up one of the highest cupboards, you’re glad that your sandals are platforms, because if they weren’t, you wouldn’t be able to reach the single bottle of tequila that sits at the very top of the cupboard. You huff in annoyance, because you can vividly recall the night you and Ellie bought the bottle. She was complaining about your lack of provisions, to which prompted the both of you to make a late night run to the liquor store to buy it. The only contents from the bottle that was missing was from that of which came from nights that you and Ellie wanted to let loose a bit, other than that, you never touched it. And with Ellie being Ellie, she made sure to tuck the bottle away at the very top of your cupboard with ease, where she knew you’d struggle to reach it, just so she could piss you off a bit.

Funny, Ellie seemed to always have a way of pissing you off.

When you finally managed to take the bottle down from the cupboard, you grabbed one of the only two shot glasses that you had in your house, the other belonging to Ellie, and you poured some of the clear liquid out for yourself.

Because lord knows with how this night was already going, you were going to fucking need it.

You threw it back, wincing as the vile liquid burned down your throat, making its presence in your body known as it traveled down into your stomach, settling in and making it feel as though a match was thrown into your body. Instantly, it was already making you feel looser, less tense, the worries you had about the party were still very much there, but they didn't seem to matter as much.

And when you heard the knock on your door, you knew your date was there to pick you up.

Did you end up inviting Alex to be your plus one to the party that Ellie invited you to? Yes.

Did this somehow morph into a date between you and Alex? Yes.

Did you know what you were getting yourself into by inviting Alex, knowing how much worse this would make things with Ellie? Sort of, but you couldn't really find it in you to care in that moment.

Not when Alex was showering you in compliments the second you opened the door for her. Not when Alex looked amazing in her outfit, and smelled even better, making you swoon for her the second she was wrapping her strong arms around your waist and guiding her out to your car. And definitely not when Alex's hand on your thigh on the way there was making your little heart flutter and dance, thanking the heavens above for granting you such a pretty girl to take along to this party with, and hopefully make it so that it wouldn't have the bitter ending of you sulking home while Ellie and Sofia made out in a random room, making it so that you were forced to catch the bus home.

Yeah, there was no way in hell you were letting Ellie ruin this for you.

It wasn't long until you both arrived at the house where the party was being held. Had it been any other day, the sight of drunk college kids, loud music, and the smell of beer and weed would have made you scrunch up your nose in disgust and walk back to your cozy little apartment, to make a warm cup of tea and cuddle up in your bed. But you were tipsy, you felt really fucking hot, and the longer Alex had her hands on you, the needier you felt.

It was time you finally give into the cliche world of being a college student, and lived a little. Because if not now, then when?

Alex had her hand slung loosely around your hips, her strong fingers slipped into your belt loop as she kept you close, toying with the soft sliver of skin that peeked out between the waist band of your jeans, and the bottom of your top. Upon walking into the house, you were glad to see that it wasn't a huge frat party. It was a bit more laid back, with the majority of the party goers splayed out within the living room, already having drunk or high conversations. Or they were in the kitchen, making drinks, or some even opted to head outside in the front yard or the back, the cold autumn air acting as an escape from the warmth that emitted from inside the house.

You feel glad that you don't spot Ellie and Sofia as soon as you walk in, knowing that, that was a confrontation that you were not drunk enough to face. You hum softly as Alex leans into you, your hand slipping down between the both of you as you interlock your fingers with hers, and drag her along to the kitchen.

That's how you find Alex pressed up against you, her strong hands resting against the edge of the counter top, hard chest pressing into your back, chin resting against your shoulder as she watches you pour out two drinks into red solo cups for you and her. She whispers sweet words in your ears, and to remember that she's driving you home, to make sure that you don't add any liquor to her cup. You giggle softly as you nod, melting into the girls touch, her soft caress and her even softer words. It's hard to remember the last time you were touched like this, given this sort of attention, told these sort of words. You figure that you could get used to it, especially when it's coming from her.

When you turn around in her arms, her hands are on your hips, giving them a slight squeeze as she smirks down at you. Both drinks are in your hand, and you simply stare up at her, your bottom lip tugged between your teeth, an overwhelming sense of warmth spreading throughout your chest, making it feel as though you could pounce this girl at any given moment-

And then it all stops.

Because suddenly, through the lust that you feel for Alex, your lips merely inches apart, the sound of someone clearing their throat somehow makes it through the music, cutting right in between the two of you and forcing you to look in the direction of where the sound was coming from, and you’re only met with Ellie.

A very angry, and annoyed, Ellie.

Her green eyes are dark, casted downward as she stares at you and Alex. She has a solo cup hanging loosely between her strong fingers, sharp jaw clenching as her eyes slowly drift between you and Alex, finally settling on you and giving you a look of disbelief, almost as if to ask if you were serious, and if this was some stupid fucking joke that you had.

And it’s so fucking awkward, that you have no choice but to break the silence.

“Ellie!” You chirp out, handing one of the cups to Alex before you turn to her, giving her an apologetic look, to which she simply sighs and gives you a nod before she briefly glares in Ellie’s direction.

You inhale deeply before you make your way over to your friend, clutching your cup slightly as you give her a smile. “Hey…sorry I didn’t come looking for you, did you and Sofia get in alright-“ Ellie immediately cuts you off, because you’re clearly trying to ease the burn of Alex being there, and you aren’t even sure why, because you truly don’t owe Ellie a single thing.

“What the fuck did you bring her for?” She gets straight to the point, and you can tell just how much she’s been smoking from her voice. It’s low, and rough, and if the way she was questioning wasn’t making you so fucking annoyed.

You would’ve been soaking wet just from the sound of it.

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, a soft scoff leaving your lips as she give her a shrug. “Because I can? I didn’t know I was suddenly banned from bringing people places with me” you challenge her, your eyebrows furrowed as you stare up at the tall girl. Ellie chuckles softly, her tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek as she looks down at the floor before she nods slowly, smirking down at you.

“You know what? You can…don’t mind me” she hums out, a bit to casually for how angry she sounded mere moments ago. Her sudden change of tone makes you blink a few times, trying to see if you heard her correctly. You were convinced that this weird situation was going to turn into an argument, and you’d finally blow up on your best friend for acting fucking weird…

But that wasn’t at all what was happening.

“Oh…okay then…” you mumble out awkwardly, suddenly feeling small under Ellie’s gaze. Her eyes are low, and you can feel the way she’s eating you up, taking you in and shamelessly raking down every inch of your body with her emerald orbs that just seem different tonight than they have on any other night.

You both stay there for a few moments longer, and your skin begins to burn with the need to get away from the extremely awkward situation, making your mind cloudy with confusion as you’ve never once felt that way about Ellie. She’s a person you relate with the feelings of comfort, and warmth.

And now? You just needed to get away from her.

You inhale deeply, taking a large gulp of your drink that was far too strong, the contents burning your throat, which makes you wince as it travels down your body and settles in your stomach. You give Ellie a nod, clearing your throat as you avoid eye contact with her at all times. “Right, so….I’ll uh…I’ll catch you later” you try, giving your friend a half smile as you’re already making your way out of the kitchen to find Alex.

Ellie on the other hand? Simply gives you a slow nod, her eyes still shamelessly eating you up as you walk o it of the kitchen.

The only thing on your mind? Was that you needed to get drunk and forget about everything that just happened.

The laugh that leaves your body is almost too much to handle, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you lean into Alex, your face mere inches from your neck as you rest your weight against her, your feet feeling wobbly underneath you. Her hand was placed loosely on your hip, smiling lazily as she watched you lose yourself at another one of the jokes she had made.

The night had carried on after the situation with Ellie in the kitchen. After that, you had quickly found your way to Alex, relief settling in once you were finally able to enjoy the party with your date. You two were stuck to each other like glue from that point on, the vibes of the party making it easier to loosen up around Alex and truly get to know her outside of an academic setting, which was the main place of your relationship with her thus far. However, there was a looming presence that you simply could not shake from your spot with Alex at the bottom of the stairs, tucked away from everyone else.

Ellie.

Her eyes never left yours from her point on the couch. A blunt was loosely hanging from her tattooed hand, lifting it up and taking a drag ever so often, a beer in the other, and to make things even worse? She had Sofia propped right on her lap the entire time she watched you.

And as much as you tried to ignore it? Ellie’s glares were lethal. She made no attempt in hiding it, or pretending like she wasn’t keeping an eye on you and Alex like a fucking hawk the entire night. After about the tenth time of catching her run her tongue along her teeth every time Alex tried getting closer, you’d had enough.

Its how you ended up in your current position. You had dragged Alex to the kitchen with you, and she had taken a seat on the island, where you made your own spot standing between her spread legs. The more you drank, the funnier Alex got, and you suddenly couldn’t breath every time she spewed another silly joke your way.

You hummed softly, coming down from your laughing fit and finally catching your breath. Alex smirked softly at you, watching as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, glossy eyes growing hazy, and giving the dreamiest look, strands of hair cascading down into your face, which made her push to the side to get a better look at you. It was like a movie, the universe setting up the most perfect time for you and her to finally do it, to finally break the barrier and press each others lips against one another…

But this isn’t a movie, and none of this is perfect.

You realize that, when you feel Alex’s body get shoved to the side, causing you to gasp softly and grip your cup a bit tighter, as well as grip Alex’s arm to make sure she isn’t pushed off of the island counter entirely. You’re ready to yell at whatever asshole made it a point to sit right next to you and Alex, when there’s not only an entire kitchen, but an entire house with thousands of other places to sit, because who on earth would do something so inconsiderate.

Ellie. Ellie Williams would.

Her laugh is something you’d always loved, when she was high, it was loud and boisterous and electrifying, and it had the power to make even the saddest person laugh. You especially loved it, when her voice would crack, and she’d shed a tear because whatever she was laughing at was far too much to handle.

But right now, in this very moment, her laugh was like nails on a chalkboard.

She laughs loudly, taking a seat right next to Alex on the island counter top, adjusting her worn out backwards baseball cap on her head, blunt perched between her lips, and taking a long drag before she blows the smoke right into Alex’s face. “Shit…my bad, man. I’ve just been looking everywhere for my two favorite people!” She chuckles out. Her words make you wince.

You’re frowning right at her, because you know exactly what she’s doing, her eyes are red, lips are plump and pink from all the biting and sucking she’d most definitely been doing, and her eyes never leave Alex’s, studying her face like she was a predator studying their prey, looking for all the flaws they could use to wiggle their way into the cracks.

And you realize, Ellie Williams was fucking cock blocking you.

You inhale deeply, trying to control your temper before you give Ellie a very exaggerated smile. “So nice of you to join us, Ellie….but I’m sure you have other things to do, why don’t you just…catch us later?” You try, your voice desperately trying to get Ellie away from the both of you, your eyes practically bulging out of your head as you try to silently tell your friend to leave.

But she ignores you completely.

Alex, being the angel that she is, simply chuckles softly as she shakes her head. “Not a problem…the more the merrier, right?” She nods, her words genuine. Her hand reaches down, wrapping around your waist and pulling you forward to be tucked into the side of her body, which warms you up.

A flash of anger ripples through Ellie’s expression, her face hard as she eyed the way Alex pulls you in before she quickly shakes it away, giving Alex a nod as she lifts the blunt to her lips once again. “You smoke?” She questions casually, her eyes drifting towards you for a brief moment before she blows the smoke away from you and Alex. Alex hums softly as she nods, “I do…but I’m DD tonight, so I’ve gotta pass” she politely declines, her long fingers rubbing a sliver of your exposed skin mindlessly.

Ellie rolls her eyes, giving a playful scoff “ahhh don’t be stupid, do you see this house? You and the princess here can crash in any one of’em” she smirks softly, eyeing you for a moment, watching the way you become bashful at the nickname. Alex sighs softly, looking down at you for a moment before she gives a half shrug. “Why the hell not…” she mumbles under her breath, taking the blunt from Ellie and bringing it to her lips, Ellie watching with the most mischievous look on her face, it almost looks fucking comical.

And that, was Alex’s first mistake.

Because sure, Alex had smoked a few times. She liked to pop an edible on nights where she couldn’t sleep or she needed a bit of rest and relaxation. So of course, she wasn’t at all a stranger to the angel that was Mary Jane herself.

But she had no idea, what Ellie was packing.

Ellie had always prided herself on having the best weed on campus, the college kids flocking to her every time she rolled up at a party. She had anything and everything you could think of, each strain providing something different for its users.

And for her? Her tolerance was high of course, so she would opt for something a bit stronger. The thing about that, is that not everyone could handle what Ellie smoked.

Alex was a prime example of that.

It only took about three passes between her and Ellie for Alex to be stumbling off of the counter and towards the couch, mumbling something about needing to be somewhere ‘soft’. You knew things were trouble as soon as Ellie was giving that smirk as she watched Alex pull from the blunt, one that looked like she’d already won whatever stupid battle she was playing with Alex.

Before you knew it, you were helping Alex up the stairs to a spare bedroom, struggling yourself because you were still very much drunk, helping her into bed, and watching her as she shoved her face into the pillow, let out a loud groan, and promptly passed out.

Alex had indeed, greened out.

You let out a soft huff as you stood back, watching the girl for a moment and thinking about everything she was experience, wishing you were able to take it all away and rewind time back to that moment in the kitchen, when your lips were mere inches apart, so close to tasting one another and cutting through this stupid slow burn that you had between one another.

But by the looks of that stupid smirk of triumph on Ellie’s lips as she watched you tug the girl to the stairs and to a spare bedroom, that wasn’t written in the stares for you.

You were so confused, and as you walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind you and making sure no one would walk in and interrupt her slumber, all you could think about is why Ellie was doing this. She was sabotaging you, that was without a doubt, but you just couldn’t understand why. Surely, you weren’t so blind that you wouldn’t be able to see that Alex was a bad person. You felt like your judgment of character was quite good, looking back at everyone you’d ever trusted, and trying to figure out if you’d ever gone wrong with who that wasn’t

But you couldn’t, nothing came up.

You pouted softly, making your way back into the kitchen and grabbing another cup and filling it with a drink. You figured, you might as well get your moneys worth through this damned party, and as much as you wanted to confront Ellie, you weren’t sure you could handle her reasoning behind doing what she did to you.

But alas, Ellie seemed to have continued her streak on making herself present in places that you wished she wasn’t, because as you were making your way to sit down at the bottom of the stairs, staring down into the orange color of your drink that was being distorted by the lights floating around in the party, you suddenly felt the familiar presence standing over you.

“Damn…a few pulls and that’s what takes her out? I think I’m doing you a favor, princess” you don’t even have to look up to know that she has that stupid fucking smirk on her lips. You let out a low sigh, resting your forehead against the palm of your hand before you bring your cup to your lips, taking another sip.

“I really don’t have time for this right now, Ellie. I’m finishing this, and then I’m going to bed with Alex” you explain, trying your best to put an end to this pointless conversation. You finally look up at her, giving her an unamused look. She’s seemed to have ditched her blunt and her baseball cap, a red solo held lazily between her hand as she takes a sip as well. Her smirk is gone once she hears your words, rolling her eyes as she leans against the wall next to the stairs.

“Seriously? You’re still interested in that idiot after what just happened? Isn’t she even the slightest bit pathetic to you?” She tried, and you swear you can hear her voice falling to a desperate tone. You scoff, unable to pay her tone any mind as you raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

“Her? The only one pathetic here is you, Ellie. I’m not stupid, I know exactly what you’re doing…the fact that you even had the time to do that was pathetic. Where even is Sofia? Don’t you have her to keep you occupied?” You practically spit out, unable to stop your words from sounding as harsh as they do. You know you’ll regret it later, despite the fact that Ellie very much deserved it.

Ellie eyed you carefully, bringing her cup to her lips before she gave a shrug that was far too nonchalant for what she was saying. “Dunno…she left a while ago” she mumbles out, staring at the bottom of your cup.

The way she says it, the way she had almost zero regard for the girl that she was raving about with stars in her eyes was almost scary, a chill running up your spine as you watched your friend.

You blinked a few times before you inhaled deeply, looking around at the house you were sitting in. The amount of people had lessened greatly since when you first arrived. What used to be a couch full of people was now only filled with a couple, passed out and wrapped up in each others arms. You sighed softly, throwing back the rest of what was in your cup down your throat before you shoved the empty cup towards Ellie’s chest. “I’m gonna go to bed….let me know when you wanna start acting normal again” you sigh out softly, turning around to begin walking up the stairs. A strong hand on your wrist stops you.

You frown, turning around and looking down to see Ellie’s tattooed hand squeezing your wrist, making you sigh softly. You try tugging your hand out of her grasp, clearly not in the mood for anymore of her tricks. “Ellie…come on. Im drunk, I’m tired, I am severely touch deprived, and right now, I just really wanna go to bed” you mumble out, your voice tired as you try wiggling your way out of her right hold on your hand, your hazy eyes looking up at her for a moment.

Thats when you catch it, that look of desperation that had become so frequent in your best friend. It was like she was begging you for something, begging for you to understand what she was saying, or what she was feeling. It makes your heart hurt, because it makes you realize that for the first time in the many years of your friendship with Ellie, you can’t understand her. You can’t read her feelings like you can your own, and the worst part of it all?

You can’t help her.

It makes you frown deeply, and you open your mouth to say something, to speak softly to your friend and try to come to a moral high ground where you could put aside her behavior, and try to understand what the root of it was. But before you can speak, you’re suddenly being dragged up the stairs.

You nearly trip over your own feet, the chunky sandals you decided to wear, paired with the alcohol in your system made it extremely hard to keep up with Ellie’s quick pace. You aren’t really sure how someone who’d spent the entire night drinking and smoking was able to move with such dexterity. You open your mouth to try and protest, to try and ask Ellie where on earth she was taking you, but those questions are all answered, because soon she’s tugging you into another spare bedroom, and locking the door behind her.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you watch your friend lock the door, and remorse you felt for her suddenly gone as it was now replaced with pure annoyance. “Seriously, Ellie? I told you I don’t have time for any games” you groan out, moving your arms so that they were crossed over your chest. You expect her to give you another witty remark, one that was about you or Alex, about how stupid you are for going for someone like that. But she doesn’t do that, in fact, she doesn’t say anything. Ellie begins pacing back and forth in front of you, her strong hand coming up to run through her short brown hair, making it fall down in front of her face again as she stares down at the ground deep in thought.

Her actions make you scoff, rolling your eyes as you sigh out loudly. “And now you’re pacing…you know I was going to cut you some slack. I was going to let all of this go because frankly, I don’t want to deal with your bizarre behavior, but now that we’re here and you’re literally in front of me pacing as it I did something wrong, I can’t let it go anymore! You know what, Ellie…I’ve been so patient with you and I think that-“ your rant is cut off, and at first you aren’t really sure what’s happening. Your brain struggles to register what it is that’s happening, what it is that’s forced your rant shorter than you had wished. But when you finally come to, you aren’t sure if any of this is even real anymore.

Because suddenly, Ellie is kissing you.

You were too caught up in your rant, that you didn’t even realize Ellie had stopped pacing, and was staring at you with a conflicting look, before she inhaled deeply and was nearly stomping towards you, cupping both of your cheeks with her hands and pressing her lips on yours.

All of your words die down in your throat, and you’re melting into the kiss, and you can’t remember how many times you’d though about this. You can’t remember all the times you’d dreamed of Ellie doing this exact thing. Grabbing you, and kissing you like her life depended on it, like she needed your lips to breath, acting as a lifeline that kept her connected to the real world. Your hands went up to grip her wrists softly, a quiet whine leaving your lips and going directly to Ellie’s, and it makes her groan.

Her hands leave your face, and the lack of warmth on your cheeks makes you whine softly, but you aren’t without it for long, because her large hands slowly travel down your body, running along your soft skin until they settle on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze before they slide down further, resting on your ass, to which she gives a firm squeeze.

Her grip makes you gasp, and she takes the advantage of pushing her tongue into your mouth, exploring you entirely and making you moan into her. Her mouth is warm, and wet, and it makes all of the blood in your body rush to your core. Your hands go to her chest, tugging at her shirt slightly as you let her dominate the kiss, playing with your tongue as she pleased, your head clouded with the an ever growing lust for your best friend.

“Ellie…” you moan softly into her mouth, the sound makes her groan, giving your ass a firm squeeze before her head drops down to attack your neck in kisses, her mouth licking, sucking, and biting on the soft skin of your throat. She isn’t sure she’s ever heard a sound so sweet, a sound that had the capability of throwing her into a frenzy of lust so quickly. “Lemme take care of you…” she mumbles out against your skin, giving your throat a playful nip.

It makes you whine softly, and before you can nod, beg her for everything you’d ever imagined, everything you’d ever wanted from her, a heavy, looming thought settles in. It’s like a dark cloud, one that quickly rains down on you and drenches you from the inside out, reminding you of why you couldn’t do this.

Sofia.

The name echos throughout your mind, and it makes you frown deeply, because it reminds you that this is wrong, and you couldn’t do this. You refused to be this, to be the other woman to your best friend of all people.

You frown deeply, shaking your head as you try to push Ellie away from you. “But…Sofia…” you mumble out, opening your mouth again to explain why you couldn’t do this, why she couldn’t do this, but Ellie quickly cuts you off with her lips on yours. She swallows down the words that were hanging off the edge of your lips, shaking her own head as she gives your hips a gentle squeeze.

“Isn’t here….you don’t need to worry about her right now…” she hums against your mouth, kissing you once more before she breaks the kiss, staring deep into your eyes, her own one’s blown out and lust filled. Her strong, calloused fingers go to grip your chin, angling your face so you’re staring up at her. “This is about you, and me right now…okay?” She promises, her words genuine, her eyes filled with something you can’t exactly make out.

And as much as the little voice inside your head screams at you to stop, to leave and go elsewhere, your heart is doing something entirely different, and the look in Ellie’s eyes is one you can’t deny.

So, you give in to her.

You stare into her eyes for a moment longer before you give her the tiniest nod, giving your trust to the girl. With that, she presses her lips against yours, the kiss was needy and sloppy and there were so many emotions put into it. Your head was spinning because you couldn’t understand the fact that this was actually happening.

You were actually kissing Ellie.

Through the clouds of your mind, Ellie begins pushing you back until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, her hand pressing against your chest gently and pushing you back to sit on the bed. You stare up at her when she does this, your eyes wide and needy, and it makes Ellie groan. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty…” she mumbles out, more so to herself than to you. You bite your lip softly, watching closely as she crawls over your body, pressing kisses against your exposed collar bones and neck until she reaches your lips again, taking the breath from your lungs away once again.

Ellie hums against you, relishing in the taste of your mouth, her hands traveling down your body until they reached your jeans, her skilled fingers undoing them. You pout softly, breaking away from the kiss and looking down at Ellie’s tattooed hand tugging at the waistband of your jeans. Ellie chuckles softly at the look on your face, to which she leans in and presses a kiss to your pouty lips.

“I told you…M’gonna take care of you…you trust me, don’t you baby?” She questioned, her green eyes staring into yours, hand massaging your waist gently. It feels like you can’t breath, because the look in her eyes, and the names she’s calling you are all things straight out of a fairy tale, and it makes you wonder whether this is all a dream or not. Even if it was, you decided you’d enjoy it to its fullest.

You stare down at Ellie’s lips before looking into her eyes and giving her a nod. “Of course I trust you, Els…” you hum out softly, giving her a gentle smile. The sound of your voice, and the little smile you give her makes her heart feel like it’ll burst, and she’s smiling with you, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips before she gives you a nod and kisses down your body until she’s on your knees in front of you.

Ellie brought her hands up to the back of either one of your knees, pulling you so your legs were spread, and you were at the edge of the bed. You propped yourself up on your palms, pressing them into the bed as you stared down at Ellie. You inhaled deeply, trying to fight off the intense butterflies you felt in your stomach, the feeling enough to make your head spin. Ellie stared up at you, gently tugging your jeans off your body and tossing them to the side. She presses a kiss to your inner thigh, humming softly as she kissed her way to your clothed core, her lips ghosting over the place you needed her most. “You’re in good hands with me, Angel…I promise” she assured you, giving you another slight nod before she presses the softest kiss to your pussy.

You gasp softly, watching as Ellie’s eyes never leave yours, scanning your face the entire time to make sure you liked what she was doing. She smirks softly against you as she watches the way you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, the way your eyes grow darker, filled with lust as you stare down at her. Both of her strong hands grip your thighs, keeping you spread for her as her kisses on your pussy grow firmer, making you whine. “Ellie…please…” you beg, and it makes her smirk against you again.

“So needy…tell me…what is it that you want, baby? Who’s tongue are you needy for?” She purrs out, her voice low and dripping with lust as she pulls your panties to the side painfully slow. You whine softly at the feeling of the cool air of the bedroom hitting your bare, wet pussy, it forces your hips to buck forward a bit.

“Yours…I want your mouth on me Ellie…please…don’t tease…” you moan out, your head tilting to the side as you watch her movements closely, hoping it’ll somehow make her speed up. She chuckles softly, a low hiss leaving her lips as she watches a string of your arousal connect to your cotton panties. She bites her lip, tugging them further to the side to get a good look at your core.

“Fuck yeah…look at how fucking wet you are, princess…so needy for me…” she hums out, getting a good look at your pussy before she slowly brings her mouth to your core, tauntingly slow, eyes never leaving yours. “For me, right? It’s all for me?” She questions, voice low. There’s a hint of desperation, like she needs to hear that it’s for her, she needs confirmation that this is her doing, and no one else’s.

It makes you moan loudly.

You give an eager nod, your hands fisting the sheets underneath you. “Yours! It’s all…all for you Ellie..” you confirm, because despite the cloudiness in your head, through all of it, there’s no doubt that she’s doing this to you, that Ellie is the reasoning behind the state you were in. Ellie smiles, and it’s like she’s so proud of you, like you’ve made her the happiest girl in the world just by telling her the truth.

You want to stick with that for a moment, look deeper into it and figure out what it is that you’ve said that’s made her so happening, but you can’t, because your head is spinning once Ellie latches her plump lips against your core, latching onto your clit and sucking like her life depended on it.

You throw your head back, back arching in pleasure almost painfully. Ellie watches in awe, because you look like a work of art, the prettiest painting, the most detailed sculpture, none of it can compare to the way your chest rises and falls, the way your lips swell, or the way your eyes become low and dreamy. You’re better than any work of art in the world, and it makes her feel lucky to even be here with you.

Her tongue is lapping at your core, watching as jolts of electricity travel through your body with each flick of her tongue to your sensitive little bundle of nerves, and she feels proud of herself for giving you this pleasure, for making you feel this way. You moan out Ellie’s name loudly, your head falling down and tilting to the side as you watch her closely. You want to remember it forever, you want to take this moment and burn it into your mind so you know that it’s real, and that this actually happened.

“So…so pretty…” you moan out, finding it hard to form coherent sentences through the blur of pleasure to felt, and the cloudy feeling that came with the alcohol. You felt numb and hypersensitive all at the same time, and the sensation of that made your head spin. Ellie groans softly against you, giving you an encouraging nod as she flicks her tongue against your weeping core.

And you suddenly feel it, that tight, coiling feeling at the pit of your stomach. It makes your legs shake, it makes your hips grind agains Ellie, forcing your pussy to grind against her face, desperately seeking your orgasm, needing to feel that familiar feeling of bliss wash over you, and you suddenly can’t help but wish that this doesn’t end, that this moment lasts forever.

“Ellie…Els I…fuck….mmmph…m’close!” You announce, your back arching further as you feel it growing closer, and closer and closer and the second you’re right there at the edge….

Its gone. And you realize, you need to be careful what you wish for.

You look down, a soft whine leaving your lips as you look at Ellie below you. Her face is soaked with your arousal, pupils blown out with lust, and bottom lip tugged between her teeth. You open your mouth to complain, to whine and tell her how close you were, but a shiver runs down your spine when Ellie brings her fingers to your core, rubbing circles ever so slowly into your throbbing clit.

“Look at you…poor baby wants to cum so badly, hm?” She hums out, voice tauntingly low as she stared up at you, eyes shining as she slowly toyed with your pussy. You can’t even respond, your hips buck up into her fingers, and she’s quickly clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and bringing one of her hands down to hold your waist steady

“Ooh, not so fast…I think you need to wait a little bit longer, baby” she explained, voice so low and sweet, it made your head spin. You let out a soft huff, tugging at the sheets beneath you further as you try moving your hips again. “Ellie..that’s…it’s not fair…I’m so close..” you explain, your demeanor clearly switching to one that was needy and huffy.

Ellie chuckles softly, nodding slowly as she continues toying with your pussy so slowly, it feels like torture. “No…no it isn’t fair” she hummed out, slowing her fingers down even more, which was something you weren’t sure was even possible.

She hums softly as she looks down at your poor, weeping pussy, biting her lip softly as she continued rubbing small circles into your clit, pulling you closer towards the edge, just to rip it all away from you, all over again.

“You know what else isn’t fair?” She questioned softly, her eyes now trailing up to yours, her fingers speeding up a bit. As much as you wanted her mouth, anything was better than nothing at this point, and you barely had the mind to give her a proper response. You whined softly, arching your back as you felt it again, growing closer to the edge. Ellie smirked softly as she watches you, going even faster before she leans in and gives your pussy a long lick, which makes you nearly scream.

“How much you hurt me, baby…” she mumbles out, and you can hear that she’s pouting. Her words make your eyebrows furrow, and you look down at her, whining and moaning through the pleasure as you try to see if you’ve heard her correctly. “W-what?” You whimper out, and it causes her to chuckle softly again.

“God, you’re so fuckin cute…” she whispers softly before she nods, a soft hum leaving her lips before she continues speaking. “You hurt me so much, princess….you and that stupid fucking girl…makes me so upset seeing you together, especially when I know I’d treat you so much better” she pouted out again, watching you as you fell apart above her. You’re sure you aren’t hearing her correctly this time. You’re sure that it’s the alcohol, and the pleasure, and everything else you’re experiencing that’s making you hear things.

There’s so much going on in her head, and you can’t even focus on it because she’s clicking her tongue again, and it’s almost like she feels sorry for you, for how much of a wreck you’ve become at the hands of her, at the workings of her tongue.

“And you don’t even fucking realize it too…that’s what pisses me off the most…” she groans out, speeding up her fingers, watching as you whine and wither for her. “You never fucking have…” she mumbles out that part a bit quieter, as it she hopes you don’t here it, or as if that part isn’t for you to hear.

She smirks softly, green eyes trailing up to watch you as she hums. “I think for the at…I shouldn’t give this to you so easily, huh? Pretty girl?” She continues, and you’re shaking your head before she can even finish her sentence. Somehow, out of all the outlandish things that have passed her lips within the last few minutes, that’s the only thing you can focus on and respond to, and that makes her chuckle.

“Ahh, but you can respond to that…” she teases, humming softly as she gently pushes her pointer and index finger into you, watching as your face contorts with pleasure, and it makes her groan softly. “I can’t even imagine how good you’d look taking my cock…you’re made for it…” she groans out through gritted teeth, watching as you moan and whine while she slowly fucks her fingers in and out of you.

At this point, you’ve been denied your orgasm so many times, you’re sure she’s going to do it again. You’re practically preparing for the second she stops, egging you on further until you’re crying for her. You let out a pathetic little whine, your legs threatening to close, and keep her out, to which she pouts. “Shutting me out already? But I haven’t even made you cum yet” she taunts, watching you with a look of pity before she leans in closer to your core, her warm breath wafting against your weeping pussy.

“I know you want it…you always have, haven’t you baby?” She smirks softly, eyeing you as her fingers come to a complete stop inside of you.

And that, that is what throws you over the edge.

Because you can’t take it anymore, one of your hands goes to the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of hair and pressing her face against your core. This results in a low groan from Ellie, one of her hands squeezing your thigh the second you push her in, and her tongue working on your core immediately. She’s just as desperate as you are, tongue lapping at your cunt like a hungry dog, wet noises of squishing and squelching echoing throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and making you feel even more aroused than before.

Her fingers inside of you begin pumping once again, and you finally feel it, that warm feeling you felt earlier, yet this time it’s stronger. All of the orgasms you’d been denied had built up together to create something explosive, electrifying, you could practically feel the energy building up within your body, begging to be released.

And the second you looked down into Ellie’s eyes, seeing the way she was watching your every move, watching the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your lips parted to let the most wonderful noises escape…

You were done for.

You came so hard, you saw white. It was like you’d died and gone to an afterlife where there was nothing but bliss, a euphoric state that left you almost feeling like you were no longer a body, but a soul. Your back arched so hard it was painful, you were sure to be sore in the morning. It was all too much, too powerful, too erotic.

When you came down from your high, all you could hear were Ellie’s praises. She called you a good girl, she called you her good girl, and she was so proud of you for how well you did, how well you took her. And all you could feel, was Ellie’s strong arms pulling you back into the bed, into her arms as she tugged the covers over your limp body, everything you felt was distant, it was hard to even compute what was real and what wasn’t.

And the last thing you felt before you fell into the most blissful sleep you’d ever experienced, was Ellie’s lips pressing the softest, sweetest kiss to yours.

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