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sceletaflores · 5 months ago

Text

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent.

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts.

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning.

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more.

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you.

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved.

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure.

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure.

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist.

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain.

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer.

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours.

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow.

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest.

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt.

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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dirtylilspawn · 6 days ago

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ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴏᴀᴅᴇᴅ sᴇɴsᴇs

Summary: Rafayel can't seem to get enough of your body

Fandom: Love & Deepspace

Paring: [Rafayel x Fem!Reader]

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: NSFW (18+), porn w/o plot, slight obsession, intense smut, heavy biting, marking, previous multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, over stimulation, nosebleed, dumbification, dacryphilia, bits of fluff, bulge, lots of cum, heavy squirting, praise, pheromones, blood licking, saliva trade, reeeaally horny & degenerate dom!rafayel, doggy & mating press, rough sex, passing out

"More...give me more princess~"

The room was humid, filled with the scent of lust and sex. Your body rocking with his hard thrusts, as you lay on your stomach, head buried into the sheets while your artistic boyfriend held your hips up to his pelvis with an iron grip. Both of you were you fully naked, as Rafayel took you from behind, his cock ramming itself deep within your tired yet stimming walls. You were on your fifth round with him, two of those rounds involving his mouth ravishing your juicy cunt as he drank up all of your essence.

"Raf! I-I can't -aagh- any mooore..."

Rafayel continued to pound into your pussy, his eyes hooded and clouded with desire. His purple hair damp, bangs falling over his eyes, clinging to his forehead. He watched as his hands grip upon your, spreading your cheeks just to see the delicious site in front of him. There down below was his big cock splitting you wide open for him, he could see his previous loads mixed with your cum coating hid dick. The dirty sounds of your pussy squeezing him, the sick squelching noises filling his ears. And dear god, the smell! Your scent surrounded this man with no hesitation or warning, filling every pour of his. It was enough to make anyone insane, he was truly pussy drunk of your pheromones.

"Ngh! You can...you're my strong bodyguard after all~"

You gasp as you felt Rafayel right hand come in contact with gripping your wrist. He then pulls your arm from behind your back, making your chest rise up from bed. Your knees back in full motion as you have to use your abdominal muscle to sit up. Your right hand grips the sheets as you balance yourself to stay up right, but Raf made it easier as his left and was placed around your waist, holding your tightly. While his chest was slightly pressed against your back. Your breasts swayed below you as he thrusts hard, balls slapping against your ass.

"Fuck [Y/N], I love your body so much!"

His lips were pressing soft kisses along your back, his tongue licking the stripes of sweat that dripped down your back. His mouth moves to your arm he held prisoner, lips sucking on the delectable skin of yours. Rafayel then moved his mouth towards your neck, instantly taking a hard bite to the jugular. You head snaps back, teeth biting your lip from the pain and pleasure mixing into one. His teeth digged into the flesh, making an indent mark whilst drawing bits of blood to the surface. Tears roll down your cheeks, coving up the old tears that dried up.

This wasn't the first bite mark he made on you. There were multiple hickies and bites littered around your skin. Ranging down to your ass and thighs, to your stomach and breasts. He even suggested you mark him, as there were a few bites visible around his neck. The red circular indent gracing his pale soft skin made your stomach turn.

Rafayel lifted his head from your neck, watching as the bits of blood stream down your shoulder. He grins at this before using his slick tongue to gather the blood up, moaning from the taste. Would it be wrong for him to think how he wanted to melt into your skin and become one with you. Because that's what he wanted, to spend this blissful moment with you forever, remaining this drunk on you, and getting you drunk on him. Oh, how the though got him even harder inside you causing you to whine, feeling him hit all of your sweet spots.

His face turns to your face, seeing your fucked expression displayed only for him. Tears falling all for him alone, he couldn't help but smirk at your helpless self, sticking his tongue out to lap up your precious tears off your cheek.

"Such a cutie, my cutie." Rafayel whispers in your ear, giving it a good teasing bite at the end. Your body shook, face hot as you suck up all of his compliments and praise.

You can feel another orgasm trying to escape your body and Raf could tell by just how much your pussy was quivering. His hand that was on your waist moved lower between your thighs. His finger finds your throbbing clit, giving you a nice rub from his index and middle finger. Coxing you to cum around him and his cock. And it really didn't take much long before your body convulses with a powerful orgasm. You could feel yourself creaming around the base of his dick, head hanging low as you whaled a pitiful cry. Sweat dripping down your forehead, mouth open as drool rolled down your chin. your boyfriend came right behind you, filling your pussy with his white liquid. Raf's eyes closed as he lowers his head on your neck, giving you butterfly kisses along your shoulder. The hot load made you moan, as it added with the previous load Rafayel dumped inside you. You were so out of it that you didn't notice Raf was still hard around you. Pulling you off his dick, releasing you so he can move you onto your back.

You let out a sigh of relief feeling the cool sheets against your back. Your head on the soft pillow for a rest as your hair spilled messily around your head. But your eyes suddenly catch Rafayel in a very erotic position. He was on his knees, looking down at you with such intense gaze that sent a deep shiver down your body. You're breathless as you watch him pant heavily, his body glowing with sweat from the bed-side lamp. Chest heaving as well as his abs, his right hand now wrapping around his long dick. He pumps himself slowly, his cock still wet and dripping with your juices, while also his own come dripping down from the tip. It created a very slimy and wet sound with each pump he made. His dual purplish pink eyes never leaving your own eyes, and that made your pussy throb and clench over nothing. His cum pooling down your folds and to your ass.

He smells it again, your arousal, your pheromones still bombarding his nostrils.

He curses under his breath with a low whine exiting his throat. His left hand running his fingers up along his sweaty bangs, smoothing it over his head.

"R-Raf, are you okay?"

He doesn't really say anything just staring deeply, and you swallow a wad spit stuck in your throat. The fear and anticipation bubbling up in your chest, heart pounding so hard that you wouldn't be surprised if Rafayel could hear. Before you could say or do anything else, Rafayel pounced on your body. His hands lifted your legs from underneath your knees, pushing them all the way back till they were almost to your head. Having your folded into a restrictive mating press making you yelp in caution. His hands gripping the back of your thighs tightly, as your ass you lifted up a bit due to the position. He looked down at you with such a craved hunger, his breathing already ragged and desperate. His cock was moved between your puffy folds, his hips thrusting along your pussy. It easily glides with both of your drenched genitals with each other cum. The tip would hit your sensitive clit making your back arch from the pleasure. You could see the sick strings from your arousal stick from his cock to your pussy.

"W-Wait wait Raf! I-I don't know if I can do another-"

"Yes you can...please baby, just one more I promise...one more~"

His voice in a low whisper but you could still hear him. He was begging you for another round, pleading to stuff you full once more, to feel you around him so close and intimate. You whimper, your mind knowing that you should stop this, but your body was aching so much for your boyfriend to ruin you.

Seeing your willing submit on your face, Rafayel smiles all before his cock slowly pushes it way inside your hot walls. The stretch of his cock intense then the last rounds as you can feel him go even deeper. His tip hitting your cervix straight away, brushing up against the organ. Your eyes rolled back into your head, arms clentching the sheets and pillow right under your head. You were so distracted in your own bliss that you could see how Rafayel was fairing to all this pleasure. The boy head fell, as his eyes were closed, feeling every inch, curve, and depth inside you amazing walls. It was so hot he felt as if you'd will leave burn scares -not that it would happen to him-

All of this had stared because the two of you haven't seen each other for a while. And Rafayel, being the dramatic man he was didn't take well from being away from his dear bodyguard any longer. That damn job of yours really was going to be the death of him. Out there, risking your life on a day to day basis, him worrying for your safety even though on the surface he puts on an act. Berating you through banter everytime you get injured, calling you dumb, even though deep down all he wanted to do was hold you tightly in his arms and never let go. You were literally going to be the death of him.

Hell you weren't even injured badly or anything. He just missed you over the past month, cursing your busy schedule just to see you again. Miss having to hang around his art studio while he painted, miss having you do tedious tasks of finding new paint colors for his artistic experiments, miss having you body this close to his, skin to skin. And all that waiting, all that yearning, and patience. All the times he had to hear your voice over the phone, instead face to face made things become a bit more maddening. He almost forgotten what you smelled like, (which he definitely cried over the phone to you, whining how he needs you to return to him immediately) and you rolled your eyes, saying how you'll be over there soon enough.

And so he waited.

Boy did he hate it.

You surprised him the moment you came over to his place, calling out his name with glee. Rafayel made a beeline towards you, his hands grasping your shoulders tightly as he had a pout on his plush lips. His breath heaving, as his face was red, as if he was in heat. His clothes dishevelled, as his white buttoned shirt was open to view. Showing off his lean muscular physique and abs. He then kissed you desperately, trying to get your taste back into his mouth and memory. Sweet, you were so sweet and addicting. He hands moved along your body, grasping it's fill, whining how he was going to die if you hadn't came back. Which was false, but you knew how dramatic your boyfriend could be, especially when it came to you. So you let him have his way with you throughout the late evening.

What you didn't know was how much he was going to take from you.

Rafayel was still inside you, his hips not moving as his cock was motionless. You bite your lip as you wiggled your hips helplessly, wanting him to move. But you soon found a soft plop of liquid falling down chest. You slowly open your eyes, angling them to see what had fallen on your skin. Your eyes instantly are wide as you recognize the red liquid. Your gaze meets with Rafayel only to be shocked at what you were seeing. His nose, with one nostril leaking the crimson blood, rolling down to his own lips and chin.

"R-Rafayel! Oh my god, your nose!?"

You are concerned seeing your boyfriend have a spontaneous nosebleed out of nowhere. Probably due to all the hormones, maybe the blood rushed to fast into his head.

As if realizing this, Rafayel's right hand lets go of your thigh for a moment. His hand rising to his face, finger wiping away the blood that leaked down his upper lip, mouth, and chin. The blood smears against his cheek, his nosebleed stopping. Rafayel blinks for a few moments as he glances down at the small plop of blood that streaked across one of your breasts. He even looks down at his own hand that was smeared with blood that he wiped off his face. His eyebrows furrowed, as he looks away from you.

"Damn it...this is all your fault...getting me so worked up like this."

He whispers this while pouting, embarrassed by his own actions. All you could do was look up at him, and soon after you smiled. A breathless giggle rippling through your chest and out your mouth. He looks back at you with a soft yet annoyed expression on his features.

"Hey stop-"

"Hehe sorry, it's just.."

You smile at Rafayel as your hand reaches to cup his cheek gently. His eyes look at yours in surprise but soon caves in, and he closes those pretty eyes of his. His face leaning into your touch, cool hand against his heated skin, kissing the palm softly. Your thumb caressing a bit of the smeared blood along his cheek.

"I love you so much Raf."

You say this with full genuine love and adoration for the man above you. Rafayel takes in your words, as his eyes were still closed, head nuzzled up against your palm.

You were immediately taken back when Rafayel took your hand away from his face. His hand placed back underneath your soft thighs. Pushing your legs further in-between your head, making you note how you were defiantly going to sore for a few days after this. His hips slowly grind and thrust into your sweet spot, making you squirm in his tight hold of you. His cock digging inside your gut, making a noticeable bulge sticking out from your lower abdomen. You cry and Rafayel curses as he continues to ground himself slowly, swirling his cock around your walls, driving you crazy all over again.

"Shit, I love you so much too princess, -Nngh- you drive me insane~"

His thrusts were hard yet tantalizing slow, taking his time to etch his cock into your pussy. Just so you have the shape of him inside of you forever, ruined for anyone else to take -not that he'd allow you to leave him-

Your head felt so hot, as you couldn't think or say anything. Only letting Raf use your body as you moan in pleasure. But your body trembled for more, for him to just pound you senselessly otherwise you'd might explode. And Rafayel could sense that, he could feel how needy you were for his cock to take you. And he loved it, he wanted to give you everything you deserve. He wanted to make you feel just how he felt waiting for you for that long month. Though he himself was getting antsy and impatient, the urge to fuck you silly and stupid still raging inside his head and body.

"My pretty girl getting frustrated hehe."

Rafayel chuckles watching your facial features clench as his sent a hard thrust to your core. Your body shaking for him to just go faster.

"Open your mouth for me."

You hear his demand and obey him, opening you mouth wide for him, tongue sticking out waiting. His eyes crazed with lust as he watched you do this. He too opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out as he aligned his head above your mouth. Gathering up some saliva in the back of his mouth, he used his tongue to let the saliva drool down creating a slow stream into your own mouth. A moan erupts your throat, eyes lidded as you watched him drool into your own mouth, letting the saliva pool inside. Your pussy clenches heaving around him, causing the man above to groan knowing your aroused from his actions. He then stops himself, pulling his tongue away and closing his mouth with a sly smirk. Closing your mouth, as his own saliva swished inside before going down your throat and into your stomach when swallowing. Once you swallowed the mouth full of his saliva, you re-opened your mouth to him, tongue sticking out showing that you swallowed it all down. A stupid lewd grin carving your lips.

Rafayel watches this in amazement, he could feel himself getting even more harder inside you if that was even possible. The shaft throbbing, wanting to be stimulated more by your sweet cunt. His hips then move faster, his speed crazy and rough. Dick repeatedly punching your cervix with no mercy what-so-ever. Your eyes roll back as your mouth hanged open with cries and moans. Back arching so deliciously while he ruined your pussy.

"Aagh! R-Raf...uugh~!"

"Fuck princess~!"

Rafayel's cock drilled inside you, the bulge protruding from your flesh, making Rafayel go deranged. One of his legs were kneeling, while the other was propped up the bed, his foot digging into the mattress to get a better angle in your cunt. Your pussy in full display for him as it sucked him up, both your cum spilling out from the sides making a nasty mess all around your folds and thighs. The creamy seed dripping up to your navel. Balls slapping onto your ass, sending a loud smack with every thrust he did. The two of you were fucking like animals, very rough and high of each other's bodies. Especially Rafayel, who was drooling with his eyes full blow with lust as he watched your body rocked with his. Your arms above your head, breasts jumping heavily, as well as your legs and feet that swayed in the air.

Rafayel leans in more, his body weigh heavy against yours. He lips crashed with your, tongue violating your own mouth. He wanted to ruin your face as much as he was ruining your body. Both of your tongues swirling together messily, his heated breath mixed with yours. All while he muttered his dirty thoughts between kisses.

"C-Can't say anything can you princess?"

Kiss.

"Has my cute bodyguard turn dumb on me~?"

Kiss.

"-Nngh- Don't worry...you don't have to say anything...shit!"

Kiss.

"Just let me take care of you."

Kiss. Kiss.

"Don't you ever leave for that long..."

Kiss.

"Mm, I-I'll make sure you'll never forget my shape~"

Kiss.

Some of the blood that was staining his cheek moved to your own face. Some wiping along your own cheek and nose, making it look as if you too had a nosebleed. Honestly with the amount of blood flow rushing up to your brain, you figured that was bound to happen. You gasp in pain when you felt Rafayel teeth bite down along your calf. His head kissing your skin that held the new bite mark.

Rafayel can feel your pussy start to flutter around him, making him let out a whine. You were starting to get close to your orgasm, and so was he. He starts to pick the pace up causing you to squeal with much delight. His strong arms holding you close and tight as your toes clench in pleasure.

"Cum for me my bride...I want to spill all over my cock! Do it for me, make a mess~!"

You let out unintelligible nonsense, babbling slurs that were probably Rafayel's own name. You couldn't tell as you were took fucked out to know anything but pleasure and bliss surrounding your whole body. All you could think about was your boyfriend Rafayel and his thick cock sending you to the edge. Your orgasm came like a hurricane, taking up all your senses and pouring out of you violently. Your back was arched, eyes crossing over as your hands above you gripped the pillow that rested beneath your head. Nails digging in, fearing you may tear it due to how much you were gripping it. Legs shake yet stiffen as your cunt gushed around his cock hard, your cum spraying out of you. Drenching both you and Rafayel, your thighs, pussy, his lower abdomen, dick and balls dripping with your sweet essence. You were crying, as globs of tears streak down your cheeks,

Rafayel shuddered, head dipping down as his teeth gritted. His thrusts were non-stop, and he prolonged your orgasm and entered into his own. His hands gripping to your thighs harshly, a bruise to come later. His tip was pressed up along your cervix, come shooting load after load inside. Filling your pussy to the brim to the point semen snuck out through the crevasses that connected you and him. Rafayel shook, as his thrusts start to slow down, sweat dripping down his body as well as yours. Rafayel kept muttering "I love you" whispering with every pump of his cock made inside you, moaning pathetically. The man then finally stills himself, too overstimulated to move anymore, your whines and sniffles making him stop as you were to overstimulated yourself.

His grip on you lessens, as he slowly lets go of your thighs and places them down on the soft bed. You let out a sigh of relief, eyes closed and tired. They felt so heavy, and it was too much to open them. Rafayel pulls out of you, hissing at the cool air that hits him when coming out of your warmth. He watches as spurts of his own cum squirts out of your stretched hole. He was amazed at the site, and he would have pushed his seed back inside you if it wasn't for the overwhelming exhaustion that pulled him down. Rafayel pulls the bed sheets over you and him, his head toppled over between your breasts nuzzling in them. His breath settling as well as yours, he can hear your heart steady, as your breath slows. Soft snores indicating that you had passed out. He sighs a content sigh, kissing your chest softly while wrapping his arms around your body. Rafayel starts to drift to sleep on your chest, a well knowing thought on how next morning, you'll probably scold him for how sore he made you.

A scolding he was definitely looking forward to.

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel smut #lads smut #smut

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maudie-duan · 1 month ago

Text

Summary: What starts as a sweet and innocent crush ends with you finally getting your hands on the guys you've been eyeing for months.

Paring: Frat!Harry X (Fem)Reader

Tags: @sassamanda77 @loverofhsandallthings1d @styless-syndrome @carolinaastyles

Word Count: 10K

A/N: This was based on this CONCEPT<- from the wonderful @hesbunnies This a bit of a slow burn but so worth the finish!

Warnings: 18+FLUFF/SMUT(Language, alcohol use, light peer pressure, light public humiliation, size kink, talks of oral sex/ oral sex (m) receiving, brief spit talk, light Dom Frat!Harry behavior, protected sex, hair-pulling...) I think that's it. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

It started as innocent.

Sweet.

A playground crush, the kind you held like a treasure.

A glimpse from across the room, the cute boy you have that one class with.

Tuesday and Thursday.

All it took was one glance to lock that secret inside. You held it near like you were waiting for a rainy day, the chance to hold out your tongue and pray that tiny gumdrops would fall from the sky.

That day, you took your seat, setting yourself up for that morning’s lecture, slightly hungover from the night before. You knew that you had dealt with worse, that you could push through it, but that didn’t stop you from forcing your headphones into your ears and putting your head down to rest your cheek against the cool surface of the desk.

As the song changed, you caught the pitch of the professor’s voice, and you lifted your head just as Harry walked in, barely making it to class on time, the two of you locking eyes immediately. The second you made the connection, his presence stole your focus, the song pouring into your ears ushering him in like it was meant for this very moment, your gaze following as he found a seat.

When he didn’t look away, neither did you because with a face like that, how could you?

Especially once you noticed that slight little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he had you captivated, and that’s when you realized you were smiling, your eyes darting away as fast as you could, but it was too late because just as your eyes moved away, you caught a glimpse of the smile that little smirk had turned into.

You knew you were screwed.

So fucking screwed.

It was like once you saw him, you saw him everywhere.

The campus coffee shop was your favorite place to glimpse him, see him out in the wild, in the untamed setting that didn’t confine you both to a classroom. He had just started working there, a startling site to see the first time you saw him behind the counter.

That’s where you noticed his dimples for the first time, his green eyes, the rasp in his voice when he called out your drink, and you had to suffer your way to the counter, too shy to meet his eyes, just bold enough to mutter “Thanks,” because him taking your order at the register was all you could handle, and as you pushed through the door, you peeked over your shoulder, Harry’s eyes on you, and you were grateful for the chill of the day, the cold air settling over your flushed face.

You were already hooked, and you knew it.

The dining hall was fun; those were the times you got to see him come alive. When he was no longer in a role but hanging with his friends, not a care in the world but eating—He was silly, boyish in the way he shoveled food in his mouth as a laugh spilled out, mouthful conversations, jokes being passed around, a pat on the back here and there—boys, being boys, but not in the barbaric way you pictured, just having a good time.

And god, there were so many glances, the stolen glance from across the class, Harry never sitting in one spot, but always in your line of sight somehow, the back of his head, a side profile, sometimes at the end of your row, only capturing a glimpse of him from your peripheral view, and if you dared to sneak a peek, of course, his eyes would catch you, and you would have to play it off like you weren’t seeking those green eyes out.

You swore your eyes were magnets for his, like he was seeking yours, too. This gut-deep feeling, sickly sweet, that churned deep in the boom of your belly, always leaving you wanting more.

The more details you gathered from afar, the more you picked up on his charm, and dammit, it was so effortless, his presence sugary sweet, coating your insides like cotton candy fluff, each sugary layer dissolving on the tip of your tongue, the moment it came in contact because with the charm came the girls, and fuck, there were so many girls vying for his attention, the girls just as consumed by the tattoos and skinny jeans.

You realized this made you no different than the girls huddled close in the library watching him walk by, you snagging fragments of their hushed conversation, the topic of his hidden tattoos, that so and so had hooked up with him last week, and he was even hotter in bed.

The thought instantly consumed you and sent you reeling—adding yet another hopeless layer to dissect.

Luckily for you, your roommate Lena seemed to be hitting it off with one of his best buddies, which gave you an in because that was the first time he gave you a nod of recognition—a sweet little morsel you almost missed because you were so caught up in the words drifting behind you that you barely caught the smile he left you with as he shoved a hand in his pocket and strolled out of the library.

For days, you sat floating on a fluffy pastel daydream, his smile the only thing you could see, and that’s when your looks became intentional, not just a hopeful glance, but a direct line of sight.

For months, you spun the idea of Harry in your mind, each thought starting off sweet, sometimes heating up—a low simmer, a carmelized daydream spinning into thin strands of candied floss, a clouded haze of fluff you were dying to devour.

And he never let you down because there he was feeding you those tiny morsels, like sucking on a lemon drop—sweet and sour—a treat that took its time to melt in your mouth. A “Hi” here, an “I’ll see you around” there—the art of Lena now dating his friend paying off when you found Harry sitting on your couch one day after class. You remembered this because the vision would haunt you for days to come as you felt his eyes follow you to your room. Harry was still in sight when you reached for the door, and as you turned the knob and stepped inside, you stole one last look, his gaze still trained on you, then he disappeared as you entered your room, his curious glance making your heart pound in your chest.

And when the early evening turned to night. You stayed in your room because you knew you wouldn’t be able to play it cool, and as the noise picked up down the hallway, you laid there in bed, memorizing the way his deep voice echoed in your tiny apartment, and swore one day he would be in your bed.

Another night, you found yourself in the backseat with Harry, him grabbing a ride with his buddy, and Lena, dragging you along, and although you put on a show of not wanting to join, deep down, you knew Harry would be there.

This was another memorable night, playing out in your head so fucking clear because you were so nervous. You remembered sliding into the backseat, thinking Lena would be joining you, but then Harry made it a point to give Lena the front seat, and the second he slid in, it was like he stole the oxygen straight from your lungs.

This was the closest you guys had ever been, only a shallow gap sitting between you both. You felt yourself straightening in your seat, lengthening your spine so you could take a decent breath, a silent intake of air that you held in your lungs as your body went still, your heart hammering in your chest after you muttered a quick “Hey.”

And there was silence until there was music.

The car ride was long, and no one wanted to play DJ, so Lena made you plug in your phone. Lena had put you on the spot, exposing you like a gutted fish. At least, that’s what it felt like, so you chose a recent playlist you had just made—later you would learn that this was also the night something shifted between you and Harry.

You kept overthinking every song that came on, a true act of vulnerability as each song came and went, and then there was that one song, the song you had been playing on a loop, the song that made you think of Harry, an upbeat tune with lyrics that made you melt at the idea of him, and out of nowhere, Harry asks:

“What’s the name of this song?” His voice woody as he cleared his throat, the silence taking its toll.

You pretended you didn’t know, even though you felt the title at the tip of your tongue as soon as he asked. Once you swiped open the screen, the title was there. You watched Harry pull out his phone and enter it into his search, adding it to his favorites. Then, he asked if he could look through the list, so you gently handed him your phone, your hand shaky, trying not to unplug the aux it was attached to.

Giving him your phone was like giving him an extension of yourself, and there it was in his hands.

All you could do was watch, holding your breath until you decided to let it go; you falling back into your seat as he scrolled through the list, the blue light of the screen glowing over his face. You observed a smile ghost over his lips, making your chest tight with excitement, and you had to turn away as you exhaled a weighted breath, the tension tight in your body, your phone in his hands now a tether between you both.

The next time you saw him in class, he sat right next to you.

You were stunned, a slow smile spreading across your face as he dropped his bag onto the table, and you looked up at him. You knew you must have had a strange expression because he asked, “What? Is it not cool if I sit here?” And he smiled, that smile when both dimples show, and you nod your head, his green eyes searching your face, leaving you with nothing to do but smile.

From then on, he sat next to you every Tuesday and Thursday, always something to look forward to, that crush even more persistent the closer you got to him—a low whisper in your ear when he leaned over to crack a joke about something the professor said, or the times his arm would graze yours. Another memory to add to the collection—the first time it happened, you subtly pulled away, his touch sending a jolt up your spine, a running chill over your skin as the tingle remained the longer you kept your focus on the touch.

On another occasion, when it happened again, you waited to see if he would pull away, but he never did. As you slowly drew your arm away, you held your breath, and the feeling of your skin dragging against his heated you from within, sending a fluttering bloom to the depths of your belly.

Your resolve was starting to waver, and you knew it.

Your face had to be giving you away, the warmth filling your cheeks, burning as you tucked your hands into your lap, and you sat there perfectly still, leaning back into your chair like you were completely unphased by it all. You slowed your breath then, in through your nose, an even slower release, and you wondered how long you could go on like this, the room narrowing, Harry’s close proximity stirring the atmosphere of the room.

You were only aware of him and his every movement.

And when his knee knocked into yours, you bit down on your lower lip, your eyes flicking to his knee, now pressed against yours, and with every ounce of bravery you had, you chanced the smallest of looks at Harry—there he was, smiling the faintest of smiles down at his paper, his pen moving as if nothing was happening, even though your whole body was buzzing with it, and then you did something crazy, something completely out of character. You lean forward, resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, elbow pressing into the desk, and you look him dead in the eye, sending him a playful smirk, and your hand smoothes over his knee, the move undetectable to those around you, but you knew, and you let your hand rest, the bold move sending a spark between your legs, that tension a growing knot in the pit of your stomach.

What you weren’t expecting was for Harry to grasp hold of your hand, a quick squeeze, and then he was slowly dragging your hand up his inner thigh, stopping right before the crotch of his jeans, but you felt the warmth, the shock running through you like electricity, your head spinning as he flattened your hand against the top of his thigh, the tips of your fingers grazing near the mound between his legs, giving his inner thigh a light squeeze, and Harry pushed out a low laugh, his eyes flicking to yours, and you couldn’t stop the smile rising as you gazed back at him,

That’s when you knew you wanted him, no matter what it took.

Then, the professor was ending the lecture, the class beginning to stir, but neither of you moved, and when people began to stand around you, you gave his thigh one last squeeze, moving your grip deeper, your pinky brushing the inner seam of his jeans, and Harry sucked in a quick breath, a wide smile on his face as his hand grasped hold of yours and he squeezed your hand hard, pulling it away, and he bit down on his lower lip, scooting his chair back.

“Soon…” He whispers.

That was Thursday.

So on Saturday, when Lena asked if you wanted to go to the guy’s house for a little get together, you knew that was your chance; you knew this night would be different because Harry wanted it too.

“Soon,” He said; the low tone of his voice dripped down your spine like a sugary glaze that you had to live with for almost two whole days with no plan. A single word looming over your candied haze, your mouth going dry at the thought. You kept thinking of that look, him biting down on his lip, the vision caking your mind, and now every passing thought was honeyed with his intentions.

You felt the pull deep in your body, a dull throb between your legs as you stood there, eyeing Harry from across the room, but you didn’t want to look desperate, so you kept yourself busy, thankful that Lena made you guys pregame before you came because it didn’t take long for your drink to start catching up, and it was welcomed because you needed the delusional courage the alcohol would bring.

There were more people than Lena put on. You stood there thinking you would never get your chance with Harry, and it was understandable, but you couldn’t go one more day without a definite green light, without at least the taste of those heart-shaped lips pressed to yours, and you waited, so patient, so calm, so fucking unbothered by the many girls, flitting around, trying to capture his attention.

How many times was he going to catch your eye and not make a move because you knew without a doubt you weren’t going to be the one?

You were technically the one who made the first move, so he was going to have to give. So what’s another round of cat and mouse? You thought, taking another drink, Harry still eyeing you at every chance, ignoring the girl talking at him with desperation every time she flipped her hair over her shoulder, then you smiled into your cup, taking one more drink before you turned away, knowing Harry had his eyes on you no matter where you roamed around the room.

You liked this, this subtle power you knew you had over him; you had what he wanted, that much was clear, and when he finally made his way to you, you felt it.

His eyes traveling down your body spoke volumes, that cocky grin lingering as he took your drink from your hand, and he started toward the drinks, that invisible tether back, pulling from within as you felt the longing stretch through your entire body.

This was it,

this was going to happen.

But how do you get there?

“So you’re not going to talk to me, huh?” Harry asked, handing you a full cup of something red, swishing around in your cup, and when you brought it to your mouth. Harry watched you, waiting for an answer as you shrugged your shoulders, the sweet taste of punch coating your tongue, spurring that cotton candy daydream to life as you gazed into his eyes.

“I was waiting for you to talk to me, sir,” You tell him, nudging his arm as your eyes flit over his top, a sheer material, leaving nothing to the imagination, and when you peep the vailed butterfly at the center of his chest, your eyes dart to his, then back, and you poke a lazy finger into the center of his shirt, and he laughs, taking hold of the tip of your finger.

Just then, Lena calls your name from across the room, ripping your attention from Harry, and you pull your finger from his grasp, feeling like you just got caught doing something naughty, and even if you weren’t, you knew you wanted to, and your cheeks burned with it.

“You guys…” Lena shouts, “You too, Harry…” and when you look to Harry, he too is like a deer in headlights, pointing to himself like he has no idea what his name is.

“Come play guys…” Harry’s buddy yells, pulling Lena onto his lap, and the shame of your thoughts has you moving, not wanting to draw any more attention to you and Harry.

What the both of you didn’t know was that they were playing Truth or Dare, and you had that sinking feeling already that you knew you were screwed because you guys weren’t kids anymore, and now there was alcohol involved.

The first couple of rounds weren’t bad; you chose Dare right off the bat, thinking a bold move would mean they would go easy, and that they did. The dare was to take a shot; that was easy. Harry, on the other hand, was playing it safe; while you chose Dare three times, he chose truth, uttering things from his mouth that made you blush because, of course, each question was loaded.

Who didn’t like a good dirty secret?

By the fifth round, it was Harry’s turn again, and when he chose Truth, his buddy interjected and told him he had to choose Dare. When Harry smiled, your stomach dropped because his friend wasn’t budging, and so he took it, eyes flitting past you as they moved to his friend—it just took that split second of attention to rally every nerve in your body because, let’s face it…you were tipsy, teetering on the edge of drunkenness, and so was he.

You could see it in his glossy green eyes, that lazy smirk that hadn’t left his mouth, the way he kept getting closer, the two of you shoulder to shoulder, even though there was plenty of space on either side of you both, that innocent touch making the room vibrate, buzz with the anticipation of how you wanted this night to end—it had to be with him, it had to be underneath, on top of him, his face between your legs, it didn’t matter, at this point you would even drop to your knees for him

But what do they say? Be careful what you wish for. Because the next thing you know, Harry’s buddy is giving the dare, telling Harry to pick someone to waterfall a can of beer into their mouth, and you’re so caught up in the idea of beer being a shit choice that you don’t even realize everyone is staring at you until you see that cunning smile Harry is giving you, and when your eyes flick to Lena she’s nodding her head, one of those, yeah you looks, then Harry grabs your arm, your whole body heating as your eyes dart around the circle of people staring back at you.

Your legs are stiff as Harry pulls you near, his buddy handing him a cold beer, your gaze trained on the can now in Harry’s hands. It’s all moving so fast, catcalls ringing around you, the energy of everyone picking up, gearing up to watch the show you’re about to put on for them because it’s fight or flight, and you’re sticking to it.

When Harry drops your arm, it’s like lightning tearing through your body, your eyes darting to his as the crisp sound of the tab bursts open, the cream-colored froth spilling over the edge of the can. You both glance down, Harry extending it further away so he doesn’t get any on his boots. Even though you’re not a fan of the taste of beer, you know the ice-cold liquid would cool you down because your body is on fire, heat creeping through you—should you be mortified? You’re not sure, but when Harry’s eyes return to yours, you swallow hard, your heartbeat pounding in your throat.

You’re willing your nerves not to show as your eyes sweep over Harry’s face. Then he leans in and says, “I’ll go slow…don’t worry…”

You let out a small laugh, your hand finding his wrist as he pushes his hand into your waist, sending a raspy laugh into your ear while the tip of his nose brushes against your earlobe, and it’s dizzying. The only thing keeping you balanced is your grip on his wrist because, holy shit, you’re really going to follow through with it, and just as you tip your head back, Lena yells, “On your knees, bitch—” your eyes go wide, and Harry gives your waist a little squeeze as he pushes you back, opening up space for you to kneel before him.

His smile is teasing, spurring you on, keeping that flame burning within, but little does he know you’re about to make him pay, make him suffer, make him weak—water the seed you planted that day in class—leave him wanting more because isn’t that what this is, and so you play into it, a sly grin playing at the corner of your mouth as you lock eyes.

You release his wrist, then lock your focus on Harry as you begin to kneel, slow and precise, lowering until one knee hits the ground, then the other. You sit back on your heels, only breaking eye contact to place both palms neatly on your thighs, straightening your spine and rising up like the dutiful girl you’re about to become. Once your gaze moves back to Harry, he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with the effort, and you know you’ve got him that easily, and you haven’t even opened your mouth.

He steps in front of you then, his smile fading, and he leans over you, his dick inches from your face, and he gathers a handful of your hair with one hand, a makeshift ponytail, adding to the list of unexpected acts, and when he gives your head a gentle nudge, you have to force your eyes away from the obvious bump in his pants because there’s no way this dude isn’t packing some serious heat, and your dying to know, and maybe, just maybe you’ll find out.

You comply when he gives your hair another little tug, your head falling back as your eyes meet his, “Now open that sexy little mouth,” Lena shouts, playing into the bit. She’s like the best wingman without even realizing it, and your lips part, your mouth rounding into an “O,” and you widen your mouth, opening your jaw, and you give Harry one last look before your eyes flit shut.

“That’s so hot,” someone says, and you smile. Harry presses the cold can to your bottom lip, and your heart picks up as the chill runs through your chest, a sudden thrill.

He’s playful at first, a quick glug of beer spilling into your mouth, and the second it spills out, the crisp cold carbonation washes over your tongue like water leaving the stale taste of sour yeast running over your taste buds, cheap beer of course, and you feel your throat seize, overwhelmed, the feeling intensified by your lack of visual clues, then you lap your tongue over your bottom lip licking a stray drop that just hit the surface.

As you open your eyes, you take a moment to straighten your posture, preparing yourself for what’s next. Leaning back again, you feel Harry starting to pour, the can hovering just above your bottom lip. As your mouth widens in anticipation, he carefully lifts the can, his grip on your hair gentle yet firm, slowly guiding your head back. The beer flows steadily, and with each widening of your mouth, your jaw relaxes a bit more. Your gaze is fixed on the stream, and you engage your core muscles to maintain your straight posture. Like a little bird being fed, you take in the first gulp effortlessly.

There’s a slight strain, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

Like he promised, his pour was slow, and this time, you let your mouth fill more, thinking it would be easier. Your eyes flicked to Harry, a small grin peeking at the corner of his mouth as the stream got higher—tiny specks of droplets hitting your face as it splashed into your mouth, and you closed your eyes, stretching your spine to guzzle your next mouthful, now weighing down the back of your tongue, and you gulp, a loud gurgle coming from your throat as you hold steady trying not to move any other muscle but your throat, then someone yells, “I bet she’s good at giving blow jobs—”

Hearing Harry’s raspy laugh, your eyes open, and you look him dead in the eye, opening your mouth as wide as you can, your jaw relaxing into the stretch. That’s when Harry decides to quicken the pour—the beer halfway gone, you hope— and he pulls at your ponytail with his firm grip, inching your head back further; and Harry takes control of the whole situation as panic rises up, your mouth filling faster this time, and you know you have to swallow.

Then he’s pouring faster.

The new angle of your neck has made the strain harder, stretching the muscles in your neck taut, giving you less control, and you open the back of your throat as liquid spills down, fast, heavy as it gushes past the barrier you were holding, the choke down louder this time, a strained glug as you puff out your cheeks trying not to cough, and your eyes widen flicking to Harry who is biting back his smile, his chin rising as the pour speeds down into your mouth, and when his lips part, you choke down another gulp, eyes never leaving his.

He licks his lips then, and you do it again, just to see his reaction. As he licks his lips, a flying droplet hits your eye, then another, and you have to force your eyes shut, “Dump the rest in her mouth,” some dude says.

“Make her really choke on it!” another adds, and Harry grips the makeshift ponytail hard, and you open your eyes as the can comes down closer to your mouth. Harry tilts the can, emptying it out into your mouth, and you gasp down the beer, liquid spilling out the sides of your mouth, and there you are, squirming under Harry’s hold as you force the liquid down your throat, coughing in a gulp of air, once it’s completely down.

As quickly as Harry grabbed hold of your hair, he released it, and you sucked in a breath, grasping at your neck with one hand, reaching for Harry with the other, and he pulls you to your feet and past the people flooding your hazy vision, your head spinning as a rush of oxygen fills your lungs, and it feels like your floating on a cloud, every limb on your body numb, heavy, yet weightless because you think you could do anything, yeah, you could do anything.

Then Harry pulls you through a doorway to a bedroom, your whole world coming to a hurried halt, you standing there trying to play catch up with a scene of events that just unfolded. Harry, in perpetual motion, moves way too fast, in a frantic rush, a hasty pace, as he walks over to his desk, grabs hold of a wooden chair, walks back to his door, and he jams the back of the chair under the handle, pulling on the knob to make sure it’s secure.

And then he just stops, standing there looking at the door, and you don’t know what to do; the reality that you must be in his room setting in, yet Harry is unmoving. Standing there in some sort of contemplation, and you wonder if he forgot that you were here, and when he runs a flustered hand down his face, you listen to him exhale, putting a hand on his hip as he pivots to face you, “That damn lock is broken on my door,” he confesses, his smile suddenly shy.

“Yeah?” you breathe, unsure what to say.

“Yeah…” He says, his green eyes searching your face, and now you were dizzy with the vision of him before you, that shitty beer trying to show its face.

You had no idea what you looked like in that moment; Harry just stood there, rolling his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, that boyish charm thing he does, another little cork you had picked up on over the months—was he nervous? You couldn’t tell with his furrowed brows, so serious, his tall stature seeming to consume the room because he was all you could focus on.

“Was it weird that I brought you to my room?” He speaks up, and then he moves past you to turn on a lamp next to his bed.

Your response isn’t quick; it takes until he moves past you again to turn off his overhead light, a change in mood, the atmosphere shifting in a tipsy state, every subtle change amplified, “No…” is what you tell him because it isn’t weird, but getting to this point was overwhelming,

“We don’t have to do anything…” He says, kicking a boot off, and you follow suit, peering down at your feet as one shoe comes off, then the next.

“But you want to, right?” You ask him, picking up your shoes and placing them by the door, and when you look back, you catch a hint of a smirk peeking at the corner of his mouth, a flutter building, and you bite the edge of your tongue to keep your smile at bay.

“I just wanted to get away from all those people…couldn’t think with all of that noise…” Harry tells you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“It was so fucking loud…” you agree, eyes roaming his room, your obsessive little mind already at work.

“Yeah…” He says, and when your eyes shift to him, he’s leaning back into his arm, breathing an air of casualness into the room, and you rake your eyes down his body.

You give him a small smile, eyes moving away, “So you couldn’t hear yourself think, huh?” You ask, his room oddly sobering because how many times had you thought about it, wondered what it looked like? Imagined yourself in it, and who cares if you had been a tad bit obsessive? You never forced the idea on anyone or him; it was your sweet little innocent secret to keep, and look at what it got you: a front-row seat to your favorite show, so why not take it?

“Yeah…a bit overwhelming…” he laughs, his tongue lazily stretching out that last word, his British drawl heavy.

You look over your shoulder, “Overwhelming?” You smile again, matching Harry’s smile, and your eyes dart to his books lined across a shelf.

“What was there to think about?” you question, dragging a slow finger down the spine of an old book, taking in the faded colors, and you turn just in time to glimpse that cocky grin rising, Harry’s mouth corking to one side, mischievous is all you can think.

“You—” He says, plain and simple, the word falling out of his mouth like a hopeful gumdrop falling from the sky, something you never imagined happening, and you felt your body buzzing with it, a slow hum vibrating deep in your belly, your pussy waking with it, and you knew this was it—You were going to get what you wanted.

“Tell me more…” You push, moving over to him, and Harry falls back into his other hand, his body now a long, lean line in front of you.

He pushes out a throaty laugh, eyes moving down your body, and you try to relax, let the alcohol work its magic, “I’ve noticed you blush easily…I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Hmm…” you hum.

“They’re a bit naughty…these thoughts—” He starts, sending a pulse straight to your clit as your heart begins to race, and you lean forward, placing a hand on each of his knees, looking him directly in the eyes, and you nod your head for him to continue.

“You started it, you know…” and this makes you laugh, “When you put your hand on my knee…”

“But did I start it?” You asked, feeling playful, “You’re the one who knocked my knee…” you tell him.

“Okay…I did do that…but you actually started this whole thing?”

“This whole thing?” you repeat, eyes moving to his mouth.

He licks his lips then, well aware of your eyes, “Yeah,” he says, smoothing his lips together, “When you smiled at me…that day in class…I saw you…”

“What? How do you know I was smiling at you? I could have been smiling at anyone…” you lie, trying to sidetrack him, and he was right about the blushing; you could feel the heat rising, your brain stumbling over the fact that he even remembered that.

He rasps out a laugh, leaning up to rest his hands on yours, his face only inches away, and the light catches the glint of his green eyes, leaving you in awe. “No…I saw it…there’s no fooling me, miss.”

“Fooling you?” you ask, smoothing your hands up his legs a few inches, and Harry grabs hold of your wrists, stopping them, his eyes sweeping down to your hands.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you—” and you force your face forward then, your mouth knocking against his, and you couldn’t help it, that persistent thought of him making you spiral, and when he doesn’t hesitate, you begin to move your mouth.

Harry deepens the kiss as his hands move up to your face, and you propel the both of you into action when you bring a knee to the edge of the bed. Then Harry breaks the kiss, reality hitting like a tidal wave, one big rush of awareness, knocking the air from your lungs, and you realize you should have asked.

“Is this okay?” He questions, his hot breath fanning over your lips, your face still in his hands.

You laugh, “I probably should be the one asking you, right? sorry…”

“No—I should have asked before I locked you in my room…” He forces, eyes darting over your face, but you’re watching the rise and fall of his chest, both of you winded from the sudden change of possibilities.

Staring down at his shirt, you say, “I want it…if you want it…” and you give his shirt a longing tug, your whole body aching for him, like even just rubbing your body against his would be enough, yearning like an adolescent dying to be touched for the first time.

“I’ve wanted you so fucking bad—” He tells you, forcing the words into your ear as a hand reaches for the button of your jeans, and it pops open in one swift move, then you lean forward, beginning to push them down, Harry lending his hands as you move in to kiss him.

You pull away then, fighting with the leg of your pants as you watch Harry yank his shirt over his head, the sight momentarily stunning you when you spot the tattoo at the center of his chest that you glimpsed earlier.

When Harry reaches for his jeans, you stop what you’re doing, “Please…give me the honor…” you joke, your hands moving with a need to the button of his jeans, and your mouth is already watering, excited when you spot the outline of his growing bulge taunting you.

Harry grabs hold of the top of his boxers as you shimmy his pants down his hips, lifting, then helping once they reach his ankles, “Skinny jeans will be the death of me…” He laughs out, ripping his ankle free, and then they’re off, Harry leaning back slightly to adjust himself in his Calvin Kline boxers, so fucking sexy, and your eyes feast on the sight of his abs, the tight muscles bending and flexing, and what a fucking sight to behold.

But he doesn’t give you much time because he snags the hem of your shirt and pulls it up, standing to lift it over your head, and just as your sucking in a breath, his mouth moves to yours, grabbing you by the waist to shift you onto the bed as you try to drag a quick breath through your nose.

His hands are everywhere—your face, your neck, your stomach, gliding up the curve of your waist, gently cupping a handful of boob, hungry, but you’re just as hungry, gripping and smoothing your hands over his muscles, hands roaming down the plains of his back, grabbing his ass to press him into you.

It’s all fast, every breath short and desperate, as desperate as you both were to spur this on.

And your legs are spreading, inviting him in, and when you grab his ass again, your shoving him into you, a slow grind into his hard bulge, and you gasp at the relief, the sensation, the air heavy, a narrowing focus that nothing else exists except this, and when Harry takes the lead pressing into you again, you arch your back, lifting your hips up to meet his, until you’re finding a rhythm, Harry just as involved, needy, forcing out moans, each one a low simmer, a slow burn, both your bodies heating with it.

Weak.

That’s what you are weak for him, a heady rush stealing every thought because all you can feel is him, his body, his slow grind between your legs, pressing into you hard, like he too is aching, longing, and it’s one long stroke, his dick so hard that you can make out the head hitting you right at your center, gliding up your panties until you feel the base of his cock, and he groans out your name, stilling his body.

“I’ll fucking come if we keep this up—” he tells you.

And you nod, planting a kiss on his lips, “I want you to fuck me…” you force, grinding your hips into his.

“Is that what you want?” He breathes, pressing a kiss to your neck, his words catching in the shell of your ear.

“So fucking bad…” you laugh, nipping at his shoulder, and he pushes himself up then, crawling back on the bed, the warmth of his body leaving you, making you even needier for him.

Harry reaches into his bedside table and mulls around, the sound of clutter filling the silence, and you draw your knees up, lifting yourself onto your elbows. “Sorry…I only have one condom left…”

And you laugh, “Damn, I guess we’ll have to make it count...”

With a smile, Harry brings the foiled wrapper to his mouth, tearing it open with his teeth, your heart pounding in your chest as you hold your breath, a sliver of the wrapper holding by a thread at the edge, and you scoot forward on the bed, beating him before his hands can even reach for his boxers.

You look up then, “You have a big dick, don’t you?” you smile, giddy almost, thrilled at the notion of him being inside you.

“I guess to some…yeah…does that make you change your mind?”

He had you from the moment he walked into that class, but he’s about to have to figure out a way to rid himself of you because once you tug down his boxers, your eyes go wide, your hand like a magnet to his hard dick springing before you, and you’re already climbing off the bed, his warm dick in your hands, and your down on your knees before he can even say another word.

“I want to do something first,” You tell him, wrapping your hand around the back of his leg to bring him closer.

Harry lets out a breathy laugh and covers his face, letting his head fall back like the sight of you on your knees is too much, and he puffs out a loud sigh, dragging his hands down his face, “I can’t watch…” He tells you, pushing his words to the ceiling with a smile, and he laces his hands behind his head, letting the weight of his neck fall into his hands, and your eyes move down his body, traveling down his flexed stomach until you spot the tattoo, and you laugh, gripping his swelling dick in your hand.

“Oh my god, Harry—” and you peer up at him. He’s probably heard it all before, but it doesn’t stop him from laughing.

The excitement sends a pulse through his dick, and it bounces in your loose grip, “I can’t look down…I already told you…”

You focus on the words inked into his skin, bringing his thick dick to your lips, the head of his cock, perfectly round like every candy-coated daydream you’ve ever had of him—a fucking treat, a lollipop earned, you think, already on your knees for him because those have been the daydreams you wanted to act out, put on a show that would drive him wild for you, but that was you on your knees tonight for him already, when you were that dutiful girl choking down beer for him, now you wanted to choke on him, fill the back of your throat until you were gagging on his big dick.

It started with a bounce against your mouth, the heavy head of his penis rippling across your lips; another bounce and you were lining your bottom lip with the ridge of his head, bounce, bounce, bounce, the weight of him hitting your mouth waking your senses, and then your lips were parting, a warm breath fanning over his dick, and your eyes flick up to Harry, watching him suck in a shallow breath.

“Might as well,” the tattoo says.

So you open your mouth, flattening your tongue, your hand guiding his head into your mouth, and you open wider as you slowly drag him past the tip of your tongue, and you listen as Harry drags in a sharp breath through his teeth.

You like this; you like his reaction, and when you close your mouth around him, your tongue flattens against his dick, working his head, your hand moving down his shaft, giving you more of him to take in; a couple of bobs and you hear him rasp out a low moan, throaty like he’s trying to control himself. When you pull him from your mouth, you gasp in a breath, gearing up to take on more, knowing you need to loosen your jaw. Then you’re diving for more, shoving him in further, and Harry forces out, “Oh, God—”

The encouragement provokes you further, ripping his dick from your mouth, and you spit down his shaft, working it down the base—a little extra help; then you’re bobbing your head, your hand moving with your mouth in unison, synchronized as your throat opens for him.

“Shit—” Harry breathes when you give his head a little extra attention, and he meets your eyes then, your gaze unmoving when you puff out your cheeks and force his dick to the back of your throat and the thick head of his penis hits your gag reflex hard, making your throat close around him, constricting as you force him back further, and you grip the base, readying yourself to do it again, then Harry tears his cock from your mouth, your throat seizing as you choke in a breath, the abrupt movement snatching the air from your lungs, and you gasp in a fast breath.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry…I didn’t mean for it to be that forceful.” Harry blurts, leaning down to hook a finger under your chin, and you rise to your feet, wiping at the corner of your mouth.

“Oh my god—” you say, trying to keep a straight face, falling back onto the bed, turning the dramatics up when you clutch your throat. “I could have died—”

“I swear I didn’t mean to—” he tries.

You push yourself up on your elbows, “Now you owe me,” you tell him, feeling the corner of your mouth rise, and you narrow your eyes, bringing your foot up to the middle of his chest when he tries to climb on top of you.

That’s when Harry realizes you’re joking, and he wraps a hand around your ankle, straightening his torso with a smile, “I know just how to repay you—” he tells you, gently lowering your leg to the bed.

His large palms come down to the tops of your thighs, giving you a light squeeze before they drag down your skin and hook behind your knees as you watch that smile widen on his face, and with one quick tug, he tugs you to the edge of the bed, a faint gasp leaving your mouth and you bite down on your lower lip, watching as he reaches for your underwear.

When his fingers hook under the top of your panties, you suck in a quick breath, drawing your tummy in as he starts to pull, and you fall back onto the bed again, bringing your feet up on the edge of the bed to lift your hips as your close eyes focusing on the way Harry slowly drags the material down your thighs, and you lengthen your leg as he pulls them past your ankles.

That’s when you lean up, eyes meeting his as he drops to his knees. A flutter of excitement runs between your legs, and your heart races with anticipation. “Since you were such a good girl…” He starts his hands on your waist now, and his thumbs caress the skin of your hip bones, gripping the meat at your sides to drag you closer.

You can’t help but squeeze your leg shut. “You’ll have to open those legs so I can give you your treat, darling. “ and you laugh, his British accent making you giddy, and you press your thighs together harder.

You speak up then, “I kinda want you to just fuck me…” you tell him, your voice coming off more timid than you’d like, and Harry lets out a laugh, brings his mouth to the top of your knee, and presses a kiss into your skin, making your pussy pulse.

“But I really—” he says, placing another kiss on the other knee, “want to return the favor—”

“How about next time?” you answer, your clit starting to ache for his dick to fill you up.

“You promise?” he asks, resting his chin on your knee, his green eyes almost pleading like a cute little puppy begging for scraps.

And you reach forward, running a hand through his hair, giving it a light tussle, and Harry closes his eyes, relishing the feeling, “Next time…I promise—”

“But right now—” you force, and Harry’s eyes flit open, meeting yours, “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s eyes go wide then, his brows lifting, and he swallows hard, his chin digging into the top of your thigh as a playful smirk appears, “Yeah?”

“Please—” you push.

He reaches for the condom he placed on the bedside table and stands to his feet, his large dick coming back into view, and you clench your thighs tighter, feeling the slickness between them spread every time you move.

You watch him pull the condom from the wrapper, his dick in one hand, slowly smoothing up and down his shaft, his eyes trained on you, “You want or need me to fuck you?”

You choke on a laugh then, your mouth going dry at the sight, and you lick your lips, “Both—” and you smile.

“Mmm…” he hums, concentration etching into his brow, “Take your bra off,” he tells you, and you push yourself up, your hands shaking with adrenaline as your heart picks up, and you unclasp your bra and toss it to the ground.

This brings a smirk to his face as his eyes flit over your naked body on his bed, “I liked the way you grabbed my hair earlier… that was hot,” you tell him…” and he licks his lips, biting down on his lower lip to control the smile that’s dying to rise.

“Is that how you want it?” he asks, his deep voice humming through your body.

The smiles are gone, a new energy creeping into the room, something heavy and charged with a new demand, “That’s how I want it…” you tell him.

“Scoot up on the bed.” He instructs, making your whole body go numb, the excitement overwhelming your nerves, and as you scoot your way back onto the bed, your legs spread, bringing awareness to your wet pussy as a gust of air rushes over your skin.

When you look back up, Harry is rolling the condom down his dick, stopping once he hits the base, and you both lock eyes, “All fours—” he says.

“Turn around and get on all fours,” and you give him one last look and silently flip over, your heart beating in your chest.

“Good—just like that—face down—” he tells you, “ass up—” he demands as you press your face into the bed, and you extend your arms straight, feeling the edge of the bed under your palms.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks one more time, “ Is there anything you don’t want to do?”

“No anal…” you tell him, peeking over your shoulder, “I don’t think I could handle that on the first go.”

Harry laughs then raises his brows, “Noted—” he answers, leaning forward to grab hold of your hips, and just as you plant your cheek to the comforter, he rips you back to the edge of the bed, no warning as your cheek drags across the blanket, and you gasp, the quick motion stealing your breath, and when you lift your cheek from the bed to readjust yourself, there’s a slight burn from the fabric grazing your skin.

“Changed my mind…I want you on the edge…in case you try and squirm—”

And you swallow, pressing your forehead to the comforter, and lengthen your spine as Harry adjusts your hips, stretching your arms across the bed; no safety of the ledge, just the grasp of the fabric lightly bunching under your palms.

When Harry presses a knee into the bed, you feel his flattened palm press into your upper back, trying to flatten you more, and you turn your face, trying to stretch further, the tips of your fingers now at the edge of the side, and you close your eyes.

Harry drags a finger down your lengthened spine, then, starting at the base of your neck, a slow drag gliding down your smooth skin, making you curve your back like a cat as a shiver runs down your spine at the very thought of his touch, and you arch your back, letting your ass come down to your heels, completely taken by the sensation shuttering through you.

And all you hear is the tisk of Harry’s tongue, “Ass up—” Harry commands, jerking your hips back into place, and suddenly you’re scared out of your fucking mind, yet lost in the trance he’s put you in because you are so turned on, even more, turned on by his commands—You’ve never let a guy just take you like this, given him the control.

When you feel the pad of Harry’s thumb smooth over your slick entrance, you let out a soft moan, the feeling making your clit pulse as he spreads the wetness over the lips of your pussy, the cold air mingling with your wet skin and you suck in an audible breath, and Harry dips a finger inside, getting you ready for him, and you feel yourself opening, melding into the bed as his finger dips further, and when he adds the motion of his thumb over your clit, you hold your breath, a slow circle beginning to take way.

“Oh—that—” you breathe, pushing out a heavy breath, a knot already forming deep inside.

“So fucking wet for me—tight,” he coos, the pressure on your clit deepening, and you moan out a loud sigh of satisfaction, raising your ass higher, growing needy for him, and then he slips another finger inside you, a light stretch as he sinks his fingers deeper this time, paving a slick way for his dick to fill you.

Harry dips his fingers one more time and then pulls them away, “Tastes good—” he says, and you lift your head just as he shoves his fingers into his mouth, his lips curving around them, and you have to look away, another shudder moving down your spine at the absence of his hands, and you almost want to beg, but then harry is grabbing hold of your hips again, a knee pushing back into the bed, and your ready, so ready, ass perfectly lifted, spine just how he wants it.

He brushes his thumb over your opening one more time, and he presses your hip into his inner thigh, you spreading slightly to give him more access, and you feel the firm head of his cock streak down your entrance, then again, making you draw in a slow breath, and your whole body tenses as he sinks in a little further, a groan leaving his mouth once the tip pushes past your entrance.

This is happening, his dick inching in more, and you moan out, pushing your forehead into the bed, gripping the blanket under your palms as if they could save you because then he’s pushing into you more, with a little force, your neck lifting to push out a low whimper.

It’s everything you pictured the stretch would be, a painful beginning, the delicate skin at your entrance on fire as your walls clench around him, and Harry forces himself deeper, stretching his way until he’s completely inside you, splitting his way past the point of no return, and you gasp out, “Fuck—” louder when he pulls your hips into him, your ass pressed to his pelvis, and Harry groans out, “So fucking tight—” a breathy laugh leaving his mouth as he leans forward to press a kiss into the center of your back, and the new angle has him pushing deeper.

“Mmmm,” you force, pushing your hips into him, trying to move past the pain, and he is so fucking deep, pressing into the pit of your stomach; at least that’s what it feels like because you’ve never been filled like this, every muscle lining the walls inside your pussy straining against his large mass, and you know what this can be, and when he slowly inches his dick back, you feel the gap he leaves, your body already desperate to be filled again, and he thrusts back inside you, slow and rhythmic, the stretch evening out with every stroke.

“Is that good?” He asks, giving your hips a squeeze, and you drag your forearm down to your forehead and rest your head, trying to focus on every breath in and out, breathing in tandem with his strokes.

“Don’t stop, okay?” you force on an exhale, and you hear the rasp of Harry’s laugh as you slam your eyes shut, his thrust harder this time.

Harry’s grip tightens on your hips, and when he pushes inside you again, it’s one long, slowed thrust, and he drives himself inside you deeper, the pressure hitting your lower belly again, and you moan out, forcing in a sharp breath.

“You like that dick, don’t you?” He asks, but you don’t lift your head; you just nod. Harry pulls back again, and you grip the comforter, gearing up for his next thrust as they begin to pick up.

“I like—” you try as Harry hits that spot again.

“You like what—?” he huffs, pulling all the way out.

“So fucking big…” you tell him, and he shoves his thick cock deep inside you, pushing past your walls as a new layer of stretch burns like a line of fire inside you, and you force yourself up, reaching behind you to force his hips back as a pained moan leaves your mouth.

Harry knocks your hand away, “No—this is what you wanted, right?” he laughs, that dimpled smile beaming down at you, “You’re doing so well…I know you can take me.” and it’s like his words ignite the challenge aching in your bones, that longing for him, all those months of being so fucking patient, pining for this very moment.

And so you seize it, giving him one last look before you plant your hand back down on the bed, and Harry grasps a handful of your hair, just like you asked, slowly pulling your head back as he drives his dick back inside you, and you draw out your moan, the slow thrust in, stirring that knot in your belly.

In and out, slow at first, his grip on your hair light, your neck comfortably positioned as the pleasure begins to roll in, and you push back into him and lower onto your elbow, ready to let your lower half do all the work.

When he pulls back out, you chase his dick back to keep the same pace, rolling your hips back until your ass is flush with his body, and you arch your spine, your hair beginning to pull at your scalp from the new position, and you lift your hips, dropping back down as harry pushed in, the two of you finding a new cadence, spurring each other on as pleasure completely takes over.

“Mmmm—I like that—” he moans as you move up his dick, catching the head of his cock on your entrance; you dip back down, gasping when you hit that spot inside you, and it feels so good, a bittersweet edge as the pain dulls, and you do it again. This time, with more force, and Harry lets you take control, taking more hair into his grip, the reign between you both shortening.

“Those hips are magic—” Harry praises you, and you want more, so you pick up your pace, drawing your hips up, a light swirl at the tip, bringing them back down hard and fast, Harry tugging your head back until you do it again, and again until he’s pulling your hair so tight that every muscle in your neck is straining to catch a decent breath, a new facet of control you’ve never explored taking hold of your whole body, and you give in, Harry plowing his dick in and out of you like the gallop of a horse, your ass bouncing back against him as he tugs your hair, both of your words filthy, flying out of your mouths as you both act out in desperation.

“More—” you cry out.

And he does it, releasing your hair and pushing you to the bed as he grabs your hips and slams into you with such force that you yell out his name, the whole room spinning as you drop your cheek to the bed, and you tuck a hand between your legs, spreading until you reach your clit

That’s all it takes, your fingers moving between your legs, Harry’s hard thrusts in and out of you, and as you feel your orgasm about to mount, you dip your back, arching your ass out as far as you can, sending his dick deeper inside you, and you come, a hard tremble ripping through your body, so hard that it steals your words, your body going slack, a hard gasp in, your lungs seizing with the effort, and your whole body shudders, your walls clamping around his dick as Harry slams one last thrust into you and his entire body stills, arching around you as he comes, his sweaty torso, sticking to your skin as you fall into the bed, the world going silent around you both.

“It’s a shame you only had one condom,” You laugh, your body shaky as you stir back to life, and Harry plants a lazy kiss on your shoulder as he pushes himself up, his dick pulling out of you, leaving you hollow, and you cross your arms under your cheek, and lay there.

“Are you already wanting more?” and you lift your head and watch that charming little smile turn up at the corners of his mouth, drawing you in as you lay here in the sticky sweet aftermath of every candied daydream you’ve ever had of him, and it’s better, better than you could have ever envisioned, and when you lower your cheek back down to your arm, the air is light, your head clouding into that cotton candy haze, and your lost in him, lost in the feeling, and you know you’ll be forever wanting more because if that was just a tiny little morsel you want more and then you tell him:

“I have more condoms at my place…”

A/N: Well, that was a bit of a rollercoaster...what did you think??

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satellite-evans · 1 month ago

Text

everything

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Summary: Charles and you face unexpected challenges on your journey to starting a family.

Word count: 12k+ ( She is long I'm sorry)

Warnings: angst, fluff, infertility struggles, mentions of medical procedures, emotional vulnerability, making out, mention of sex

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

It was a slow morning — a rarity in Charles' world of fast cars, roaring engines, and constant travel. Mostdays, life was a whirlwind of race weekends, media commitments, and training schedules. But today was quiet. Today was yours.

These mornings were your favorites. The ones where the sun poured in through the sheer curtains and you could pretend — even if only for a little while — that the outside world didn’t exist.

You were curled up beside him in bed, legs tangled together under the cozy sheets, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a sound that always calmed you, grounding you when the world felt too loud.

Charles’ fingers traced slow, lazy circles along your arm, his skin warm and soft against yours. His other hand was tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, as though lost in thought. You could feel his chest rising and falling under your cheek, steady and calm, but something about the way his fingers moved — a little slower, a little more absent — told you his mind was elsewhere.

You smiled softly to yourself, enjoying the rare stillness. These were the moments where you got to see this version of Charles — not the one behind a helmet, not the one the cameras followed, but your husband. The man who would quietly hum love songs when he thought you were asleep, who would stop to tie your shoelaces when he noticed you were too lazy, who loved so deeply it sometimes scared you.

And then, out of nowhere, he broke the comfortable silence — his voice soft and a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should say what was on his mind.

"Do you ever think about it?"

You lifted your head slightly, resting your chin against his chest to look up at him, brows furrowing in curiosity at his sudden seriousness.

"Think about what?" you asked gently, searching his face for answers.

His green eyes — usually so full of playful mischief — looked softer now, more vulnerable. There was a flicker of nervousness in them, but also something else. Something tender.

He hesitated, his hand pausing mid-circle on your arm, before continuing, almost shyly.

"Us… having a baby."

The question hung in the air between you, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, trying to process what he was saying.

"A baby?" you echoed, your voice quieter now, almost as if you were afraid saying it out loud would make it too real.

Charles gave a small nod, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah... I mean, not now, now. But… I think about it, sometimes. You and me... with a little one running around."

You blinked, your heart doing a strange flip in your chest. "You do?"

He laughed softly, reaching up to push a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "Of course I do. I think you'd be the most amazing maman."

Warmth filled your chest at his words, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine it — a small hand in yours, a laugh that was half his, half yours.

"I..." You paused, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by the weight of the conversation but also filled with a strange kind of excitement. "I think about it too, sometimes."

Charles' face lit up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You do?"

You nodded, smiling now. "Yeah. I mean, maybe we’d be terrible at it—"

"—No way," he interrupted with a grin, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours. "We’d figure it out. Together."

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "You’d spoil them rotten, and I’d have to be the strict one."

Charles laughed, the sound warm and soft against your skin. "Obviously. You’d be the scary one, and I’d be the one sneaking them candy when you’re not looking."

You laughed harder at that, imagining the scene — Charles sneaking sweets to a giggling toddler behind your back.

"But seriously," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, "If... if you want, we could start trying. Not now, if you’re not ready. But maybe soon?"

You swallowed, a mixture of emotions swirling inside you — excitement, nervousness, love.

"Yeah," you whispered, brushing your fingers through his messy hair. "Yeah, I’d like that."

Charles’ smile grew, and he leaned down to kiss you, slow and soft and full of promise.

"Okay," he whispered against your lips. "Whenever you’re ready, amour."

"Whenever we’re ready," you corrected gently, and he nodded.

From that day on, the dream became real. You started to imagine a future that wasn’t just the two of you. You caught Charles watching kids when you were out together — at the grocery store, at restaurants, during walks by the harbor. His gaze would soften when he saw a dad carrying a toddler on his shoulders or a mom holding a baby close to her chest.

Once, as you both sat at a café by the water, watching a little girl squeal in delight as her mom chased her, Charles reached over to take your hand.

"I can’t wait to see you with our child one day," he said quietly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You smiled, leaning into his side. "I can’t wait to see you."

"I think about them a lot," Charles admitted. "What they’d look like. If they’d have your smile."

"Or your eyes," you added, glancing up at him.

He chuckled. "Maybe they’ll be a little troublemaker like me."

"Great," you teased. "One Charles is already enough trouble."

He laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer.

"Maybe two would be perfect."

Your heart swelled with so much love for this man — this man who had seen every part of you and wanted to build a life, a family, together.

For the first time, you let yourself fully believe in that dream.

It started beautifully.

The day you and Charles decided to start trying for a baby felt like a secret only you two shared — a quiet, precious hope.

It was exciting.

You remembered the way Charles would smile at you when you caught his eye across the room, that look that said, "Maybe this is it. Maybe soon."

You both laughed about how it could happen at any moment.

"Imagine if you’re pregnant by the next Grand Prix," he joked one night as you laid in bed, tangled in the sheets, breathless and glowing from the closeness you shared.

You laughed, resting your head on his chest. "Or maybe before the summer break."

He ran his fingers through your hair, soft and slow. "Yeah... I can see it now. You, me, a little one watching the races together."

But month after month passed, and with each one, a tiny seed of doubt took root.

At first, you tried to shake it off.

"Maybe my body’s just figuring itself out," you said, trying to sound casual, as you sat at the kitchen counter, flipping through a cookbook you weren’t really reading.

Charles leaned on the other side, watching you with soft eyes. "There’s no rush, amour. It’ll happen when it’s meant to."

You wanted to believe that.

But when month four came and went, and you found yourself holding yet another negative pregnancy test, that calm confidence began to fade.

You stared at the single line, willing it to change, to turn into the double lines you had imagined in your dreams. But it didn’t.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, wrapping your arms around yourself, tears welling up in your eyes.

Charles found you there, quietly slipping into the bathroom when he realized you were gone too long.

His heart broke the second he saw you sitting there, looking so small and defeated.

"Hey... hey, baby," he said softly, kneeling in front of you, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. "It’s okay."

You tried to smile, but your lips trembled. "I thought this might be it..."

"I know," he whispered, pulling you into his arms. "I know."

You buried your face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent — always so comforting, so safe. "What if something’s wrong with me, Charles?"

He pulled back to cup your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Nothing is wrong with you. Do you hear me? Nothing."

You nodded, but deep down, the fear stayed.

As time passed, those quiet moments of disappointment became harder to hide.

You found yourself tracking every tiny symptom — every cramp, every day you felt tired, every moment you felt nauseous. Every month, you’d let yourself hope, only to be crushed all over again.

Charles tried so hard to keep your spirits up.

He would cook for you when he noticed you were too lost in your head to eat.

He would pull you out onto the balcony when you needed air, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Look how beautiful Monaco is," he would whisper, kissing your temple. "We’re going to be okay, bébé. No matter what."

You wanted to believe him.

But six months in, when another negative test stared back at you, something shifted between you and Charles — not distance, but weight. A heavy sadness neither of you wanted to speak out loud.

The night you got that result, you sat quietly on the couch, staring out the window at the city lights. Charles sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee.

He finally broke the silence.

"Maybe... maybe we should talk to someone?" he offered carefully.

You turned to him, searching his face. "A doctor?"

He nodded. "Just to make sure everything’s okay. For both of us."

You bit your lip, considering it. The idea made your chest tighten — what if they told you what you were beginning to fear?

But then Charles reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

"We’re in this together, right?" he whispered. "Whatever happens?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, squeezing his hand back.

"Together," you echoed softly.

And with that, you agreed to take the next step.

The waiting room was colder than you expected.

You sat there next to Charles, his hand wrapped tightly around yours, like he could protect you from whatever was coming.

It had taken you both weeks to gather the courage to sit in this office. Weeks of telling each other it was probably nothing — that some people just took longer. But deep down, the growing silence every month, the weight of each negative test had become too loud to ignore.

Charles’s thumb rubbed soft circles on the back of your hand as he stared ahead, jaw tight. You could tell he was trying to be strong for you, but his eyes gave him away.

When the doctor finally called you in, your heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of your chest.

Charles stayed close, always a step behind, like he was trying to shoulder some of the anxiety pressing down on you.

You sat side by side in the small office, fingers still laced, waiting for answers neither of you were ready to hear.

The doctor looked kind — a woman, gentle eyes, soft voice. But as soon as she began speaking, you could sense where the conversation was headed.

"Based on the tests we’ve run, it appears that conceiving naturally may be difficult," she said carefully, watching your reaction.

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You blinked, feeling your throat tighten, suddenly unable to breathe properly.

"Difficult?" you echoed, your voice barely a whisper.

The doctor hesitated. "You have a condition that impacts your fertility. It doesn’t mean impossible, but it does mean that it may take longer, and you may need medical assistance to conceive."

You felt Charles shift beside you, his hand squeezing yours tighter, but you couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t look at anyone. You stared at the floor, trying to process the words.

"I… I don’t understand," you said finally, your voice breaking. "Why? Why me?"

The doctor gave you a sympathetic smile. "There are many reasons these things happen. It’s not your fault. But if you want to try fertility treatments, there are options."

You didn’t hear much of what she said after that. The room seemed to close in on you, the air too thick, the walls too white, too sharp.

When you finally left the office, you couldn’t speak. Charles led you out gently, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you like you were fragile glass.

The moment the car doors closed around you, the tears came.

Sobs tore out of your chest, shaking your whole body.

Charles pulled you into his arms without a word, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to hold you together, as if you might break into pieces if he let go.

"Shh, baby, I’ve got you," he whispered, kissing the top of your head, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m right here."

"I’m broken, Charles," you cried into his chest. "I’m broken."

"Hey, no, no," he said quickly, pulling back to hold your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. "You are not broken. Don’t you ever say that. You’re perfect to me. You always have been."

"But I can’t… I can’t give you what you want."

He shook his head firmly. "What I want is you. Always you. I don’t care how we get there, I don’t care what we have to do. I just want you by my side."

Still, the ache didn’t leave you.

The days that followed were a blur. You went to more appointments. You listened to doctors talk about options — hormone treatments, IVF, injections that terrified you.

And you did it all.

Because you wanted this — wanted it so badly it hurt.

You followed every diet they suggested, cut out caffeine and sugar even though it made you miserable. You started exercising because they told you it might help. You faced needles even though they made your hands shake and your stomach twist with fear.

Charles was with you for every single one.

He held your hand as you cried after your first hormone shot. He wiped away your tears and told you how proud he was of you.

"You’re the bravest woman I know," he whispered into your hair as you sat on the couch, curled up against him, exhausted from the meds wreaking havoc on your body.

But even as he praised you, he could see what it was doing to you.

You weren’t the same woman who used to laugh easily at his teasing, who danced with him in the kitchen late at night.

You were quieter now, distant.

Some days, he would catch you staring out the window, eyes glassy, like you were somewhere far away.

When he asked you what you were thinking, you’d force a smile and say, "Nothing."

But he knew better.

It was eating you alive — the pressure, the hope, the constant cycle of waiting and disappointment.

And though Charles tried to be strong for you, it was killing him to watch the woman he loved slipping away, piece by piece.

One night, as you stood in the bathroom, staring at yet another negative pregnancy test, something inside you broke.

You dropped to your knees on the cold floor, sobs wracking your body, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

Charles burst into the room moments later, his face pale when he saw you on the floor.

"Bébé," he breathed, dropping to his knees beside you. "No, no, come here."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "It’s never going to happen, Charles. I’m never going to be enough."

His heart shattered right there, seeing you like this.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, rocking you gently as you cried.

"Stop," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Stop saying that. You are everything to me. You hear me? Everything."

"But the baby—"

"I don’t care about the baby if it means losing you," he said firmly, pulling back to look into your eyes, his own brimming with tears. "I need you. You are my wife. I would rather have just you than any child if it means you’re safe, if it means I don’t lose the woman I love."

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, breaking through the fog of pain.

"Charles..."

"No more, bébé. No more hurting yourself like this." His hands cupped your face so gently, like he was afraid you would crumble. "We’ll stop. We’ll stop trying. Please, I need you to be okay. I need you."

For the first time in months, you let yourself collapse fully into him, holding on as though he was the only thing keeping you upright.

And in that moment, you both knew: it was time to let go — to stop chasing something that was breaking you.

Even if it broke both of your hearts.

But maybe, just maybe, it was what you needed to find each other again.

It wasn’t easy to stop trying.

Even after you and Charles had that tearful conversation, even after he begged you to stop hurting yourself, it took time to really let go.

You still woke up some mornings and instinctively counted the days of your cycle, a part of you still wired to hope, still waiting for a sign.

But Charles… Charles made sure you didn’t have to carry it alone.

For months, the intimacy between you had been burdened with unspoken pressure — every touch, every kiss shadowed by what it was supposed to lead to. Love had turned into a goal, and neither of you could breathe under the weight of it.

But now, as the two of you tried to find your way back to each other, Charles was determined to remind you that love — real love — wasn’t about charts and dates.

It was about you.

And he took his time showing you that.

It started with little things — soft smiles over morning coffee, his hand on the small of your back when you walked past him in the kitchen, a kiss to your temple for no reason at all.

It was in the way he’d show up at home after his training days, arms full of your favorite flowers, just because.

"These made me think of you," he’d say casually, though the way he looked at you said it was so much more than that — like you were his whole world.

But it wasn’t long before those little things built into something more.

It was in the way he would wake you on slow mornings, when the light was barely creeping through the windows, his fingers trailing over your bare shoulder, brushing your hair back to kiss the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

"Good morning, mon amour," he would murmur against your skin, his voice low and husky, warm breath sending a shiver straight down your spine.

The way his lips lingered, brushing a little too close to where your pulse raced, was not lost on you. Neither was the way his hand would slide from your shoulder down, tracing a slow, deliberate line over your waist, fingers splaying possessively at your hip like he was grounding himself — and you.

"Charles…" you whispered, but it wasn’t a protest.

He chuckled softly, hearing the way his name fell from your lips, and pressed a kiss to your jaw, then lower, teasing along your throat. "I miss this… I miss you," he confessed quietly, his voice thick with something darker, heavier — desire, yes, but also love.

"You’re my wife," he said against your skin, lips grazing the hollow of your throat, hands sliding around to your back to pull you closer. "Not just the woman I wanted to have a baby with. You."

His words sank deep, and when his hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingertips brushing the soft skin of your stomach, you didn’t tense — for the first time in a long time, you melted into him.

He noticed, of course he did, and his lips curved against your collarbone in a smile that was all satisfaction and relief.

"There she is," he whispered, his voice a little rough now, kissing just below your ear, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he brought your face up to meet his. "Mon cœur… I’ve missed seeing you like this."

When he kissed you — properly kissed you — it wasn’t rushed. His mouth moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to taste every inch of you again, to remind you of what it felt like to be wanted, adored.

And God, you felt it.

His hands, roaming and firm, pulled you into his body without effort, making you gasp as your bodies pressed together, his fingers sliding under your thigh to lift it over his.

"Charles—" you breathed, breaking the kiss only to draw in a shaky breath, but he only smirked, eyes dark and glinting with something that made heat curl low in your stomach.

"Let me take care of you," he whispered, voice thick and rough, as his hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "No pressure. No expectations. Just you and me, like it’s supposed to be."

His words were a balm, but the way his mouth found yours again — hungry now, like he couldn’t get enough — set every nerve in your body on fire.

"Let me make you feel good again," he murmured against your lips, before trailing kisses down your neck, his hands firm on your hips, moving you against him in a way that left no doubt about what he wanted — who he wanted.

You felt a spark of something you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long — desire, raw and overwhelming, crashing over you with every brush of his hands, every heated kiss.

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into it, to let him remind you what it was like to want and be wanted, to be loved — for no other reason than because you were his, and he was yours.

Later, as you lay tangled together, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on your skin, he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder and whispered, "I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if it never happens. I just want you, always."

And in his arms, you believed it.

Because for once, it wasn’t about what your bodies could give.

It was about what your hearts already shared — a love that was fierce, unbreakable, and yours.

You hadn’t laughed in so long, but he was determined to change that.

One night, as you sat on the couch, still wrapped in that quiet sadness, Charles appeared with a bag of groceries and a mischievous grin.

"What's all that?" you asked, watching as he unloaded ingredients.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, eyes sparkling. "We are making pizza, chef style. And no, you don’t get to say no."

You blinked at him. "Charles, I��"

He cut you off, gently, but firmly. "I don’t want to hear it. Just us. You and me."

Something about the way he said it made you tear up, but you nodded, and when he handed you a chunk of dough and demanded you try to toss it like a real chef — which ended up splattering on the floor — you found yourself laughing so hard, you cried.

It felt good to cry for something other than heartbreak.

"See?" he grinned, wiping sauce off your cheek with a thumb. "There’s my girl."

You were still fragile — and Charles knew it.

He was patient when you had bad days.

When he’d find you in bed long after the sun had risen, curled into yourself, he wouldn’t push. He’d just crawl in behind you, wrapping himself around you like a shield.

"We don’t have to do anything today," he’d whisper, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. "Let’s just stay right here."

And sometimes you would.

Just you and Charles, holding each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Other days, when you felt a little stronger, he’d take you out — walks along the water, late dinners in tucked-away restaurants where no one bothered you, quiet drives with music low in the background as he held your hand across the center console.

It was during one of those drives that you finally broke the silence that had been lingering between you.

"Do you really mean it?" you asked softly, staring out the window at the sea of lights.

Charles glanced at you, confused. "Mean what, bébé?"

"That you’re okay if… if we never have a baby?"

He pulled over, putting the car in park before turning fully to face you.

"I didn’t say that to make you feel better," he said quietly. "I said it because it’s true."

You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers together. "But… you want to be a dad."

He reached over, gently uncurling your fingers so he could hold your hand.

"I want you more." His voice was steady, but his eyes were filled with love and a hint of sadness. "If I had to choose between having a child and having you whole and happy… I would choose you. Every time."

Tears filled your eyes again — but not from sadness. From love. From the overwhelming realization that even if everything else was broken, Charles never would be.

"I don’t want to lose you," he whispered, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "I don’t care how much I want to be a father — I can’t watch you destroy yourself for it. I’d rather have a lifetime with just you than risk not having you at all."

You finally let out a sob you’d been holding in for months, leaning over to bury your face in his chest.

Charles held you tight, kissing your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"We’ll figure out what our life looks like, okay?" he whispered. "Even if it’s not what we thought. As long as I have you, I’m happy."

And slowly, you began to believe him.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still days you mourned the dream that seemed to slip further and further away.

But there were also days when you and Charles laughed until your stomachs hurt, danced in the kitchen to music only you could hear, and rediscovered the love that brought you together in the first place.

The love that didn’t depend on anything but the two of you.

It was healing.

Little by little, you came back to life.

The heat in Monaco that day was brutal.

You sat in the paddock, Charles’s number 16 cap shading your face, a bottle of cold water resting against the back of your neck. The atmosphere was exciting, at least for you. You didn't realize how much you missed it until you heard the fans screaming and the paddock filling with people you haven't seen in so long.

You really had missed this. The thrill, the pride of watching Charles do what he loved.

For the first time in a long time, you felt light.

No doctors. No needles. No calculations.

Just you, watching your husband race, your heart swelling every time you saw his car flash past.

It had been months since you had stopped trying.

Months since you’d let go of the suffocating pressure that had nearly broken you.

And while a small ache remained—a whisper of a dream you had buried—life had slowly started to feel normal again.

But still… something felt off.

At first, it was subtle. A slight dizziness when you stood too quickly. A strange wave of nausea when the smell of burnt rubber wafted through the air.

You chalked it up to the heat.

But as the race continued, the dizziness turned into something stronger. Your vision blurred slightly as you tried to focus on the screens, and your hands felt clammy despite the sweat already sticking to your skin.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to take deep breaths.

Just a little longer. The race was almost over.

But then, the world tilted.

The last thing you heard before everything went black was someone shouting your name.

When you woke, you were in a medical room — the soft beeping of machines somewhere nearby, the sterile smell of antiseptic in the air.

Charles was sitting right next to you, holding your hand like a lifeline, his eyes red and puffy, like he hadn’t stopped crying since you collapsed.

"Bébé?" he whispered the second he saw your eyes flutter open. "Oh mon dieu… You’re awake."

His voice broke, and you blinked, trying to focus.

"Charles?" you croaked, your throat dry.

"I’m here, baby. I’m right here." He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, then leaned his forehead against your hand, breathing you in like he couldn’t believe you were okay.

"What… what happened?" you whispered.

"You fainted." His voice was tight with emotion. "Scared the hell out of me."

You tried to sit up, but he gently urged you back down.

"Take it slow, amour. Doctor said to rest."

As if summoned, a doctor appeared, offering a kind smile.

"Feeling better?"

You nodded weakly.

"Good. We’ve run some tests to make sure you’re alright. You’re a little dehydrated, and the heat didn’t help. But…" the doctor paused, glancing between you and Charles.

"There’s something else we found."

Your heart stuttered.

The doctor smiled gently. "You’re pregnant."

The words didn’t make sense at first.

Pregnant?

Your eyes darted to Charles, wide and disbelieving. His grip on your hand tightened.

"I… I’m what?" you whispered, sure you had heard wrong.

"You’re pregnant," the doctor confirmed with a soft nod. "About eight weeks along, from what we can tell. Which explains the fainting — your body is working overtime right now."

Silence fell over the room.

Charles was frozen, his eyes locked on you, as if he was afraid to breathe, afraid it was a dream.

And then suddenly — a tear slipped down your cheek.

"You’re pregnant, bébé," Charles whispered, voice cracking. "You… we…"

His face crumpled as he leaned in, pulling you gently into his arms, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

"I can’t believe it," you sobbed into his neck, shaking. "Charles, I thought—"

"I know," he whispered, voice thick. "I know, baby. I didn’t think it would happen either."

You could feel him shaking too, arms wrapped around you, both of you crying now — but for the first time in so long, they were tears of joy.

"I was so scared," you admitted, pulling back just enough to look at him, your hand resting on your stomach like you couldn’t believe it was real. "I thought I’d never—"

Charles cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You are everything I will ever need," he said fiercely. "But this—this is a miracle, bébé."

You nodded, breathless. "A miracle."

He let out a small laugh, one that was half a sob. "Our miracle."

The doctors gave you time to rest, but Charles didn’t leave your side for a second.

At one point, he sat in the chair beside the bed, just watching you, his hand resting protectively over yours.

When you woke again, he was still there, looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

You gave a small smile. "Better. Still in shock, I think."

Charles leaned in and kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment.

"I love you," he whispered against your skin. "More than anything. More than everything."

"I love you too, Charles."

He pulled back, brushing his fingers gently through your hair. "We’re going to be okay, bébé. You, me, and this baby. I promise."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

You were going to be okay.

You were going to be a family.

You would think that after everything — after the months of heartbreak, of devastating phone calls and negative tests, of doctors' appointments that ended in tears — finding out you were finally pregnant would bring nothing but unfiltered joy.

And in many ways, it did.

Charles had held you for what felt like hours, both of you crying, laughing, kissing, unable to believe it was real.

But beneath all that happiness, beneath the tears and whispered "finally" against his chest, there was something else. Something sharp and quiet and relentless.

Fear.

Because now that you finally had the one thing you wanted more than anything in the world, you were terrified of losing it.

Every little cramp made your heart stop. Every time you didn’t feel nauseous for a few hours, a new wave of panic crept in. Every moment of silence from your body felt like a warning, like a reminder that good things didn’t come easy for you.

Charles knew. Of course he knew.

He saw it in the way you always rested a protective hand on your belly, like shielding your baby from a world that had already given you so much pain. He saw it in the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes when people congratulated you, how you nodded along but kept your arms folded protectively over yourself, as if holding everything together.

And he especially saw it at night, when you thought he was asleep, and you would roll over quietly to press a hand to your belly, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as you whispered promises to the tiny life growing inside you.

"I love you already… please stay with me."

Charles never said anything then — he didn’t want to make you feel like you had to be strong for him too — but he would shift closer, wrap an arm around you, and hold you as tightly as he could.

It broke him to see you like that.

So, he made it his purpose to be your anchor, to remind you every second of every day that you were not alone in this, that it would be different, that you were not going to lose the baby.

Whenever he found you lost in thought, staring blankly at nothing, he would pull you into his arms. "Talk to me, bébé, please. don't shut me out again. I’m here. Always."

And every night, without fail, no matter how exhausted he was — whether he had just gotten home from training, meetings, or even long days at the factory — Charles would kneel in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was his way of staying grounded, too.

He would settle on his knees in front of you, his hands gently resting on either side of your bump, thumbs caressing your belly like he was memorizing every curve, every change. His eyes would soften, all the tension melting away from his face the second he touched you.

Then he would lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to your stomach — sometimes whispering a soft, "Hi, bébé," like he was waiting to hear a reply.

"Hey, little one… It’s papa." His voice always dropped to that quiet, reverent tone that made your heart clench. "I hope you’re comfortable in there because we love you so much already."

Sometimes his words would crack just a little, betraying that deep vulnerability he didn’t always let you see. The fear that still lived in both of you, even if neither of you wanted to give it life.

"You keep growing strong for maman, okay?" he would murmur, resting his cheek against your bump, closing his eyes like he could feel them from the outside. "I know… I know she’s scared. I’m scared too, but we’re fighting, you know? For you. Because you are so, so loved. And we want you so badly, mon ange."

His hand would slide over your skin, fingers spreading wide, protective and tender all at once.

"Don’t worry — maman and I, we’ve got you. Always."

And sometimes, when he thought you had already fallen asleep, he would keep talking. You would watch him through heavy eyes, heart breaking and swelling all at once, as he poured all his love and hope into those quiet moments.

"I can’t wait to meet you. I can’t wait to show you everything — to take you to your first race, to sit on the beach with you like mama and I used to do, to show you the stars. Did you know your mama loves the stars? She used to tell me about them when I was sad… she’s amazing. You’re going to love her. And I’m going to be here, always. Watching over you both."

Then he would look up at you, catching your gaze if you were awake, and smile softly. The kind of smile that held all the love in the world, even when his eyes were glassy with emotion.

"See? We’re already a team, the three of us."

And as much as you had felt alone in your mind sometimes — battling fears you were too scared to voice — in those moments, when Charles spoke to the baby like they were already here, like he was already the father he had dreamed of being, you felt a flicker of hope again.

Because no matter what happened, you knew one thing for certain: You and the baby were so loved.

And Charles? He was ready to move mountains for both of you.

The day of your first ultrasound was one you both had dreamed of, but when the morning finally came, you woke up shaking.

You could hardly get dressed, your fingers fumbling over the buttons of your blouse as Charles gently took over, helping you without a word, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

The drive to the clinic felt like the longest one of your life. Charles reached over and laced his fingers with yours, squeezing so tight it almost hurt, but neither of you let go.

When you finally arrived and sat in the waiting room, Charles kept holding your hand, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin.

"Whatever happens, I’m here," he said softly, leaning close so only you could hear. "You don’t have to be strong for me, okay? Be strong for yourself, I'm here. I'll be strong for the both of you."

You just nodded, throat too tight to speak.

When they finally called your name, you felt like you could hardly move. Your legs were weak, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break your ribs.

Charles was by your side instantly, wrapping an arm around you and guiding you gently to the room.

The technician was kind, explaining everything as she set up, but you could barely hear her over the pounding in your ears.

And then —

There it was.

A tiny little bean on the screen. So small. So fragile. And then — a flicker.

The heartbeat.

Steady and strong.

Your breath caught in your throat, a sob breaking free before you could stop it.

"That’s…" you whispered, voice trembling.

"Your baby," the technician said warmly, turning the screen so you could both see better. "Right there."

You turned your head to look at Charles, and what you saw undid you completely.

Tears streamed down his face, his eyes wide in awe, his lips trembling as he stared at the screen like it was the most miraculous thing he had ever seen.

"That’s… our baby," he choked out, voice rough with emotion, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

You reached for his hand, gripping it tightly, tears pouring down your cheeks now too.

"Our baby," you whispered back, finally letting yourself smile through the tears.

It was real.

For the first time, it wasn’t a dream or a distant hope — it was happening.

Your baby was here, alive, heartbeat flickering steadily on the screen.

You let out a shaky laugh, covering your mouth with your hand, overwhelmed with the kind of joy that left you breathless.

Charles leaned over, pressing a kiss to your forehead, one hand still gripping yours, the other reaching to gently, reverently touch the image on the screen.

"I love you," he whispered to you and to the baby. "So much. I can’t believe… I just… I love you."

And in that room, in that moment — surrounded by the sound of your baby’s heartbeat — something inside you shifted.

For the first time, you let yourself believe it.

You were really going to be a mom.

And with Charles beside you, holding your hand and your heart, you knew — no matter what, you would face it all together.

From the moment the doctor told that you were pregnant, Charles became a man on a mission.

It wasn’t just that he wanted to be involved — no, he needed to be involved. He had never been more determined in his life. He read every pregnancy book he could find, his eyes scanning the pages late into the night, even when his eyelids were heavy and the words started blurring. He listened to every pregnancy podcast, taking notes on topics ranging from fetal development to baby names (because, despite the fact that you two hadn’t even picked a name yet, Charles was already convinced that he had the perfect one).

He even downloaded multiple pregnancy apps, religiously checking the weekly updates so he could compare the size of your baby to fruit, vegetables, and other random objects. When the app told him the baby was the size of a blueberry, a walnut, a papaya — whatever it was that week — Charles couldn’t wait to update you. It became a little game, one that was just between the two of you.

Every morning, the moment he opened his eyes, Charles would turn toward you with a grin, as if greeting you and your baby had become the most natural thing in the world.

"Bonjour, mon amour… and bonjour, little one," he’d whisper, his lips pressing against your belly.

You’d laugh softly, brushing a hand through his messy morning hair. "Charles, they’re the size of a lime right now. You’re getting ahead of yourself."

"I don’t care," he would reply with a grin so wide it made your heart skip. "I’m still saying hello."

You’d smile, shaking your head, but in your heart, you were overwhelmed by how much he cared. He wasn’t just excited about the pregnancy — he was fully in it with you. From the very first moment, he was present in a way that made you feel cherished and loved, and even now, as the weeks passed, that feeling only deepened.

And when the hormonal rollercoaster kicked in, making you nauseous, moody, or crying over something trivial (like how cute a puppy in a commercial was), Charles was always there. He was like a rock — steady, patient, and never, not once, complaining.

"I’ll go get whatever you want, baby. Strawberries at midnight? I’m on it. Ice cream and pickles? Weird, but okay."

And when you’d cry over something small, like dropping a spoon or a Grey's Anatomy episode, Charles wouldn’t laugh or try to cheer you up with silly jokes. Instead, he would pull you into his arms, offering silent comfort. He would rub your back, his warmth surrounding you like a shield, and let you cry until you were all out of tears.

"You’re doing so good, mon cœur," he would whisper, his voice low and steady. "So, so good."

It was these moments, these quiet reassurances, that made you feel like you could handle everything. With him by your side, you knew you weren’t alone in this — in any of it.

And then, it came.

The baby bump.

You had been waiting — praying — for it. For any sign that the tiny life inside you was in fact real and growing how it was supposed to. The days had stretched on endlessly, filled with anxious glances in the mirror, gentle touches to your belly hoping to see something, and constant reassurances from Charles that "it will happen, amour, give it time."

But time was all you had — and with every week that passed without a visible sign, the fear clawed deeper into your chest.

Doctors kept telling you it was normal. "Sometimes it takes longer for first pregnancies, especially with everything your body has been through. With some pregnancies, there isn't even a proper baby bump. This is completely normal." But when you’re holding your breath every day, waiting for proof that your baby is safe and growing, “normal” doesn’t always bring comfort.

But then, one quiet morning — when the sun was barely peeking through the windows and the Monaco streets were still asleep — it was there.

You had gotten out of bed quietly, not wanting to wake Charles, and shuffled to the bathroom, rubbing your tired eyes. You pulled up your loose shirt as you always did, out of habit, expecting to see the same soft, stomach you'd seen every day before. But this time… this time, there was something different.

A baby bump. Subtle, but undeniably there.

You turned to the side, holding your breath, eyes wide as your hands slowly reached down to trace the gentle swell.

Your heart started pounding — a mix of disbelief and pure, overwhelming joy.

"Charles!" you called out suddenly, your voice shaking, breathless with a mixture of shock and excitement. "Charles! Come here — now!"

You heard the way he stumbled out of bed, feet hitting the floor with urgency, a note of panic threading his voice.

"Baby, what? What’s wrong?" he said, rushing into the doorway, still in his boxers and sleep-tousled hair, eyes scanning you like he was ready to fix whatever had happened.

But when he saw you standing there in front of the mirror, hands frozen mid-air, pointing to your belly, something shifted in him.

"Look…" you whispered, tears already gathering in your eyes. "Charles, look."

For a moment, he didn’t move, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing — like he was afraid to believe it was real.

But then his eyes locked onto that small, perfect curve, and everything else seemed to fall away.

His face crumbled — all the tension he had been holding in his shoulders for months melted into something soft, something raw. His eyes glistened, lips parting as though he couldn’t quite find the words.

"Oh… bébé…" he breathed, and there was a reverence in his voice, like he was standing in front of something holy.

He took slow steps toward you, like if he moved too fast, the moment might break.

Dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands trembled as they reached out, resting gently — so, so gently — on either side of your bump. Like he was afraid if he pressed too hard, it would vanish.

"Mon amour…" His voice cracked. "Look at you… look at you."

You let out a watery laugh, tears sliding down your cheeks as you ran your fingers through his soft curls. "It’s really there," you whispered, like you needed him to confirm it. "Charles, it’s real."

He looked up at you then, his beautiful brown eyes glassy but filled with something you hadn’t seen in a long time — hope. Pure, unfiltered hope.

"Yeah, baby… it's real," he whispered, and when he said it, you believed him.

He turned his gaze back to your belly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to the curve. Then another. And another. Like he was trying to pour all the love and fear and longing he'd been carrying for months into that single touch.

"Look how big you’re getting already, little one," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, his thumbs brushing slow, loving circles on your skin. "You keep growing strong for maman, okay? We’re waiting for you, mon ange. We love you so much already."

You felt a fresh wave of tears spill over, and before you could say anything, Charles stood up and gathered you into his arms. He held you close, one hand protectively around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something fragile and precious.

He kissed your temple, lips lingering there as though he never wanted to let you go.

"I love you," he whispered into your hair, voice steady but full of quiet emotion. "I love you so much. Both of you."

You buried your face into his chest, holding onto him like a lifeline, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your heart wasn’t heavy with fear — it was full. Full of love. Full of hope.

As the weeks turned into months, Charles’s protectiveness only grew stronger. He was still the same sweet, thoughtful man you had fallen in love with, but now, it was like he had taken on a new role — one that involved constantly making sure you were safe, comfortable, and happy.

He wouldn’t let you carry anything heavy. If you needed something from another room, Charles would jump up from wherever he was and get it for you — even if it was just a glass of water.

He hovered whenever you were walking on uneven ground, his hand always within reach to steady you just in case. When you were out in public, if anyone even so much as bumped into you, he’d be there in an instant, fixing them with a sharp glare and muttering something in French under his breath.

"She’s perfect, thank you," he’d say, a protective tone in his voice that made your heart flutter.

At home, it was a different story.

He was still over-the-top sweet, but he also had a knack for making you laugh. He would sit beside you on the couch, his hand resting gently on your growing belly, and read stories aloud to your baby.

Or he’d sing to your belly, and, while his singing voice might not have been the best, he did it with such enthusiasm and love that it made you laugh every time.

"Charles," you giggled one evening as he sang a very dramatic version of a lullaby, his tone completely off-key, "I don’t think the baby cares about the key you’re singing in."

He grinned, not at all phased by your teasing.

"Maybe not," he shrugged, continuing his performance, "but if they inherit my charm, they’ll appreciate the effort."

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was bursting with love.

You loved him.

You loved the way he threw himself into every part of this journey — not just as the future father of your child, but as your partner, your rock, and the love of your life.

This wasn’t just about becoming parents. It was about building a family — a team. And Charles was all in.

And so were you.

One evening, you found yourself curled up on the couch, your head resting gently in Charles’s lap. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves outside and the sound of the air conditioner keeping the warmth at bay.

Charles’s hand, warm and steady, rested on your growing belly. His fingers traced lazy, rhythmic patterns over the fabric of your shirt, a quiet hum escaping his lips. You couldn’t help but smile at how he seemed so at ease, as though this was exactly where he was meant to be — here, with you, in this moment.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The world outside the four walls of your living room seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you — tangled up in each other’s presence.

"Do you ever think about what they’ll look like?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your head just enough so you could look up at Charles. His eyes were focused on your belly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You saw the love in his gaze, that quiet kind of adoration that made your heart flutter.

Charles didn’t answer immediately, his fingers still tracing those gentle patterns over your stomach, the warmth of his touch radiating through the fabric. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if considering the question carefully, as if trying to picture the tiny person growing inside you.

Finally, he looked down at you, his smile softening, and brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. "All the time," he admitted, his voice full of a tenderness that made your chest tighten. "I hope they have your eyes."

You felt a surge of emotion at his words, the simple yet profound way he spoke about your baby, as if they were already part of both of you — as if they already belonged. "And your smile," he added, his eyes glimmering with that familiar warmth. "You have the most beautiful smile."

You swallowed, feeling the lump form in your throat. It was hard to speak, hard to even breathe with the rush of emotions that hit you. The overwhelming love you felt for Charles, for the tiny baby inside you, for the future you were building together. It all made your heart ache, but in the most wonderful way.

"And I hope they’re kind, like you," you whispered, your voice barely audible now, thick with emotion. You couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in your eyes, the overwhelming flood of love that filled your chest. "Gentle. Patient."

Charles’s eyes softened even more, and without a word, he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss. It was the kind of kiss that wasn’t about passion or urgency, but about connection — about the deep, unspoken bond between the two of you.

"They’ll be perfect," he murmured against your lips, his voice full of a quiet certainty that made your heart swell. "Because they’ll be ours."

You closed your eyes as you pulled him in for another kiss, this time lingering longer, as if you both knew this moment was precious — as if you were sealing that promise in a way that words never could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head back on his lap, your hand instinctively finding his on your belly. You could feel the warmth of his palm against you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest as he sat beside you.

You weren’t alone anymore.

You had Charles.

You had your baby.

And you had a heart that, finally, after all the waiting, all the pain, all the uncertainty — was finally, beautifully full again.

You squeezed Charles’s hand gently, feeling the comfort of his touch and the weight of that realization settle over you.

"We’re going to be okay," you whispered to him, your voice calm, yet full of emotion.

Charles’s hand tightened on yours, and he leaned down to kiss your forehead. His lips brushed against your skin, soft and reassuring. "I know, bébé. I know."

With each passing day, you and Charles were building something incredible together. A family. A future.

And nothing — nothing in the world — could take that away.

The days had grown warmer, and Monaco was slowly transforming before your eyes. Spring had arrived, bringing with it an explosion of color. The sky was that perfect shade of blue, the sun bright and inviting.

But, for you, the season’s beauty was secondary to the changes happening within your own little world.

You were huge now — or at least, that’s what you kept joking every time you tried to get up from the couch, your body round and heavy with the life you carried. There were days when getting out of bed felt like a monumental task, your limbs stiff and your back sore from the added weight of your growing belly. But Charles was always there, always hovering. You had gotten so used to it that it almost felt like a comforting presence.

"Charles, I’m pregnant, not broken," you’d laugh, swatting at his hands as they reached out to help you up from the couch.

His response was always the same — a grin that lit up his face, followed by him crouching down in front of you anyway, eyes full of love and concern. "I know," he would say, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "But you’re carrying our baby, so I’m allowed to take care of you." His voice was so gentle, so sincere, that it melted your heart every time.

Truth be told, you didn’t mind at all. In fact, you loved it. Loved how he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in his life, how he made you feel like the most important person in the world. You knew how much this pregnancy meant to him — to both of you. The way he cared for you, the way he looked after every little detail, was proof of how deeply he wanted to be a father, how deeply he wanted this family.

Some days, when you were feeling particularly uncomfortable or exhausted, you’d just lean into him and let him help you. You knew that no matter how many times you swatted his hands away, he would always be there, ready to care for you. It was his love language, his way of showing that he was in this — all in — with you.

The nursery was finally finished.

You had spent weeks planning and preparing, choosing colors and patterns, imagining what it would look like. Charles had been just as involved, though in his own way. His focus had been on the practicality of everything — the crib, the changing table, the storage solutions for all the baby clothes. Every piece of furniture had been chosen with care, ensuring it would be perfect for the baby who would soon fill it.

The room itself was a sanctuary of peace, painted in soft neutral tones that radiated warmth and calm. There were gentle hints of blush pink and pale green scattered throughout, giving the space a subtle, almost ethereal feel. Since the gender of the baby wasn't known until the birth, the both of you decided on soft neutral colors. The crib was made of light wood, sturdy and timeless, with a soft mattress and sheets that were as soft as clouds. The shelves above the crib were lined with stuffed animals — a bear, a rabbit, a fox — each chosen with the same love and attention Charles had put into every detail of the room.

Charles had insisted on assembling the crib himself, a project he had taken very seriously, much to your amusement. You had offered to help, but he’d shooed you away, determined to get it right. Of course, halfway through, he had ended up calling Arthur to ask for help with the instructions. “I swear, I can read in French, but these instructions are written in a language all their own,” he had said, his voice tinged with exasperation and laughter.

You smiled just thinking about it now. Even in the chaos, even when he was frustrated with a seemingly simple task, he had always kept his eyes on the end goal — creating a safe, loving space for your baby.

In the corner of the room stood a rocking chair, the most perfect addition to the nursery, and, in time, it had become your favorite place to sit. Every evening, as the sun began to dip below the horizon and the room grew soft with twilight, you would curl into the chair, settling against Charles’s side. His arm would naturally wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you’d lean your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

As the days passed, and the reality of becoming parents settled in, the two of you would talk about everything — the future, your hopes and dreams, the tiny person who would soon fill your lives. Sometimes, Charles would talk about what kind of father he wanted to be. His words were always filled with such certainty and warmth.

"I want to be the kind of father who makes our baby laugh every day," he had said one night, his eyes reflecting the gentle love that had taken root in his heart. "The kind who is always there when they need me — whether it’s for a scraped knee or a broken heart. I want them to know they can always count on me."

His words resonated deep within you. You had no doubt that Charles would be an incredible father. His love, patience, and tenderness were already evident in everything he did, and you knew that would only grow once your baby was here.

Every night, as you curled into his side in that chair, your head resting against his chest, you could feel the anticipation building. Every little kick or shift of the baby inside you reminded you that your lives were about to change forever. The days of waiting were almost over, and you couldn’t wait to meet the little one who had been growing inside you for so long.

Soon.

The thought sent a wave of emotion through you, and you blinked back tears as you turned your head up to look at Charles. He was smiling at you, his expression soft with love and affection.

"Can you believe it?" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Our baby is coming soon."

Charles’s hand gently rested on your belly, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles. His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw everything — the excitement, the love, the anticipation. "I can’t wait, bébé," he murmured, his voice quiet but full of promise. "Soon, we’ll be holding them in our arms. Our baby."

And in that moment, as you sat there together, in the warmth of the nursery you had so carefully created, you realized that all the waiting, all the planning, all the months of anticipation had led to this. You were ready. Both of you were ready.

The nursery was ready. Your hearts were ready. And soon, the little one who had filled your dreams would be there, completing your family, and filling your home with a love you couldn’t yet fully comprehend.

Soon.

It was a quiet morning when everything changed.

The soft light of dawn filtered through the blinds, casting delicate shadows across the room. The world outside seemed still, as if holding its breath. But inside, your body was stirring in a way it never had before.

You woke up to a sharp cramp low in your belly, a sensation that made you pause, your breath hitching in surprise. It wasn’t overly painful, but it was different — an unmistakable sign that something was happening. You winced slightly, pressing your hand to your stomach, wondering if it was the beginning of something.

Still, it wasn’t too intense at first. So, you laid there for a moment, trying to calm your racing heart. You closed your eyes again, hoping to drift back to sleep, but then, another cramp came — sharper this time, and accompanied by an uncomfortable pressure. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

"Charles…" you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep but carrying an edge of worry. "I think something’s happening."

The moment the words left your mouth, Charles stirred beside you, instantly alert. It was as if your words had cracked the stillness of the room, and with a suddenness that made your heart leap, he shot upright, eyes wide and full of panic.

"What?!" His voice was filled with urgency, his hand already reaching for his phone. "Is it time? Do I call the doctor? The hospital? Your mom? Should I —"

You let out a soft laugh, though it came out breathless and strained as another cramp hit you. You winced, but it wasn’t too painful. "Breathe, love," you said, your voice soft but steady. "Let me check before you call half of Monaco."

But Charles was already in motion, his long fingers fumbling to grab your pre-packed hospital bag from the corner, even though it had been ready for weeks. He threw it onto the bed beside you, pacing the room like a caged lion, running his hand through his messy hair in distress.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, even as you clutched your stomach, trying to steady yourself. It was such a familiar sight — Charles, always moving a mile a minute when it came to taking care of you. Even now, in this moment of uncertainty, he was already trying to anticipate every possible thing that could go wrong.

Finally, after a few more contractions, you confirmed with your doctor, who reassured you that it was likely just the beginning of labor. Your contractions were becoming more regular, though not yet unbearably painful.

But Charles, ever the perfectionist, could hardly sit still. "Are you okay?" you asked softly as he drove toward the hospital, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his eyes darting between the road and you.

His lips parted to speak, but it was only then that you saw the tears — soft, glistening tears in the corner of his eyes. They took you by surprise, a silent admission of his fears. "I’m terrified," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I’m terrified something will happen to you."

The words hung in the air, and your heart cracked a little. You reached over, your hand finding his, and you squeezed it tightly. You didn’t even care that you could barely feel your fingers due to the tight grip he had on the wheel. You just needed to reassure him, needed to remind him that you were in this together.

"I’m going to be okay," you whispered, voice thick with emotion. "We’re both going to be okay."

He nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. You could tell that, no matter how many times you reassured him, this was still a moment of immense fear for him. The fear of losing you, of something going wrong, was something neither of you could avoid.

Labor was... intense.

It felt as though time stretched and bent around you, every hour becoming an eternity. You weren��t sure how long you had been in the hospital now — minutes, hours, days? But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the overwhelming pain, the exhaustion, and the beautiful chaos of this moment that would soon lead to your baby being in your arms.

Charles had been your rock through it all. He never left your side, holding your hand with such fierce tenderness that it almost grounded you to this earth.

Every contraction was like a wave crashing over you, each one more intense than the last. You gripped his hand, squeezing tightly, and Charles never once wavered. He wiped the sweat from your brow, kissed your forehead, and whispered words of encouragement with a steadiness that made you believe you could do anything.

"I’m so proud of you," he whispered against your temple during one of the breaks, his voice low and filled with love. "You’re incredible."

You could feel the tears building in your eyes, but you couldn’t summon the strength to speak. His words cut through the pain and gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t thought possible in the middle of this madness. His belief in you, in your strength, made you want to keep going — no matter how hard it got.

And then, finally — the moment you had dreamed of, fought for, ached for.

The sound of a baby’s first cry filled the room — sharp, loud, and so full of life that it felt like the whole world stopped spinning for a moment. Your breath caught in your throat, and everything around you seemed to blur, like the edges of the room had melted away until there was nothing but that sound.

In that moment, you weren’t just a woman in labor anymore. You were a mother. Her mother.

The nurse, with the gentlest smile, approached and softly said, "It's a girl."

A girl.

Your heart twisted in the most beautiful way as tears welled up in your eyes. A girl. Your girl.

The tiny bundle was placed delicately on your chest, and when you looked down, it felt like the entire universe shifted into place. She was so impossibly small, her little hands curled into fists against her chest, her skin soft and pink, and her face — oh, her face — was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

You let out a shaky breath, tears sliding freely down your cheeks as you reached up to cup her tiny head. "Hi, baby," you whispered, your voice breaking, "Hi, my love."

Your eyes found Charles then — and the sight of him completely unraveled you. He was standing at your side, frozen at first, his green eyes wide with disbelief, tears already spilling down his cheeks. His hand covered his mouth like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment, he leaned down and pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead. His hands cupped your face, his thumb wiping away your tears as his own kept falling.

Then, he turned his attention to the baby, to her, and a soft, awed sound left his throat — something between a laugh and a sob.

"We did it," Charles whispered, his voice thick, cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Mon amour… we did it."

You could only nod, your throat too tight to speak. The tears kept coming, but for the first time in so long, they were tears of joy, of overwhelming love.

"Meet her," you finally managed, breathless, staring down at the little miracle on your chest. "Meet our daughter."

Charles reached out with shaking fingers, carefully stroking her soft cheek as though she might break under his touch. His smile was pure wonder, his eyes never leaving her face.

"She’s… she’s perfect," he whispered in awe. "She’s so perfect, bébé."

He leaned in and kissed the top of her tiny head with so much tenderness it broke your heart all over again.

"I love you so much," he murmured, his lips still pressed to her soft skin. "I love you both more than anything in this world."

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to gather yourself, but nothing could prepare you for this kind of love — raw, overwhelming, all-consuming. You had fought so hard, gone through so much heartbreak, fear, and pain — and now here she was. The living proof that hope was real.

You ran a hand gently over her head, glancing up at Charles again, and he met your gaze with a soft smile — one that said, we made it.

"Her name?" you whispered softly, the question hanging in the air, though you both already knew.

Charles smiled, eyes brimming with tears as he whispered, "Sofia. Sofia Pascale Leclerc."

Sofia. It felt perfect — strong and soft, like her.

"Hi, Sofia," you whispered to her, running a trembling finger over her tiny hand. "Hi, baby girl."

The first night in the hospital was a blur of feedings, diaper changes, and nurses checking in, but there were moments that would be forever etched in your heart — like the way Charles never wanted to put her down, holding her close like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You woke in the middle of the night to see him by the window, gently swaying with her in his arms. He had taken off his shirt so she could feel his warmth, and he was humming softly — a song you couldn’t quite recognize, but it sounded like love.

The lights of Monaco glittered in the distance, but Charles' world was small now, narrowed down to just you and Sofia.

"Look at her, mon cœur," Charles whispered when he noticed you watching him. His voice was thick with emotion, still in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was real. "So small. So perfect."

You smiled, propped up in the bed, still feeling weak but fuller than you’d ever been.

"She is perfect," you said softly, wiping another tear from your cheek.

He looked down at Sofia, brushing a kiss to her forehead, and then, without looking away from her, he added, "Just like her maman."

Your chest tightened at his words, but you smiled through it.

"Think she’ll like racing?" you joked quietly, needing to lighten the moment before you drowned in tears again.

Charles let out a soft laugh, though his eyes never left her. "Maybe… but she’ll always be faster than me — she’s already stolen my heart."

You watched him for a long moment, your heart swelling in your chest, so full it felt like it might burst.

This — this — was what you had fought for.

You had fought through heartbreak that had left you breathless, through pain that had nearly broken you in two, through nights when all you could do was cry in Charles’ arms, unsure if this dream would ever come true. You had battled fear, uncertainty, and the endless ache of waiting. And now, as you stood there, watching him cradle Sofia like she was the most precious thing in the world, you realized — this was everything you had ever dreamed of.

Your family.

The family you had fought for with every ounce of strength you had left.

Weeks later, when life had finally started to settle into a rhythm, and the haze of the first sleepless nights had softened, you walked into the living room and stopped dead in your tracks.

Charles was asleep on the couch, head tilted back, his soft brown hair a mess from running his fingers through it one too many times. But it wasn’t just him.

Sofia was curled up on his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each of his breaths. One of his arms cradled her protectively, while his other hand rested lightly on her back, like even in sleep, he couldn’t stop holding her close.

They looked so peaceful, so safe — wrapped in a world where nothing could touch them.

Tears pricked your eyes as you stood there, one hand covering your mouth as the weight of it all washed over you.

The man who had stood beside you through every storm, who had wiped every tear, held you through every loss, whispered hope into your ears when you had none left — this man was now holding your daughter like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He had loved you through it all — even when you couldn’t love yourself, even when you had pushed him away in the depths of your grief. He had never let go.

And now, here he was — the father of your child.

You walked toward them softly, careful not to wake either of them, and slowly eased yourself onto the couch beside him. Curling into his side, you rested your head on his shoulder, your hand gently brushing over Sofia’s tiny back.

Charles stirred slightly, shifting in his sleep at your touch, and after a moment, he cracked one eye open, his gaze landing on you.

A sleepy, soft smile tugged at his lips as he looked at you like you were still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Hey, maman," he whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep, but full of so much love it made your heart ache.

You smiled through the tears gathering in your eyes, brushing a kiss against his shoulder as you whispered back, "Hey, papa."

He leaned his head against yours, letting out a quiet sigh, as though even now, weeks later, he still couldn’t believe she was real.

Your eyes drifted down to Sofia, her tiny face peaceful, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in soft little huffs. One tiny hand was fisted against Charles' chest like she never wanted to let go of her papa.

You reached out, gently tracing a fingertip over her soft cheek, and felt Charles’ arm tighten around both of you, pulling you closer.

"I don’t think I’ll ever get over this," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles turned to press a kiss to your temple, lingering there. "Me neither," he murmured against your skin. "She’s everything, isn’t she?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

There were no needles, no hospital walls, no sterile doctors' offices — just you, Charles, and Sofia, safe and whole in your little home.

You had your family.

You had love — a love that had been tested and forged in fire, but had only grown stronger.

And you had a future — one brighter, fuller, and more beautiful than anything you had ever dared to imagine.

Together, you were everything.

498 notes · View notes

goldfades · 5 months ago

Text

honeymoon! | JOE BURROW⁹ [006]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.1k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on a request -> maybe a smutty blurb for the joe series from their honeymoon 😍 night the baby was conceived

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | plot w/ NSFW under the cut, mdni! pretty soft, honeymoon fucking, we all know how it goes. unprotected sex! (oops... that's how our little accident baby was made, ig) p in v, a whole lotta praise, maybe a little too much foreplay, dry humping? SO MUCH EFFING KISSING IT'S ACTUALLY INSANE,

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 began with sunlight slipping through the white linen curtains of their beachfront villa, casting warm, golden streaks across the bed. The sound of gentle waves crashing against the shore replaced the usual hum of alarm clocks and city noise. It was peaceful, a slow and languid awakening to the soft melody of Barbados.

You stirred first, the warm breeze from the open balcony brushing against your skin. The air smelled like salt and hibiscus, mingled with the faintest trace of sunscreen from the night before. Stretching out, your arm brushed against Joe’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing letting you know he was still fast asleep.

For a moment, you just watched him. His lashes rested on his cheeks, his hair an unruly mess from a restless sleep on the crisp sheets. His sun-kissed skin glowed faintly in the morning light, a preview of what the week ahead would bring. He looked peaceful, his usual intensity softened in this quiet morning moment.

Eventually, the tantalizing aroma of breakfast—sweet coconut, warm banana bread, and freshly brewed coffee—wafted into the room, urging you to move. You leaned over, pressing a kiss to Joe’s shoulder.

“Joe,” you whispered softly, your voice barely above the ocean breeze.

He groaned in response, his eyes still closed. “Five more minutes,” he muttered, pulling the sheet higher over his shoulder.

You laughed, tugging at the blanket. “If you don’t get up, I’m starting this honeymoon without you.”

His eyes cracked open at that, one brow arching lazily. “You wouldn’t dare.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you slipped out of bed, grabbing the silky robe from the back of the door and tying it loosely around your waist. The cool tile floor under your bare feet was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the Caribbean morning. Joe watched you from the bed, his lips twitching into a soft smile as you peeked out onto the balcony.

The view stole your breath. A turquoise sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon, dotted with white sailboats that glided lazily across the water. The beach was a postcard come to life: soft, white sand scattered with seashells and bordered by swaying palm trees.

“Okay, now I’m up,” Joe announced, his voice gravelly from sleep as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Breakfast was served on the villa’s private terrace, a table set for two with fresh tropical fruits, flaky pastries, and omelets stuffed with local spices. Joe poured you a glass of orange juice, and you returned the favor by slicing up pieces of mango to share.

The morning passed in the kind of leisurely bliss you could only find on an island vacation. After breakfast, you walked down to the beach, your fingers intertwined as the sun climbed higher into the sky. The sand was warm beneath your feet, and the occasional cool splash of the ocean sent shivers up your spine.

Joe insisted on carrying you over a shallow tidepool when you hesitated, laughing at your squeal as the water splashed higher than you expected. “Can’t have you chickening out now,” he teased, setting you down just as the next wave brushed against your calves.

By midday, you found yourselves sprawled out on two lounge chairs under a palm tree. Joe had traded his usual serious demeanor for something more relaxed, leaning back with a contented sigh as you read aloud from a cheesy romance novel you’d brought along. His teasing interruptions—“People actually say that?!”—had you both laughing until your cheeks hurt.

As the day unfolded, everything seemed perfect in its simplicity. The quiet moments between you, the way Joe’s hand lingered on your back when you walked past, or the way he absentmindedly kissed your forehead when you handed him a drink—it was all the kind of effortless love you’d dreamed of.

┈┈┈

The soft hum of the ceiling fan swirled with the salt-tinged breeze that swept through the villa, carrying with it the promise of a balmy Barbados night. Outside, the waves lapped lazily against the shore, their rhythmic song mingling with the distant chirping of tree frogs. The day had melted into evening seamlessly, the sky now painted in inky blues and dotted with stars.

You stood on the balcony, wrapped in one of Joe’s oversized button-ups, the hem brushing mid-thigh as you leaned against the railing. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, a dark expanse glimmering under the moonlight. Behind you, Joe emerged from the shower, his steps quiet on the cool tiles.

“You always steal my shirts,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Without turning, you smirked. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his arms slipped around your waist from behind, his damp skin cool against your back as he pulled you close. His hands splayed over your stomach, his thumbs brushing small, deliberate circles against the fabric.

“You looked good out there today,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Your breath hitched at the soft intimacy of it. “You mean when I almost face-planted in the tidepool?”

Joe chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Even then. You make clumsiness look cute.”

You tilted your head to glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

His grin was boyish, disarming. “Depends. Did it work?”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway, your body softening under his touch. His hands didn’t stop their exploration, sliding along your sides, his fingers brushing the edges of bare skin where the shirt didn’t quite meet your thighs.

“Joey,” you started, your voice dipping slightly as you tried to maintain composure.

“Hmm?” His lips found your neck, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You’re being distracting.”

“That’s kind of the point.” His words were muffled against your skin, but the grin in his voice was unmistakable.

He turned you around, his hands settling on your hips as he pressed you gently against the railing. His gaze was heavy-lidded, the playful glint in his blue eyes softened by something deeper, something intimate. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, the teasing gone now. His thumb brushed your cheek as if committing the moment to memory.

The vulnerability in his voice made your breath catch. You reached up, cupping his jaw, your thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “You’re terrible at taking compliments.”

“Maybe you’re just too good at giving them.”

Joe’s hands tightened on your hips, tugging you closer. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Oh? Just ‘like’ me?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his lips met yours, slow and unhurried, as though you had all the time in the world. His kiss was soft, yet his hands were firm, grounding you as they slipped under the hem of the shirt, warm against your skin.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he rested his chin on the top of your head, holding you close. “For the record,” he murmured, “I more than like you.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “I would hope so. You did marry me.”

His laughter rumbled through his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was different—more hurried, more insistent. Before you could catch your breath or process the shift in his mood, Joe’s arms slid under your thighs, lifting you with ease. A startled laugh escaped your lips, quickly muffled as he kissed you again, walking the two of you back into the villa without breaking contact.

“Joe!” you managed between kisses, your fingers instinctively tangling in the damp strands of his hair. “You’re going to trip.”

He smirked against your lips, his confidence unwavering. “I’m a quarterback. I don’t trip.”

You wanted to argue, but the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his hold on you left little room for coherent thought. His stride was purposeful, his hands secure on your thighs as he carried you through the open patio doors and into the softly lit living room. The sea breeze followed, carrying the scent of salt and hibiscus, but the cool air was no match for the heat radiating between the two of you.

By the time he reached the bedroom, you were breathless, your heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the journey. He set you down carefully on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on your waist, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joe shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nothing. Just... you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile you tried to suppress gave you away. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” His voice was lower now, a teasing edge to it as he leaned in, his hands framing your face. “You gonna keep arguing, or can I kiss you again?”

Your response was immediate, pulling him down to meet you halfway. This kiss was no longer hurried but deliberate, the weight of the moment sinking in as his hands moved with purpose, sliding under the fabric of the shirt you wore.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the sound of the waves outside became a distant murmur. For a while, the world shrank to just the two of you—Joe’s hands, his lips, his warmth surrounding you entirely.

The teasing was still there in the way he nipped at your bottom lip or murmured something smug when you let out a quiet gasp. But beneath it all was something deeper, something unspoken yet understood between you both.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you catching your breath, he grinned that boyish grin that always disarmed you. “So,” he said, his voice thick with amusement and affection, “still think I’m going to trip?”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns along the back of his neck. “No. But I might.”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple before easing you back against the pillows, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something more tender. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice a promise. “I’ll catch you.”

Joe’s lips grazed yours again, soft and deliberate, the teasing smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. His hands settled at your waist, fingers brushing the hem of the oversized shirt you’d thrown on after your shower. It was technically his, the fabric worn and loose, but he didn’t seem to mind—especially as he slowly started to lift it, his knuckles ghosting over your bare thighs.

“I think this belongs to me,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. His baby blues flicked up to meet yours, daring you to argue.

“Does it?” you challenged softly, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his muscled skin under your palms.

Joe grinned, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours. “It does. But I’m willing to share—if you ask nicely.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was cut short when his lips trailed along your jaw, his hands continuing their slow ascent, sending little shocks of heat through your skin. “You’re ridiculous,” you managed, though your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed the curve of your hips.

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, his voice a quiet rumble against your neck. His lips moved with deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of kisses that had you melting into his touch.

Your hands found their way into his blonde hair, tugging lightly in retaliation, which only made him chuckle. The sound vibrated against your skin, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten slightly.

“Careful,” he warned playfully, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now, filled with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine. “You keep doing that, and I won’t be able to stop.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice steady. “Who says I want you to?”

That was all the encouragement Joe needed. His smile turned wicked, and before you could say another word, he was easing you back onto the bed, his hands bracketing your face as he kissed you again—deeper this time, less teasing, more intent.

His weight settled above you, one hand slipping beneath the shirt to trace the curve of your ribs while the other tangled in your hair. The kisses grew slower but no less consuming, each one leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent as he pulled back slightly to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his gaze softening despite the heat between you.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, though the words came out shaky, your heart racing under his touch.

Joe laughed softly, his breath warm against your lips. “Not so bad? I think I can do better than that.”

Joe’s teasing edge melted away, replaced by a deeper intensity. His lips pressed to yours with a hunger that left no room for playful quips or lingering hesitation. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under the thin fabric of the shirt as if it had always been in his way before unbuttoning it slowly, slipping it off of you, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You were only left in your bra and underwear, your whole body felt like it was on fire.

Your breath caught as his hands mapped every inch of bare skin they could find, the roughness of his palms contrasting with the softness of his touch. His fingers splayed against your waist, pulling you closer, like even the smallest gap between you was too much before he pulled you toward his crotch. You felt his bulge against your warmth, the feeling too dizzying, you just had to let out a small whimper, your head falling back into the plush pillow.

“You like that?” he murmured, the word barely audible as he leaned forward, his mouth trailed down your neck, each kiss leaving a warm flush in its wake as he began pushing his bulge against you, rougher this time.

“Joey,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your fingers skimmed over his shoulders and down his back, feeling the taut muscle beneath.

He hummed in response, his lips finding the hollow of your throat, lingering there for a moment before moving lower. He slowly began moving his hips against your covered pussy, eliciting small noises from you. He was rock-hard, you could feel his excitement through the thin material of his gray sweats.

For a moment, he stilled, his eyes roving over you as if committing every detail to memory. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice low and thick, his words sinking into your skin like a promise.

Heat bloomed in your chest, and before you could respond, his lips found yours again, firmer, deeper, his hand sliding up your side to cup your cheek. The world outside the villa ceased to exist; all that mattered was the way his touch sent a current through you, grounding you and setting you alight all at once.

You tugged at his shirt in response, your fingers fumbling slightly in your urgency. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips, before leaning back just enough to help you. The fabric joined yours on the floor, and then he was back, his skin warm against yours, every inch of contact electric.

His hands skimmed over your thighs, hooking behind your knees to draw you closer. The air felt charged, the only sounds filling the room your uneven breaths and the gentle crash of waves outside. He began rocking his hips against yours, letting out a needy groan of his own.

“Please, Joe,” you moaned, breathless and oh so wet, your hand slipping to his chest to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“Please, what?” He challenged, his forehead leaning to rest against yours. His lips were curved, a cocky smiling gracing his features. Yeah, he wasn't giving in so easily—even if he was rock-hard and just as needy as you.

You rolled your eyes, your chest rising and falling as your eyes found his again. His baby blues were dilated and dark, the familiar lustful gaze glazing his eyes. But somehow, there was still that warmth and love you knew he felt for you.

“Just, please fuck me.”

That was all he needed.

His lips found yours again, harder this time, more insistent, as if the words you’d exchanged weren’t enough to convey the depth of his feelings. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer with a quiet, desperate kind of urgency that left no space between you, his body practically trembling with restraint.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered against your lips, his voice low, his breath hot.

You tried to reply, but your words were swallowed by the kiss that followed, deeper, more fervent. His hands roamed, fingers splayed wide as they moved over the curves of your back, memorizing every inch. There was no hesitation now, no pretense—just raw affection and the kind of vulnerability that came from letting someone see all of you, heart and soul.

He broke away only briefly, his forehead pressed to yours, his blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he admitted, his voice uneven, like the words cost him something.

The weight of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice sent a shiver through you. “I don’t think I’d ever want you to,” you murmured back, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently to anchor yourself.

That was all it took for his restraint to falter. His lips were back on yours, hungrier this time, his hands tightening their grip as if he was afraid you might slip away. His desperation wasn’t rushed or clumsy; it was reverent, like he was determined to make every moment count, to leave no part of you untouched by the depth of his adoration.

Finally, his hands began pulling off his sweatpants, his lips never leaving yours. He tugged them off swiftly, throwing them on the floor as he pulled away for a second, gripping your hips and pulling you impossibly closer. Joe's eyes never left yours as he slowly took off his briefs, your breath hitching. As soon as his briefs were off, his large fingers hooked on your panties and slipped them off.

His lips found yours again, moving forward slowly as he led himself toward your folds. You felt his breath hitch before he slowly pushed into you, broken moans leaving your lips. You already felt so full and he wasn't even a quarter inside yet.

You were sopping wet at that point, he could easily slip into you quickly—but he took his time, as if he was trying to memorize the way your cunt squeezed him so perfectly, how perfect you felt around his cock and how he swore your pussy was made for him. Joe was huge, that was never a secret—the whole “Big Dick Joe” hat was never really a joke.

You felt him fill you up slowly but surely, until he completely bottomed you out. Your hands were gripping his broad shoulders as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, focusing on the feeling of Joe's cock stretching you out.

And you swore, no matter how many times you fuck—the feeling will never, ever get old.

“Oh God, yes,” you practically cried out as you squeezed his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his warm skin. He groaned at the stinging feeling, the pleasure coursing through his body.

He let you adjust to his size as he began kissing you again, slower this time. The kiss grew more intense, trailing down your jawline and across your neck, each one carrying a weight that left you breathless. His hands remained steady on your hips as he let you adjust to his size, and yet there was an unmistakable tremor in the way his fingers pressed into your skin, like he was holding on for dear life.

Slowly, he began thrusting out of you, before crashing into you rougher. His patience was wavering, you could see it in his expression.

“Harder, Joe,” you moaned breathlessly as you squeezed his shoulder harder, gazing up at him through your lashes.

That was all he needed. Joe began rocking into you, the bed moving along with each of his hard thrusts. His hands gripped your thighs before lifting your legs onto his shoulders, your hands falling back on the bed as he began fucking you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out in utter pleasure, gripping the sheets as he groaned at the feeling of your walls tightening around him.

“Say you’re mine,” he murmured against the hollow of your throat as he leaned in, his voice rough with need, the words barely audible over the sound of the bed creaking beneath the two of you.

“I’m yours,” you answered without hesitation, your voice trembling but sure. The words seemed to undo him further, a shiver running through his frame as his hips began moving at an almost impossible speed, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he whispered breathlessly, his breath hot against your skin. His hands gripped your hips firmly as if to ground himself, but his lips never stopped their journey—brushing along your collarbone, lingering where he could feel the rapid beat of your pulse.

His kisses became softer for a moment, almost trembling with the intensity of what he was trying to say without words. The movements of his hips were a perfect blend of desperation and purpose—like every thrust, every kiss, was a vow, a promise of just how much you meant to him.

But the desperation was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to bubble over again.

You felt that familiar tightening in your lower stomach, and your walls tightened around his cock. He was close, too—you could feel it in the way his hips rocked against yours, harder and more frantic than the last and the way he let out his groans freely.

Time seemed to dissolve, measured only by the gentle rhythm of the waves outside and the warmth of Joe’s touch. Every movement between you was deliberate, filled with a perfect mix of care and roughness that made the world outside feel irrelevant.

His hands never strayed far, always returning to cradle your face or trace patterns along your thighs as though grounding himself in the moment.

And right as you were about to go over the edge, Joe’s hand slipped to yours, his fingers threading through yours in a gesture so tender it brought an ache to your chest. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your orgasm hitting you like a truck, rippling through you harshly.

You cried out loudly in pleasure, the sound echoing in the empty villa. A few more frantic thrusts and Joe was spilling into you, his groans heavenly and loud. You both caught your breathes, slow and heavy all at once. The villa was quiet except for the shared sounds of your breathing, the ocean breeze filtered in through the slightly open windows, cool and refreshing against the heat you shared, carrying the faint scent of salt and hibiscus.

After a moment, his lips brushed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if memorizing you was his life’s work.

“You okay?” he murmured again, his voice softer now, almost reverent, his forehead pressed lightly against yours.

“Yes,” you replied, breathless but certain, your hand slipping to his chest to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Perfect, actually.”

The night stretched on in a haze of soft laughter, quiet reassurances, and the feeling of being utterly cherished. By the time you lay tangled together beneath the linen sheets, exhaustion pulled at your limbs, but your heart was light. Joe’s arm was slung protectively around your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder.

“Love you,” he murmured, the words slurred with sleep but no less sincere.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of his hand. “I love you, too.”

The moonlight poured through the open window, silver light painting your intertwined forms as the waves provided a lullaby. With Joe’s steady presence beside you, you felt more at peace than ever—like the rest of the world could wait, because here, in this moment, you had everything you could ever need.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nfl imagine #nfl players #nfl football #joe burrow bengals #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #who dey #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x y/n

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pascals-doll · 8 months ago

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aint ya’ girlfriend!

⋆ ˚ . * · analysis— in which ellie doesn’t know the meaning “commitment”, well she does but chooses to not stay loyal. you’re her roomate and unattainable—or so she thought. venturing into your own dating life causes her to spiral, she aint your girlfriend & neither are you. | WC: 1.5K

₊˚ପ ellie williams x reader | photo cover obvi from Pinterest!

₊˚ପ MEOWW IM BACK !! gotta run it back with some toxic ellie 😇!!

₊˚ପ description: MODERN ROOMATE AU! NO PHYSICAL FEMALE DESCRIPTION! ANGST & SMUT, PORN W PLOT! (lol), toxic!ellie, roomate!ellie, PLAYER! (coded) ellie, JEALOUS!ellie, no use of Y/N, the mention of commitment issues, MUTUAL PINING, blatant flirting, secret crushing, heavy yearning, very small reader x dina, heated arguement, mention of ellie sleeping with multiple women, POWERPLAY, mix of dom!reader & dom!ellie, sub!ellie partly & sub!reader, pent-up sex (😇), teasing, HIGHKEY MAKEUP SEX (👅), possessive!ellie, finger-fucking ( E receiving), face riding (E receiving), 69, praising, pussy eating (both receiving), slight biting (both), slight choking (both), use of pet names ( baby, mama)

90% percent of things in this world are easily accomplished and achieved, being Ellie Williams roommate wasn’t one of them.

Since the day you met through a roommate finder site, after a few phone conversations getting to know each other t’ill the moment you arranged your meeting. Ellie's been enamored, secretly, nonetheless.

You would lie if you said that from the moment; she came to help you move out t’ill now—dealing with sleepless nights because of her lack of sexual resistance—that her consistent affection didn't sway you.

it's been exactly six months since you've moved in with Ellie and you could recount her daily routine like it was your skincare.

You weren't sure, if you genuinely thought Ellie was sure you were dumb or straight-up shameless.

At dark hours of the midnight, you might've been asleep but that didn’t stop her by the agonizing moans that echoed through cheap plywood walls. You groaned as you muffled your entire face and ears with your pillow, praying for them to shut the fuck up or stop.

Three days, twice a week.

Ellie had to have some type of sex problem. You thought to yourself. You're never one to hate someone's game-but living with the player is absolute fucking hell.

Every morning, you’re an early bird as Ellie is not, due to her nightly ventures.

You felt bad for the women who left disheveled, sneaking through the apartment at 7 AM to leave while you step out your bedroom; an empathetic smile shot their way before hurrying into the bathroom.

Your morning routine consists of cleaning yourself up before stepping out to cook early breakfast.

By the time, Ellie awoke and stepped out cockily, "Thank you, beautiful. You didn't have to cook me breakfast." She coaxed happily, pouring her cup of coffee at 12 PM. You sat on the couch reading your book, legs crossed and rested onto your coffee table.

You chuckled, "That shit's cold by now, I made it when tonight's booty-call left." Unphased and focused on your book. You could hear her footsteps begin to lead towards the living room area, closer, and closer to the couch you relaxed on.

You would never admit it. Although, her lack of respect for your peace—doesn't mean she should starve.

She joined you on the couch, empty space right beside. Ellie's presence tensing your muscles for some reason. She somewhat annoyed you but when you got to talk to her, it went so well. You guys actually had so much in common.

It felt serene to connect with her on many levels besides her surface actions, she was a timid person throughout the small cocky remarks. She was a great listener along as a storyteller over everything.

It was truly remarkable the balance she carried, also interesting. Something you couldn't quite wrap your head around still. You were willingly delusional, but it was clearly evident, you soaked in every moment with this person.

You lowered your book while she asked, "Hmph-touchè, you got any plans for today?" Calling your attention. Eyes sulked, the forest she carried within her eyes; it wasn't hard to comprehend why these women want a chance with her.

Ellie’s eyes were impossible not to get lost in, like compulsion. You never held eye contact too long, taking moments to break away, and retain from fluttering to the brown kissed freckles along her face to the shape of her soft lips.

You squint, a small smirk creeping through "Wouldn't you like to know what I'm up too." Your tone teases before going back to reading.

"I know what you been up too," Ellie tries to push further, reaching forward to delicately grasp your legs that rested on the coffee table. Your legs laid into her lap, sprawling across, and hanging off.

Another thing that consists of her routine the most? Spending the rest of the hours, days, and weeks flirting with you.

Ellie loved physical touch—as if she wasn't physical enough. She loved her hands on you.

Watching herself caress the exposed skin of your legs, massaging down t’ill your ankle high-socks. Wether it was platonic or flirtatious, affection was key with you.

Once again, you lower your book to meet her eyes.

Ellie’s hands worked their way down, her fingers pressuring skillfully onto your heel and tingling the palm of your foot. She continues watching you read, "Oh yeah? What am I going to do today?" You question her, disregarding your book.

Sinking herself into the couch, her hands moving up from your legs to your thighs. Softly squeezing on of them, goosebumping your skin.

Ellie smiles confidently, "Cuddle with me and watch movies." Her eyes shimmering. You gaze at the big grin she spoke with, unsure if she was ever genuine.

You sat-up and leaned closer towards her till met face-level, "I'm sorry Els, someone else booked my time for today! I'm sure you will find a way to entertain yourself, hm?" You patted her shoulder with a smile as you got up.

"Wait, What the fuck do you mean?"

"Oh Williams! I've got a date, gotta' get ready."

It was insane, truly.

Ellie thought she was going crazy; she couldn't ever date you.

You're too good for her, representing everything she should want but isn't ready for. She was aware of how clearly toxic and intoxicated she was off, and with you.

No. Fuck no.

Ellie repeated to herself mentally, alongside questioning her existence—had she really been so caught up on trying to get a reaction out of you to see your time focused on someone else? —Yes, she was.

It wasn't as bad as the delusions Ellie's paranoia was creating in her mind. You had hung out with your friends where you happened to meet Dina. She was a mutual friend that you were introduced too.

Ever since then, you've been flattered, and hoped for a dinner date with her. For you, it felt like an escape of emotional dread that came after every touch, sentence, and epithet that left Ellie's lips.

You hated the way you loved how affectionate she was, catching yourself vulnerable every time she touched you. Always dwelling the feeling of her soft warmth that soaked into your own invisible bliss, never allowing yourself to look too pleased; Yet, never pulling away.

Ellie headed down the hallway to your room. She was desperate to get you to stay, creating small and stupid conversation to slow you as she loved hearing her nickname fall from your lips even though she was practically seeping jealousy.

Ellie was her own ticking time-bomb, her patience melting, and mustering “Who's the lucky girl?" She bugged, trying her hardest to conceal that greened tone.

You swirl your chair around, now completely facing her as you couldn’t help your jaw fall agape. You examine her demeanor while speaking up, “I don't ask about your daily rendezvouses." You were quick to quirk back, feeling uncalled for.

Ellie's brows knitted together, "We-well—are you gonna' bring them back? I deserve to know that." She stumbled but spit back.

It was clear, now, you offended her. It was true. You never asked about the women she brought into your shared apartment. The women she brought to make you jealous.

The laugh you let out was priceless, "I don't get a say on who you bring home, why would you?" You called her out.

Ellie stepped closer to your chair. She looked into your mirror, leaving you no choice but to face her as your swirled around, her eyes gandered through your vanity mirror.

Your facial expressions were clearer as she continued to push, "It's different, you know that." She tries to prove.

You wanted peace and relaxation, something Ellie makes a sure mission of that you never fucking receive.

"You can't go out," Ellie began.

"Who's gonna stop me? Are you serious?' You thought she must've been fucking with you; you weren't going to hear another word of it.

"Just get out, get out now." Standing up from you chair, holding it open as she walks out, and slamming the door behind her.

You had left and most of all, you had left Ellie feeling like complete shit.

She couldn't believe you did this, did this to her. It felt like you had shot right through her heart, torturing her with her own distasteful antics, and leaving a sour tang to her soul.

In her mind, she thought you were utterly selfish. She couldn't see past the fact that, you, didn't owe her anything.

Ellie wanted you, beyond pleasure, more than anything. You became insatiable to her.

She didn’t allow herself to soak in tangled feelings she felt for you, knew she had, even if it ate her alive at night. You would come to visit her in her sleep or while she mindlessly fucked some girl—sometimes, even pretending it was you.

You are treasure to her, too valuable to touch, but always curious with growing desperation to obtain and protect.

Ellie's peace was founded in you, a safe place she loves calling home. Unknown to your knowledge and you disrupted it.

As she disrupts your peace by being with anyone, but you.

Ellie finally understood what you meant by those backhanded insults.

She sat there with her hands palmed to her face, fingers running, and scratching through her short soft locks. Messing her own hair up, contemplating on how she could turn such a deep pattern.

This entire time she had been failing and failed to see that.

Out of everything, she thought blowing up your phone was the answer.

When you finally opened your phone, you saw your notification inbox full.

ⓘ Els ❕50+ messages

ⓘ Els ❕50 missed calls

You excused yourself to the restroom at fhe table with Dina, "I'm sorry, is it okay if run to the restroom really quick?" You requested through a thick forced tone and hidden irritation.

Your date had been going amazing. You may not have a lot in common with Dina, but she's a cheerful person who brings a refreshening energy. It was nice being in her presence.

It wasn't enough though.

You found yourself comparing your conversations to the conversations you have with Ellie, who is just your fucking roommate.

Dina was picture perfect, absolutely stunning, and she respected you more than you imagined Ellie ever could. That was the thing; even if talking to Dina tonight was full of laughter.

Everything you wanted wasn't her.

Never able to shake the anticipation of her touches, and the absence of her presence. Which make you crave it. Crave her. She was pure risk and you never wanted her to change.

You had a crush on your roommate, and you were fucked.

You were in the restroom ringing Ellie's phone. Hearing the beat of your heart thumps.

"You better say something good." You wanted to scream out as the line connects. You had every right to be, never once have you blown up her phone.

"Where are you? Let me come get you." She hurried through her words, hearing her surroundings of cars driving with a swish of wind.

You paced around, shocked and even more angry, "Are you out? Where are you?" You throw her own question back at her, whisper-yelling in a stall.

Ellie was so desperate to find where you were out like a girlfriend gone rogue.

"On my way to come get you, now tell me, where." She states blatantly and impatiently.

"You fucking wish! what happened? your hookup ain't text ya' back?" Your tone was laced with pure spite. It was silent for a small moment over the phone.

"Tell me where you are or come home." You could hear the desperation through her roughed-up tone.

Not a word was said. Your mood had been completely killed and you were hanging on by a thread. Repeating herself, “Come home or tell me where you are, please."

For the first time, you heard Ellie beg. She was pleading for you to come home, and you hated to admit it; yet, again.

But it worked.

When you finally saw her, you didn’t bring yourself to look or speak while you walked completely past her.

The silence was piercing the whole way. You could hear a pin drop.

“No side piece tonight?” your tone, only bashful. You were exhausted and enraged.

Ellie's white wife-beater was roughed up and you could smell the stench of marijuana roam off her neck. She looked sullen, her eyes low, bagged, and her jaw seeming clenched; her hair staticy.

You observed her body language, scanning her lean figure. Her sweatpants hung loosely onto her hips as her gaze shifted between you and her own feet.

Huffing, "Just why." you state, disassociating yourself by looking at the ground. It was continued silence for a moment.

"You came back for a reason, though." Ellie finally spoke and it just made everything worse.

"You know what? I did. I came back because I actually care for you. I thought you were in trouble or something, so I thought, hey, maybe I should go back—" You began, your voice shrieking as it raised louder.

"Something you never fucking think to do, too busy fucking to show me an ounce of respect!" You yelled. Weight had been lifted.

It was like screaming a keyword at Ellie, budging from looking at ground to look at you "What are you talking about!?" Ellie's eyes widen, her eyebrows raising as she retorts.

"You don't fucking get it!" you didn't say anything as she raised her hand angrily into the air, then running in through her hair.

"It is so fucking hard trying to resist you." Ellie's eyes were piercing into yours, her steps stalking closer.

"No matter how many women, they are never you. You are all I think about." You could hear her voice grow lower and lower as you froze.

You were at a loss for words, lips parted as you try to focus on your breathing.

"I want you. I need you." Ellie continues, whispering. Feeling her warm breath feather your lips. Ellie closed any space between you both, pulling you into her.

You opened your mouth to speak—only for her to bring a finger up to shush your lips, "I can't stand the thought of you with someone else." Ellie continued, leaning in closer and slowly removing her finger.

So many parts of you wanted to scream rejection, but as you feel her warmth, and her words you’ve dreamed. You could feel your blood rush and heat you up, feeling Ellie's body haze you, your mouth desperate and shaky.

"Kiss me, then." you tut.

Your lips met passionately, an automatic fight for dominance as the pace got hot. The thirst shared was unquenchable.

The personal echoes of each other's kisses smack as your hands got lost in her hair. Your fingers slightly tug onto her loose locks. Ellie's hands greedily rapturing you further into her body—till she couldn't; craving to feel every part of you.

You were lost into the feeling of Ellie's lips, her tongue swiping at your bottom lip as she's desperate to explore more of you.

Your bodies fiend for each other, one of your hands tugging on her muscle tank, and the other lowering from her hair. Ellie's hands roam from your waist, trilling at the feeling of you grazing her neck. She passes your hips till she reached thigh, and hiking it up onto her hip.

Ellie's grasps and grips onto the thick of your thigh, slowly dipping to cup the cheek of your ass. She sneaked a firm squeeze on your ass causing you to shriek, allowing her tongue to explore every crevice of your mouth.

Ellie giggled into the kiss at your muffled moans, amused by how she's effecting you. You push her off slightly, catching your breath. You were both left breathless while she kept eyes on each part of you.

Taking a step closer, reaching your hand out to caress her cheek. Indulged by the freckles painted into her as your thumb brushes her soft cheek. Slowly traveling your hand to her nape before coming around full circle, choking her, and pulling her chest to chest.

You smirk at the way her pupils dilatated. Ellie's mouth was agape, leaning in to lick a teasing swipe along her bottom and top lip. "I'm not your girlfriend." you state.

A soft quick squeeze on her neck causing a weak whine to fall from her lips. Oh, this was better than you imagined.

Ellie gripped your arm, pulling you around and into her chest. Walking you back, you felt your back eventually hit against her door with a hasty thud. Her tongue explored you, intertwining with your own as you sucked softly.

Each grope and wet lick electrified a craving in your stomach, pulsing into your arousal. She struggles with the doorknob, jiggling it open as her other hand held you. Ellie would never admit how soaked you get her.

Your needy grinds contra the pleasure dripping through her briefs as her lips learned every secret love spot within your precious body. You both tumbled onto her bed, not a care in the world besides this fervid momentum shared between you both.

Ellie toppled you, slowly lowering closer. Taking a chance to catch her by suprise, pulling her down with your leg hooked, and flipping her over. Now, you were on top.

Your lips quickly find their way to her clavicle, pecking, and licking alongside her neck. Almost ripping off her wife-beater while leaving open-mouthed kisses onto her shoulder. Continuing kissing down and around her exposed tits.

Your eyes switched watching her face and the way the cool air perked up her nipples. Ellie's back arched as you teased your teeth onto the plush above her tits, right above her sensitive erect nipples. you leave an array of hickeys, enjoying each squirm let out from under you.

This was your sweet revenge, her punishment for every time; she could've been with you, but wasn't.

You didn't stop tricking her with your tongue. Maneuvering down from fondling one of her tits, twiddling your finger around her nipple, and sliding into her loose sweats.

Your hand hasty as you reach the warmth of her panties, middle, and ring finger curve into the soaked patch that leaked through her panty. Thumb pushing up on her clit softly while Ellie turns her head laying head on the bed, watching you tease her; growing embarrassingly wet.

It was primal instinct, playing, and pushing for her weaknesses. You studied every small moan and squirm left form her body. Your fingers continuously circle her clit through her panties. She was quick to spread her legs for you, allowing you access.

Ellie's tits perked and red by your teeth and feverish sucking. You kept finger firm, pressing down onto her covered clit as the fabric of her soppy panty rubbed into her, pulling her panty to the side, coating your two fingers with her slick.

Ellie's chest heaves with a loud moan as her thighs tremble. You watch her struggle to reach up and stop your arm. She was on the border of giving in and still anxious for control.

She grips onto your wrist, slimed finger following down to her vulnerable entrance, toying with her, torturously. You kiss and lick your way back up, meeting her berried lips.

Your middle finger pushes into her, curving upward, and enticing her walls which immediately knocked a desperate strangled moan out of Ellie, throwing her head back.

The sound of her slick swirl and smack within gliding in and out of her whetted pussy brought you a gluttonous satisfaction. Her addictive cries encouraged another finger to join your soaked middle, stretching her out completely. Ellie’s grown in nail tips dug into your incensed flicking wrist.

Ellie on a frenzy of choked whines and unstable string of moans, "Gah-fuck me!".

You admire the work you've sucked onto her body. A fleeced giggle leaves your lips as you plant feathered kisses onto her cheeks, "Already am, baby" You murmured.

The pace you fucked her with was exquisite, your fingertips fluttering against her g-spot as they plunge deeper. Quickening your thrusts with every squelch given by Ellie’s gushed pussy. She held her mouth agape, allowing yourself to dive your tongue in, swallowing her lewd noises.

Ellie clenches around you, her pussy guzzling every inch of your thickened fingers. You could feel and hear her heartbeat pound against your smushed chests, "Ya'like it? like how it feels, honey?" Your question was coy, sliding your fingers fourth, pressing your tips verse her walls.

"Ah! yes, fuck, fuck yes!—I'm gonna'—" Lecherous shrieks fell from her lips as you help ride out her orgasm. Your fingers relentless in her pussy, juicing itself around your fingers; coating your fingers.

"Let it out, Els", You start to praise into her ear, "I know you've been dying too."

Your coo finishes her off with a loud grunt as you pull out your lustered up fingers. Without looking or a second thought, your free hand grabbed Ellie's jaw and attempted to focus her dazed vision to watch you.

Both of your eye's leer into each other as you plop your fingers into your mouth, coming sucking off her cum with a pop.

Ellie's eyes turned dark, her lids hazed, and hooded.

Slowly lifting yourself and shifting your hips below her stomach, Ellie was quick with her movements, flipping you over, and trapped under her. The feeling of her hands running up and down your clothed body, leaning down your ear, “Time, I took all this off…” She weakly whispers as she hovers over you.

Your body was completely sprawled onto her navy-blue sheeted bed with your arms raised above your head, and her knee pushing into your clothed heat. Mimicking your exact position, each sloppy kiss was followed by a piece of clothing being thrown off.

Seconds. How quick it was for you to be in nothing but your panties. Ellie’s kisses were precise and every nonverbal praise by the unconscious grind of your hips and bit-back whines.

She flows herself between your legs, pulling each one onto her shoulders as her lips pecked from your thighs till, she met your damped panty. "You had your fun," She started muttering into you.

"Only fair if I have mine, right mama?" Ellie cocks her head to the side, meeting your eyes before biting your panty-lining and proceeding to hike down your panties with her teeth.

Your eyes peered into her, watching the way she intently focused every part of you. She kissed every beauty mark that was blessed up your body. The feeling of her breath inching closer to your dewed pussy-lips; arching your back in temptation.

You thread your fingers throughout her hair, tugging slightly. You were no longer challenging her, giving complete submission to Ellie.

She watches the way arousal drips from your slit; her hands massaged the goosebumps perking the hairs on you. Ellie couldn't believe she was granted with such a divine privilege, drooling at the thought.

Ellie kitten-licked the delicious nectar that trickled, her tongue dragging flat against your pussy, and licking up your pulpy clit. Indulging in every moment spent between your legs with every keen lick trailed across your heat.

An inflamed jolt seeds through your spine, your entire body to thrash further into the bed as you cry out, "Ah!—Fucking god!" Your pleasure enthralling you to your ankles.

The wet smacking from her saliva coated sucks mixed with your core's elation. A train of vulgar slob laps your pussy while she gets lost in between your furred lips and swallowing you up, “It ain’t god, baby.” Smirking at your sensual vulnerability.

The tone she used was condescendingly sweet. Trembling your legs and jerking your hips which pushed Ellie’s head further into your pussy as the heel of your foot digs into her shoulder, and hands wrestling through her brunette locks.

Your head was thrown back in tempestuous joy, “Mmph! Ellie!—so fucking good!” Ellie’s tongue danced on your clit before making her way towards your soppy entrance.

Pure ecstasy marauded its way up and through your internal, tightening your abdomen. Every strike of her tongue inched closer to cumming all over her. You felt your hips cramp as you try to push Ellie off, backing away desperately.

You struggled, meekly crying out, "F-fuck! stop! stop!" Ellie immediately pulled away with wide eyes. She looked up at you alarmed, "Did I hurt you?!" her tone sincere and worried as she got up, standing above you.

Trying to catch your breath, sweat glistening your naked body. You lean up on your elbows to look at her, "Get on the bed..." your voice was breathless and clear. Ellie walks over slowly, hovering next to you on the empty side of the bed while licking the corners of her lips deviously.

Ellie leans over, her hand threading through your messy hair as she kissed you ferociously. Tasting yourself on her tongue as your own greedily twirled around her mouth. Both of your tongues swirl around each other as your arms find their way around Ellie's body.

You pull away from her lips, "Put your pussy on me." you sulk, regaining your strength.

"Aren't you charming." She jokes out sarcastically and smirking, "Oh, just sit on my face." you huff with a fun grin.

Just like that, Ellie turns around, holding herself up onto your thighs. Your hands run through the back on her thighs till you made your way to her ass, fondling, and squeezing her plush flesh. Mouth’s salivating at each other.

Ellie lets out a gratifying groan as your tongue swipes her sensitive slits, twirling around her hole and thumb circling her clit. Arching herself down onto you more while leveling herself in-between your thighs, leaving sloppy opened kisses on your pussy.

Your stomach bubbles up lewdly, chasing after her swirling tongue within the impatient trial to get her to cum all over your face. The mix of each other's nibbles and starved slurps, propelling bodies together as your legs convulsed and her own thighs shook with inched erotica.

You feel your orgasm coarse and itch closer as Ellie continues to drag between your slits. Starting to move faster, hips grinding against your face. Ellie is soon following close behind, both of you moaning and panting while reaching each other’s simultaneous climax.

A string of choked out moans bouncing off her white walls, “Don-Don’t stop!” you gasp out before closing your mouth around her clit.

Continuous harmony between both of your moans as you both cum all over each other, creaming your faces.

You and Ellie lay in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow. Eyes dozed, sweaty bodies entwined, and sharing a first tender moment of silence.

You lifted your nuzzled head from the crook of her neck, breaking the silence.

“I don't want you to touch anyone besides me.” Voice hoarse and clearer than ever.

“I dont want to ever see anyone besides you.”

A/N: I FEEL BEYOND GRATEFUL FOR REACHING 1k WHILE I WAS GONE 🥹 i thought it was about time i post cus i finally feel like ? confident ? i spent most of my time if it wasn’t personal life duty, id be writing a bunch of self indulgent fictions (THIS WAS ONE OF THEM LOL) and practicing and differentiating my writing style to my liking.

THANK YOU SO MUCH GENUINELY IT MEANS THE WORLD! i cant wait to continue :)

dolls-taglist̗̀➛ @marsworlddd @cosmopolitanaut @elliewilliamsgirl3 @elliewilliamgfooc @graviewaviee @yourelliewillms @elliesgf1244 @deliriousrn @yondaimekazzy @moonyvs4 @tearouthearts @ride4els @colecassidysfav @theoraekenslover @localorphanage @starmoon333

updated taglist link here! (other was corrupted)

#𝐌𝐮ñ𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚’𝐬 ✒️#ellie williams tlou #the last of us fanfiction #ellie williams smut #lesbian #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #ellie tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou2

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pedge-page · 10 months ago

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Mother Who Indulges

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: Joel’s found other means to get his favorite snack. But he’s bad at hiding the evidence taking form on his own body.

Can be read as sequel to Mother Who Provides or on its own.

Warnings: Fat!Joel, Sub! Joel, breastfeeding, lactation kink, feedee/feeder, burping, belly worship, belly button licking, gluttony, riding, vaginial fingering, m! Masturbation, forced feeding, hands free ejaculation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cream pie, switch dynamic at the end, Mommy and brief Daddy kink, nipple play for Joel, derogatory names such as cow or hog (towards Joel)

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Your husband was never a closet eater.

Joel was someone who enjoyed food in the company of others. Never saw it as anything more than fuel for the body, only ate when he needed it. Sure, he wouldn’t turn down a soda and a bag of chips every blue moon, but the amount of physical labor he does at his job always combats any minimal amount of snacking he does. He’s always been in perfect, lovable shape. Not shredded abs by any means, but he had just the right strength to carry you bridal style, just the right softness to cuddle up against him like a warm pillow.

Or at least, he used to.

You started to notice it after the 6 month mark of brining your baby home. As you very slowly lost a few pounds of post partum weight, Joel seemingly started to gain them—a couple dozen of them. And it was … odd.

He didn’t go out to eat—the man preferred a home cook meal and saving a few bucks where he could. There also weren’t any suspicious amounts of extra processed snacks coming into the house. And it��s not like Joel was slacking off on the construction site by any means. And yet, you noticed it when he started huffing just to get his once baggy jeans over his thickened belly. Or the way his shirts stretched a little tighter over his chest. Or the extra grunts after any regular amount of food.

The only real change was that 6-month old Sarah had started refusing pre-bagged bottle milk. The little thing ONLY wanted mama’s nana’s straight from the tap. And that meant Joel’s little breastfeeding habits had to go on pause so that your baby would actually eat.

“Picky little thing,” he grumbled with folded arms as your baby sucked away happily at your breasts, all wrapped up snugly in your arms. You could see the distain in his face—the idea that Sarah was no longer going to “share” your perky tits and even more delectable breastmilk. You were a full blown cow utter live and on demand when Sarah needed it.

You only laugh. “It’s all meant for the baby anyway. Besides, you got more than enough fill, right?”

He didn’t exactly answer you that night. Just grunted and walked away. You thought that was the end of it.

Until one night: half asleep and feeling an incredibly soreness in your breasts. It felt hot, wet, and heavy like a sack of potatoes sitting atop your chest, with a leach on the end of it. Though, you did notice they gradually felt lighter, which is strange. You always filled with milk over night. Groaning, your nipples felt twisty, sore as hell. Groggily you reach under the covers—God, why are they so hard and big? I can’t even feel it … oh, oh no. why it is hairy? And there’s growling coming from below.

Panic ensures, fear that you’re turning into some hairy wolf beast stuck in a dream, becoming misshaped and hideous and—

You wake up fully and toss the covers off, revealing your husband who’s latched on to your tit, suckling the milk like in second heaven.

You stare down at him disappointingly. Joel only just realizes he’s been caught, your nip falling from his mouth with suctioned pop, as cream pours from his lips. Caught red handed.

“Um….sorry. Was hungry.”

You wack his head hard several times, enunciating, “That-is-for-the-baby!”

“Okay okay!”

“Do you do this often when I’m asleep?”

Joel shifts up slightly, staring down at your teeth ridden mounds. He clears his throat guiltily. “…No...”

He got an earful, and you were careful to make sure he didn’t try sneaking Sarah’s breakfast off of you in the early morning again.

And that seemed like the end of it. He never brought it up or complained again.

And yet, the man was still gaining weight like nobody’s business…

Joel doesn’t like sneaking around his wife.

Realistically, he should have been losing weight, what with the extra snack of your milk each night he could enjoy now entirely off the menu. He should have not been too indulgent either, as you may have noticed his... physical difference. In fact, he was surprised it didn’t really dawn on you, where all those extra pounds on your hubby are coming from.

Joel tiptoes down to the kitchen in the late night, far after you’re lightly snoring. He makes sure not to hit the pressure sensitive creaky floorboards too. Honestly, even with the extra weight, he’s pretty good at slinky-ing around.

But his eagerness is getting the best of him. Rumbling through his body despite the slowness in his pace. He waits all day for this moment and can’t rush it now.

He cracks open the fridge, the light illuminating the dark kitchen as he briefly scans behind him again for any signs of movement. When the area is secure, he turn back. He’s so excited, goosebumps riveting his skin. Bubbles gurgling in his stomach. He’s become gluttonous, no doubt. But when you get that high, it’s hard to just quit cold turkey.

Reaching behind the beer bottles, carefully laid under a foil wrap of steak, is his most prized possession of the late night endeavors: that extra sum of frozen baggies of your breastmilk in the freezer that you gracious kept saved and that his even more gracious baby now refuses to drink. To his luck, you must have mentally completely forgotten about them. He always pulls three each night and lets them thaw in their hidden place in the refrigerator, waiting all day for this exact moment.

His obtuse stomach rumbles. Joel typically wears a buttoned sleep shirt as of late since it was the only thing that fit him to bed. But now the bottom few buttons had torn off, leaving his fat gut rounded and hanging out.

The hungry man licks his lips as he tears open the first buoyant bag of cream, his lips quivering when that first scent hits his nose. “Ah—oh fuck yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he groans, but quickly softens his voice again, remembering he can’t get caught on his indulgence.

He hastily dips a fat finger into the milk and swirls it before pushing past his lips. Joel closes his eyes, humming loudly as the taste of your fine breastmilk invade his buds, travel through his electrical signals to his brain that then releases pleasure throughout his entire body. He moans around his digit, sucking every little drop until he’s close to gnawing his finger off. Then he releases with a pop and grins, dipping two more fingers and scooping it out messily. Tilting back to drink the second helping. It drips down his palm, and he’s quick to suckle it up. None can be wasted.

He suppresses a slight burp. His large stomach screaming for more, for what he came he for. Joel tilts the baggie back over his head, leaning back and drinks the entire contents. Audible gulp after gulp, the sweet taste of milk fills his tongue and travels to his happy belly. All while his other wondering hand roams over the thick, stretched flesh, right over his belly button, jiggling the heavy underside of lard. God he feels so good like this. Getting gorged out on your milk, feeling so full and fulfilled from it.

He wags the bag once the last few drops are struggling to pour, sticking his tongue out like a dog. Heat spreads from his core down to his loins. Joel grips his hardened length over his soft pj shorts. He can’t help it. He once had prime seat to your lap, drinking straight from your tits whenever he felt like it while you jerked him off. Now reduced to palming his hard-on while lapping at your bagged milk by himself in the dark late of night.

The first bag never lasts. He makes sure to lick any remnant on his lips, squeezing his belly and groan with a pathetic whimper. He needs more. He always needs more. Thankfully there are two more bags for tonight, but fuck he could drink 300 right now and still never be full.

His shirt stretches tightly over his chest, and he decides to unbutton the top few stained buttons. His puffy chest bursts through the fabric like a damn. Now fully free, the silk material hanging forgotten and obscured by his massive figure, Joel can now take more enjoyment out of tearing into the next bag and downing it even faster than the first.

He huffs out, breathing for the first time after slurping the entire bag in one go. Rubbing faster up and down his stiff cock. Shit, he’s gonna cum. Feels so euphoric having his tip bump against the lower hang of his pooch. The fat tip meeting his even fatter tummy.

And your taste. That’s what sends him over every night. Has him cumming in his sleep shorts by the time he’s finished the third bag. Joel grunts, lifting his stomach from the underside so his other hand can palm his swollen dick. “Momma’s got the best milk,” he hums to himself, eyes closed in bliss. “Oh fuck fuck fuck, fuck yeah, I’m—I’m gonna—!”

“So!”

Joel swings around, crashing his body into the open refrigerator door, spilling his precious milk all over his tits and belly. Only to be met with you, your arms folded over your chest, spaghetti silk nightgown adorning your figure and a knowing smirk on your face.

“So this is where you’ve been getting your little extra snacks.”

He’s speechless, caught and cornered with no where to go. His mouth opens, but no words leave, like a gaping fish out of water.

“Nothing to say, Joel?” You ask with a tilt of your head.

“I—its—“ he casts down at his belly sadly. God, he looks pathetic now. Cock rock hard and stabbing through his pants, and belly flush out like a pig at a buffet. You must think he’s disgusting like this. “I…I missed your milk, baby,” he says solemnly. “Got carried away, I guess.”

Instead of the scolding he expects, you walk up to him quietly and bring his eyes to yours. Taking the bag of half drank breastmilk, he acquiesces and lets you.

To his surprise, you hold it up slightly to mouth level for him. “Looks like you’re not finished yet, honey.”

Joel stares at you, confused. But when you start palming his erection, gliding your hand up and around his belly with a swirling ticklish finger before brushing back down to his dick, he doesn’t have any braincells left. You push the bag forward and his jaw drops open once again, feeding him. With you at the control, he gulps quickly, afraid to lose any as you pour the entire contents at once. He sputters a moment when the bag is empty, too caught up on the pleasurable heat spreading in his crotch and core again. You kiss his lips, the sweet taste making you realize how difficult it must have been for him to give something so delightful up.

“Mmmm, that’s better?”

“Ah—oh—oh-yeah-so good baby-shit-“ he groans as you continue your ministrations on his member. With two hands, you hoist the underside of his enlarged middle, bouncing it up and down.

“Oh, Joel,” you tsk. “So light. So empty! We’re not done yet big boy. Not even close.”

They say there’s such a thing as too much of a good thing.

But as for Joel, stripped naked and sitting his fat ass on the couch, gorging on the funneled tube that’s been cascading a mix of whole and breastmilk into his stomach, he can confidently say that saying doesn’t apply here.

His finishes a big gulp before pulling the nozzle away, letting out a massive burp. As he grips the side of his belly, the rolls on his side multiplying before his vary eyes and skin stretching like a taught balloon, he’s never felt so full in his life.

And it feels fucking amazing.

He’s never felt so guilt-free, so perfectly enlightened and fully allowing himself to feel pleasure like to this level.

“You full yet?” You coo. You’re standing next to him by the cough, a gallon of mixed milk partially full in one hand as you check on your gluttonous husband.

He shakes his head, devious and energized. “Hit me again, baby!” He puts the nozzle back in his mouth and rests the back of his head on the couch headrest again.

You chuckle but does as he says, pouring the jug into the large funnel. He can’t wait fast enough for the milk to force its way through the tube and finally squirts onto his tongue again.

“That’s my good boy. Mommy loves filling you up with her milk. No need to hide it from me any more baby. You keep drinking and drinking until you’re full.”

With one hand splayed over his belly button, physically feeling his gut fill past its maximum, he gets a quick glance at you. The way you giddily grin, eyeing him up and down in his fattened state like a delicious piece of steak. He’s never felt so sexy in his life.

His cock feels it too. Reddened and swollen beyond belief. curved against the swell of his belly leaving a sticky trail where his precum keeps nudging along. Though, with how much he’s packing into his stomach, he’s struggling more and more to be able to fully grasp his cock and jerk it with the mean pumps he usually does. Joel was the type of masturbator to grip his base with one hand while the other beats his meat like a car engine. His arms still retained their muscled strength, but everywhere else was starting to fill in. Now, he can only get one hand down there to gently tug on it.

“Poor baby, got you so fat you can basely touch that little dick?” You tease. Though at the sheer size of him, Joel Miller’s cock is anything but ‘little.’ In fact, it’s even more imposing now, like somehow he added a few extra pounds onto his mini me as well to keep the proportions the same.

“S’not little. I can—oh fuck—still reach jus’ fine.”

Another burp billows up his throat, and he just gets the tube out of his mouth to let it out. Hell, he can barely move. The amount of effort just to sit upright again makes him bounce his whole body, the fat moving at a slower pace. Fuck, even when he can’t fully jerk his cock like he used to, the pressure of his belly on top of his tip, smushing his balls into the couch feels heavenly. Especially when he bounces and rocks back and forth slightly. Friction doing its thing and grinding his sack between his big thighs.

“Baby,” he gasps. “M so full of you.” He peers up to you with heart, drunken full pupils as he jiggles his belly. “M’ so packed tight. So much Mommy’s milk.” One finger trails up the fold under his pec, now swollen like a breast himself, before pinching and rolling his nips between his calloused fingers.

“Yeah? Let Mommy feel.” You press your palm over his chest, down to his belly that protrudes so far out. Despite being squishy earlier this night, his stomach is indeed bursting to its limit. Hardened just as yours was right before giving birth.

“Aww, oh Joel…” you squeeze your thumb into his belly button and grip the lower half before jiggling it roughly. He gasps and pushes him belly out further for you, rocking his hips best he can into the air. “You really are full baby, huh? Greedy greedy piggy.”

“Mhm,” he hums with a pout, licking his lips. “Momma’s fat fuckin’ gluttonous hog. ‘At’s me.”

You prop the funnel up on a coat hook before sliding down to your knees in front of your husband. He leans as far forward as possible to be able to see all over you between his chunky legs, parted to let you breathe against his tummy that’s right up against your face.

You gently caress his sides along the rounded shape, holding his middle in your hands. You’re so soft against him, so loving and careful. He feels no different right now than when he used to be able to lie on your lap and feed from your tit. It’s been so long since then, and he realizes now this is the feeling he’d been chasing bag after bag all this time.

Your soft cheek presses into his skin there, making him sigh relaxed.

He’s getting lost in the feeling of you on him, but you need to keep him on track.

“Keep drinking. You’ve got 2 more gallons.” You point towards the table where more mixed milk sits, and Joel settles up and begins gulping his cream again.

He moans, cock twitching against your chest as your tongue swirls around his belly button, dipping inside slightly. The hairs around his happy trail feel soft as you stroke along his naval. You can hear the little sloshing of liquid inside him each time you plant a wet kiss against his skin, making out with his gorged stomach.

The weeping end of his length bobs painfully each time you brush it. You notice he’s glancing down at you playing with him, while he continues to swallow big batches down his throat. “You want me to take care of your little problem?”

He nods pitifully.

“Not until you’re done.” You smile, standing up and gripping his belly harshly. He grunts but doesn’t release the bottled end, sucking more milk as you slap his belly repeatedly. Watching it wobble from the sheer effort and taking a moment to settle before you slap it again. Each time he whimpers but pushes it out more, asking for another.

“Greedy“—slap—“fat“—slap—“Milk hungry“—slap—“whore.”

You squeeze his plush tit, no bigger than an A cup but still, the man had nothing there before. He grunts and eyes you, dark and pleading. “Holy fuck, You’ve even got such cute cow titties Joel.” You giggle, rolling his perked nipples under you thumb while cupping the rest of the fat pooling there. “Wouldn’t that be something? Squeezing milk from your own tits?” You place your mouth on his pecs and begin suckling like the tip of his cock. Joel tosses his head back, milk spilling from his cheeks as he howls in pleasure.

“Oh fuck Momma that’s it—keep sucking my fat tits—christ. Fuck—fuckFUCK!” One hand caresses your hair as he whines, “I Love you.”

“I love you too. How are we doing?” You gesture to the funnel.

He tilts it upside down. “All out,” he says with a grimace.

“Good. On your knees.”

You grab his chubby hands and hoist him up, the two of you laughing when he fails after the first attempt.

When he does get to his feet, you cup his face with both hands and kiss him. “You look so fucking sexy, Joel Miller.”

You brush his fingers under your thigh, between your slit. “Oh—shit—so fuckin’ wet,” he whispers, rubbing your slicked walls with his meaty fingers.

Pressing your cunt against his crotch, your belly collides with his, creating the perfect friction on your clit. “I want you bigger than me when you knock me up with twins next.”

He grits his teeth and hisses against your lips. The mental image doing a whirlwind on him. You chuck two pillows to the ground for him comfort. With a big thud, he gets to one knee on the plush, then the other, arms flailing forward and hands plastered on the ground to hold his weight. His belly sags so heavily, causing him to groan. the compressed tip is damn near toughing the floorboards even as he holds cow position.

He stares up back up at you, soft big moo moo eyes getting eager when you grab the funnel and uncap another jug.

He used to marvel at how much pregnancy changed you. At how he changed you. Your body growing round with child, a child he put inside you, and then your tits swelling up with milk, all because of him.

And now he’s changing physically because of you too. His body filling with fat, engorged from your abundant lactation that you’re feeding him.

He sticks his tongue out without a single word, sucking in the nozzle and guzzling the milk funneling through again.

He downs this one fast and hard, pushing away with a big sigh. “Christ, I can’t do it. MN’gonna fuckin’ explode.”

You crouch down to see his convex stomach. It’s perfectly rounded and bulging like a moon.

He shivers when you cup the underside and glide up along, feeling how smoothed over from so much filling him. “Touch it, please touch it baby. Gonna go crazy if ya don’t.”

You watch as his eyes squeeze shut, his swaying back and forth like he’s trying to get his belly to hump his dick, or maybe the other way around. He’s helpless in this position by his own doing.

“Aww, has my big boy had enough? No more Mommy’s milk?”

He shakes his head painfully. “More,” he croaks. God, his body is screaming no. he’s never felt so ready to turn into an atom bomb, and yet his intoxicated brain knows if he can’t down the last of this gallon, you’ll never give him the full on tap again.

Joel snatches the tunnel again, balancing on one hand briefly as he wraps his tongue around and drinks yet again. Gulp after gulp, the sweet liquid bulges in his esophagus before traveling down to his mighty belly. You kiss his cheek and hold the nozzle to his face, forcing it to stay. “Almost there, Joel, drink it to the last drop, and then you’ll get your reward…” you not so subtly squeeze your breasts together, and that does it for him.

He spits out the nozzle and falls head first to the ground, back arched as much as possible as his tummy smushes into the hardwood. With a howl, his hips jerk forward into his fat middle, suffocating the tip and he starts cumming untouched. “Oh-ah-ahaugghhh-yeah—yeah!” He hums, cheek pressed into the ground and drool and milk spilling from those sinful lips along with a litany of sexy, satisfied noises.

All the while you praise him with kisses and gentle curls of his hair, telling him how good he’s been for you. The funnel rolls around the floor, having been drained into Joel’s gut just a moment before he gave in.

And you’d think he was done, out for the count, needing a fat coma nap. Instead, just as you help him up to his bum, Joel snatches your waist. “Get on my lap Momma,” he slurs, licking his lips once again. You half climb, half are hoisted up to his lap, his cream coated cock still raging hard and sitting between the two of you. “Show me what those bouncing titties can do. “He slaps your breasts with little slapslapslaps. The tight grip he has on your hips forces you to begin rolling, your neglected cunt beautifully nudged against his sack with his belly and cock brushing your clit.

“Hop on Pop,” he chuckles.

You gasp and grip his hair as he begins suckling out your warm breastmilk. It’s like all this time, he wasn’t truly even full. Like he had a separate storage in this lard living planet between you just for your hot fresh pure milk.

Gripping one of his shoulders, you align his cock along your soaked folds and sink down on him, the two of you sighing heavily. His sticky cum coated length needed no prep to enter you, filling your womb to the brim with his Daddy sized dick.

“Gonna pump you full now, little Momma. Gonna get ya bred in no time.” Joel dips his head down and latches your tit between his jaws.

“J-Joel,” you moan, eyes rolling. He’s always been good at sex. Always had a great body, but this…this is different. You can feel all of him pressing against you. Burrying your nub and hitting it so deliciously from the outside as he pummels you from the inside. You fee like a little doll, being used like a flashlight up and down along his thick cock

He smiles. “Bigger.” His beefy hands wrap around your back and pull you as close to him as you can physically manage. “Let Daddy do all the work on that one. Just gotta take my cream, at’s all. I drink yours—n’ you take mine.”

“That’s it, Mommy, ride me. Ride my fat cock. Ride it till ya swollen here—“ he pokes at your stomach “—as big as mine, like ya said.”

You grin, biting your teeth. “B-bigger.”

“Mmfff--fuck—fuckyes Daddy fill me up—fill me with your cream! Ah! oh shit I’m cumming! Make me a Mommy again!”

You spasm, convulsing around Joel’s base just as he stills and ruts his second load inside you, grunting into your tits like a pained beast. You feel each pulse overwhelming your walls, yet having nowhere else to go but inside. The man has never cum so much in a second orgasm in his life, and you start to wonder if any of this is your own milk having traveled to his balls and deposited safely inside you again.

As the two of you come down, breathing in and holding one another tightly, Joel pecks at your jaw with feather kisses.

“You know…I won’t be lactating forever.” You twirl some of his curly brown hair out of his sweaty temple. “It’s going to end eventually.”

He only shrugs.

Gasping as his dick twitches to life inside you once again, he presses his lips to yours and begins shallowly thrusting again. “Guess I’m just gonna have to keep knocking you up.”

- - - -

Notes: I have plans for more Fat!Joel content in a variety of flavors...not just subby and breastfeeding. Will be different characters and have other independent requests so stay tuned!

Permanent taglist

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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 year ago

Text

camboy

words: 3.9k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, camming (from rafe and reader), exhibitionism, male and female masturbation, female receiving oral, male receiving handjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex

taglist: @drewstarkeysbae @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks

you rush up the stairs to your apartment, unlocking the door and closing it behind you as quickly as you can move. you discard your work bag next to your front door, not even taking the time to hang it on the hook as you rush to your desk.

"come on…" you groan, waiting for your laptop to start up. you enter your passcode and navigate to your most visited website, just in time for the livestream to start.

you sit back in your chair as the familiar site comes into view. it’s his top half, shirtless of course, the camera cutting him off just under the chin, his abs on display as well. you bite your lip as he waits for the viewers to pour in now that he’s live.

you were masturbating half-heartedly one day, scrolling through some random porn site when you saw a livestreamer, and something about him instantly turned you on. you clicked on when he was almost finished, stroking himself to completion as he came all over his stomach. you finished the same time he did, and ever since have tuned in for his semiweekly livestreams.

the porn site has a simple way for the livestreamers to post messages, for advertising their upcoming streams or updating viewers. your favorite streamer posted after the last livestream that he was finally going to be granting viewers wishes, and is doing a voice reveal tonight.

he would moan lowly in previous streams, but never spoke any words. you watch as he lowers the camera, so his spread legs come into view, his erection already straining through the underwear he has on, tight to his muscular thighs.

“hello kittens.” he purs out, using the name he affectionately calls his fans. the back of your brain tickles, trying to place why the voice sounds so familiar as he continues to speak about doing a voice reveal, and how he’s excited for the upcoming stream, proven by his hand starting to stroke over his cock.

you watch with anticipation as he lifts his thighs to tug his underwear down, his hard cock springing free. you spread your legs in your desk chair and move your fingers to your pussy, slipping your hand underneath your pants to rub yourself.

you close your eyes and listen to his voice, trying to see if you really do know who it is, or if its just close to a voice you’ve heard before.

you eventually get too distracted to continue filing through your brain, especially as he starts to stroke himself, moaning to the audience as he does.

“good little kitten. so dirty, touching yourself while watching me touch myself. wish you were here, i’d have you bouncing on my cock.” your cunt clenches at the thought, wishing that you could see the mans face as he moans.

you know he isn’t talking to you directly, but it feels so personal, like you’re the only one watching, and when he cums all over himself, you reach your climax as well, slumping back in your chair as your eyes stay on the screen, watching the way his chest rises and falls.

you try to place his voice again when he signs off, but the livestream ends before you can fully connect your thoughts.

you hum set your laptop up on your bed, grabbing your vibrator and covering yourself with your blanket, settling down for another livestream. you’ve been thinking about that voice every day, and listening extra close to everyone that you knew. you think that you’re being a little crazy, that there’s no way your favorite livestreamer just happens to be someone you know, but you can’t get rid of that familiar feeling.

you watch with anticipation as the livestream begins, this time the man holds up his hands, showing off the rings that stack his fingers. he always does more than just a simple livestream, adding some new element every time.

you admire his long slender fingers and think about them being inside of you as you begin to touch yourself, when one ring in particular catches your eye. you pull your laptop closer, eyes widening when you finally make the connection.

your favorite streamer is none other than rafe cameron.

“you never come out to parties, what is going on with you?” your friend sarah asks, linking your elbows together as you walk into the backyard of the house, following the pumping music. you understand her confusion, and were about to turn down her invitation, when she said that the party was at tanneyhill.

“it’s been too long.” you simply say, leaving out the fact that it’s been too long since you’ve seen rafe. not since you graduated high school, considering you don’t really run in the same circles.

“so true. i can’t wait to get drunk with you.” sarah squeals, pulling you over to the bar you know rafe must have supplied, grabbing drinks for the both of you.

you find a corner to sit and drink in, both deciding you can’t start dancing until you have a bit more alcohol in your blood. the whole time, you are looking for rafe, waiting to get your first glimpse of him in person since figuring out that you’ve been watching him jack off twice a week on stream for the past couple months.

“i’m ready to dance, what about you?” sarah asks, setting her finished cup down on the table.

“yeah, i’ll be there in a second.” you crane your neck, trying to find where rafe could be hiding. you see a couple of people heading through open doors and you decide to see if hes in there. you really just want to see him in person again, to quell that feeling inside of yourself. you remember thinking he was cute in high school, but it’s so different now that you’re both grown.

you head through the doors, keeping your walk casual. no one really gives you a second glance as you head deeper into the space, still not seeing or hearing rafe.

you head up the stairs, hearing a bit of commotion. you follow the catwalk to a half open door, pushing it wider slightly when you’re greeted by a familiar sight. a ring light with a camera inside of it, pointed right at the chair you know so well.

“what are you doing?”

you gasp, turning towards the voice and taking an instinctive step backwards, further into the room.

you come face to face with the man you’ve been looking for. rafe looks down at you, not looking upset, more confused than anything else.

“i’m sorry, i-i-” you stumble over your words as he looks you up and down, assessing you and your little black dress sarah convinced you to wear “i was just looking for someone.”

“mmm.” rafe nods, taking a step closer to you. you resist the urge to back up, keeping your heels firmly in place. “did you find them?” “y-yes.” you say without thinking, your traitorous eyes glancing down, down to his crotch. you hate that you know exactly what every ridge of his cock looks like without ever actually being able to see it. your eyes snap back up once you realize where you’re staring, taking in the look on rafes face.

“do you…” rafe trails off, taking another step towards you and this time forcing you into the room. you watch as rafe swings the door shut behind him. you glance again at the camera set up as he stands there in silence.

“y/n, right?” he questions.

“yeah.” you nod. “i… are you a gamer?” you wave your hand to the set up, hoping to play off your interest in it.

“no.” rafe simply says, crossing his arms, allowing his muscles to bulge. “i think you know exactly why i have that camera.” “am i that obvious?” you stare at your feet, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“your blush gave you away.” rafe says, and you feel your cheeks heat even more. rafe takes a cautious step forward, placing his finger under your chin and tilting your head up to look him in the eye. “you know, i had the biggest crush on you in high school.” “really?” you question, not able to hold back your smile.

“mhm. i would be embarrassed to tell you if you didn’t watch me jerk off on livestream.” rafe says, and you can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you.

“can i kiss you?” rafe asks, making you cut off your laughter as you quickly nod. rafe connects your lips, gentle at first until you start to respond. the second you kiss back, rafe attacks your mouth with his own, showing his desperation as his hands pull you against his body.

“rafe.” you moan, tossing your head back as he ghosts his lips against your jaw before sliding down your neck, sticking his tongue out to taste your skin.

“i want you.” rafe says, pushing his hips against you to show how serious he is. you moan at his impressive length pressing against you as his teeth nip at your sensitive skin.

“you can have me.” you whisper, tugging on his hair to bring his mouth back against yours. you let rafe move your body towards his bed, not disconnecting from the kiss as you both lay down, rafe hovering on top of you as you begin to unbutton his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders so you can touch the chest and abs you’ve spent so long lusting over.

rafe turns to the side so he’s also laying down, using both his hands to grab your chest, massaging your tits as you moan into his mouth, hooking one leg over his hips and pulling yourself into him, grinding your core directly against his swelling length.

rafe rips the front of your dress down, letting your bare tits spill free. rafe pulls away from the kiss to glance down, a cocky smirk coming to his face when he realizes you went braless.

“gotta get my mouth on these.” rafe mumbles, sliding down the bed as he grabs your boob, wrapping his lips around your nipple and giving it a harsh suck. you moan and feel another rush of wetness coming, and you know your panties are shamefully wet.

“rafe, oh my god, that’s so good.” you praise him, completely forgetting about sarah and the party going on outside of the bedroom.

rafe flicks his tongue over your now completely hardened nipple before moving to the other side of your chest, giving that nipple just as much attention.

“god, take this dress off baby.” rafe rips himself away from your skin like it pains him to do so, sliding off the bed. you watch while taking off your dress as he unbuttons and slides his pants off, leaving his underwear on.

you toss your dress to the floor, leaving you only in a tiny pair of panties. you didn’t think anything would happen tonight, but you were completely prepared anyways, every inch of your body shaved as well as lathered in your best smelling lotion.

“wanna fuck you so bad.” rafe groans, watching as you smile and spread your legs, bearing your core to him. he grabs his cock through his underwear, giving it as a squeeze to calm himself as he climbs onto the bed.

you expect him to kiss you, but he stops between your legs and drops to his stomach.

you moan before he even touches your skin, just the thought of his mouth on your pussy. his finger trails over your thigh, tracing nonsensical patterns until he reaches your underwear.

“so wet.” he purrs, pressing down over your entrance, feeling the slick underwear squelch under the pressure.

“fuck, please.” you whine, undulating your hips to give yourself some relief.

“gotta get these off.” rafe tugs at your panties, and you hold your legs up and together for him to take them off and toss them across the room before spreading them wide again.

“god, fucking gorgeous.” rafe moans, not giving you any time to think before burying his head in between your thighs, letting his tongue run over every inch of your pussy except for your clit, always keeping some distance to tease you.

you throw your head back in pleasure when his tongue presses against your hole, easily being granted entrance from how turned on you are. rafe fucks his tongue into you repeatedly, flicking it inside of you to feel as much of your walls as he can.

“you’re delicious.” rafe says, the vibrations of his words being felt against your skin.

“more.” you beg, hoping rafe will understand what you need, but the devious look in his eyes tells you that you’re not going to get what you want that easily.

he lets his wide tongue out of his mouth, licking large stripes through your folds, stopping just short of your clit every time. he continues as you squirm underneath him, feeling your clit pulse with need.

“she’s so puffy.” rafe laughs, teasing you as he leans forward and presses a quick kiss to your clit before continuing his licking motions.

“fuck, i need it, come on.” you beg, reaching your hand down to grip onto rafes hair, fisting it in your hands but making sure not to pull.

“mmm, what do you do when you watch my streams? how do you touch yourself? show me.” rafe commands. you let go of his hair and move your fingers to your pussy, wetting your fingers in your slick before you shove two of them at the same time into your hole.

“i always pictured it was your fingers.” you admit, moving faster.

“did you always know it was me?” rafe asks, watching your movements in fascination, but he stops you when you reach for your clit.

“no.” you shake your head. “only after the voice reveal.”

“ahh.” rafe nods. “i would have done it way sooner if i knew it would lead to finally getting you in my bed.”

you smile at the praise, eyes fluttering closed, and the second your vision is fully black, rafe launches forward, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking harshly.

you raise your hips up into his face, continuing to fuck yourself on your fingers as your orgasm rushes over your body, shaking with pleasure as rafe continues to play with your clit as you come down from your high.

“oh my god that was good.” your hips lower, and rafe pulls away to rub at your thighs while your breathing starts to return to normal.

“if only all your fangirls could see us now.” you laugh.

“they can.” rafe presses a kiss to your thigh, moving back up your body. “i would love to fuck you on live.”

you feel your stomach twist, part in nerves and part in excitement and showing off to all of the girls watching rafes anonymous streams that he’s claimed now, by you. even though no one will know who it is, you still feel like showing off your possessiveness.

“yes, please.” you say enthusiastically, making rafe pause.

“now? don’t you want our first time to be offline?” you love that rafe is so confident that this will not be the last time.

“it’s okay with me if it’s okay with you.” you admit. you never would have thought that you could be so comfortable in your body to show it off to thousands, but the way rafe is treating your body makes you feel so alive that you don’t even worry about it.

“fuck, yes. let me get it all set up.” rafe stands, but not before giving you a sweet kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips.

you watch as rafe turns the ring light on, pulling open the porn site on his laptop. he switches the camera on so you can see the angle without going live yet. you stand up once your legs have regained some strength, walking to stand behind rafe as he finishes setting up.

“come sit on my lap.” rafe sticks a thigh out for you, and you press your pussy into his thick muscle. “do you want me to mute us?”

you think for a moment. “mmm, no let them hear.”

“you couldn’t get any hotter.” rafe kisses your shoulder. “why don’t you stroke me and then if you decide you want to fuck on camera you can ride me?” “yeah.” you nod, making sure to keep your face completely out of the frame, admiring the way your tits are still shown, feeling sexy and powerful in this moment.

“hey everyone.” rafe addresses the audience as they slowly pour in, a lower viewership number than usual considering the spontaneous stream. “i have someone here to play with me today.”

he places a hand on your hip, giving you a squeeze of encouragement. the chair is turned slightly to the side so they can still see rafes crotch, hard in his underwear, as you sit on his spread thigh like you don’t weigh a thing.

you let yourself move naturally but keep one eye on the screen as you reach to rub your hand over rafes underwear, feeling every inch of him that you’ve spent the better part of the last year lusting after.

you stroke as the chat rolls in, smirking to yourself at the jealousy from some of the girls. you finally feel bolder and reach to pull rafes cock out of his underwear. he helps you by lifting his hips so you can tug it mostly down his thighs.

you turn on his thigh so you’re no longer straddling him, missing the pressure on your cunt but too focus on touching rafe to care as you perch yourself on his knee, now able to touch him with both hands.

you don’t waste any time teasing. you’ve wanted so long to wrap your hand around him and now that you finally do, you give him long strokes, using both hands.

“fuck, so good kitten.” rafe says, using the nickname he uses for his chat, but his eyes stay on you when you look up from his cock.

you lean in and give him a kiss, and while the viewers can’t see, they can certainly tell what is happening as you flick your thumb across the tip of his cock. rafe moans into your mouth in a vulnerable moment, letting you take complete control.

you dominate the kiss, knowing you only are because rafe is allowing you to. you drop one hand to play with his balls, feeling his thigh briefly clench underneath you how willingly you toy with his balls.

“still doing okay?” rafe whispers, quiet enough to not be picked up by the microphone.

“yeah. wanna ride you.” you respond, looking down at his cock, knowing there’s no way to suck him off on camera without your identity being revealed, so you’ll have to save that for another time.

“fuck, yes.” rafe groans as you continue to stroke him. “i’m clean.”

you instantly get the implication, a smile gracing your lips. “me too and i’m on birth control.”

“ride me then.” rafe presses his lips against yours, and you regrettably have to let go of his cock as you turn to face rafe, placing your knees on the chair on either side of him. you turn to check that you’re in a good position for the camera as you hold onto his cock, sinking down onto him.

you let yourself go slowly, reading over the chat to distract you from the slight stretch, eyes widening when you realize how many more people have joined the livestream, now being watched by almost 15,000 people.

“god, your pussy feels so fucking good, kitten.” rafe moans, loud enough for everyone to hear.

you turn back to face rafe as you sit down completely on his cock, putting your focus back on him as you start to raise and lower your hips, letting a few moans slip free as well. rafe lets you have control as you build yourself up, getting used to the motions and his cock inside of you.

“more.” you beg, and rafe knows exactly what you need, placing his hands on your hips and helping you move up and down.

you grip onto his shoulders, keeping your eyes locked together as he helps bounce you, moaning for each other and for the audience as you clench your cunt around him, hoping it brings rafe to the edge quicker considering how quickly you’re already desperate for another orgasm just from the feel of his cock inside of you.

“so fucking good, i’ve imagined this for so long.” rafe says, and you’re still surprised, even though he did confess his crush you never realized how serious it was, now regretting not going to more parties after high school and missing out on all of this.

rafe gives your ass a gentle tap, his eyes on yours as he asks for permission. you nod, knowing instantly what rafe is looking to do.

his hand connects harder with your ask, giving you a spanking. a red mark develops right in front of viewers eyes as he gives you a few more slaps.

your slow down in movement is noticeable, not being able to move as fast without rafes assistance, but it lets you feel every ridge of his cock as it rubs against you.

“fuck!” you moan as rafe moves one of his hands to rub your clit, his thumb swiping over your sensitive bud as you move, your hips slapping against his thighs as you ride him.

“i’m not gonna last.” rafe confesses, and you’re thankful because you’re about to cum as well.

“close.” you lean forward, using every last bit of energy you have to move quickly, forcing his cock as deep as possible when you feel him start to cum, wanting every last drop flooding your insides.

his release triggers your own as you moan, resisting the urge to say his name as your pussy pulsates around his cock, your eyes rolling back in your head at the pure ecstasy moving through your body.

“good girl.” rafe praises, rubbing your back as you rest your head against his shoulder. he is careful when pulling you off his cock to move slowly, knowing how much abuse your pussy just went through.

he holds your hips up to the camera, letting the viewers watch as his cum slides out of your hole in dollops. rafe lowers you down onto his lap, ending the livestream without as much as saying goodbye.

you go to sit up, still breathing heavily, but rafe stops you from moving too quickly and overthinking what just happened. “i’ve got you.” he whispers, pressing his lips into your hair.

you smile, letting all of your worries go, until you hear a sudden knock at the door, making both of you jump.

“hey, uhh rafe-” you recognize the voice as topper, one of rafes friends. “were you planning on making an appearance at your own party?” “oh shit, i completely forgot i was having a party.” he says to you before turning towards the door. “be right out!” he shouts for topper to here.

rafe turns to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “i’ve got to show off my new girl.”

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ramp-it-up · 2 months ago

Text

Peach V

Peach IV | Peach VI

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. Maybe it’s because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. Are you finally willing to admit that you want to be with him?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: I love these two like I can’t explain. The slow burn speeds up a lil bit in this. There’s some action. 🥹 This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in the Steve Rogers fic Peach IV. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angst. Slow burn, EXTREME Mutual pining, idiots in love, lusting, dancing lessons, use of the words ‘mad’ and ‘crazy,’ Bucky is a jerk, boy do you get jealous. Kissing and heavy petting in the form of oral sex, female receiving. Lil bit of Dom Steve if you squint. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

“Welcome to SOB’s.”

You were one of the first awardees up to present to the group. Each recipient picked a NYC area artistic landmark to research and lead the others on a tour, discussing the significance to the art form for which they received funding.

As always, you were going outside of the box.

You looked around and concentrated on not staring at Steve. He looked so fine, foregoing his tailored sport coats this evening for a black pullover pushed up on his hairy, corded forearms.

Dark jeans clung to his thighs and black boots encased his huge feet. What he was wearing highlighted every physical attribute that made you weak. He was quite the distraction, but you were a professional.

You smiled at your cousin and Bucky, who were beaming at you, and began.

“Sounds of Brazil isn’t just a club—it’s a melting pot of culture, rhythm, and history that’s been bringing global sounds to the city since 1982.”

You moved around the relatively small dark space, but then a screen came down on the stage and a slide show of performances danced across it, with accompanying music flowing from the speakers.

“SOB’s started as a space to showcase Brazilian, Latin, Caribbean, and African music, and quickly became a go-to spot for hip-hop, R&B, and reggae too. The Afro-Caribbean Queen herself, Ms. Celia Cruz, as well as Marc Anthony, J Cole, HER and Mac Miller (rest his soul) have all rocked this stage.”

You were silent for a moment and then continued.

“This place is more than music; it’s about community, culture, and the celebration of diverse sounds. For me, dance is life. And it’s music such as what was fostered here that inspires me. It’s places like this that give life to the creativity of my art and my soul.”

“The vibe here is immaculate. It’s intimate, electric, and always unpredictable. Just imagine the countless artists who’ve poured their souls into performances right on this stage.This isn’t just a club, it’s a meld of culture, rhythm, and history that’s been bringing global sounds to the city since 1982.”

The video and music turned to Celia Cruz’s “Toro Mata” and three beautiful women, who looked like showgirls, came from backstage.

“In February, Salsa Groove starts at SOB’s with free salsa lessons, happy hour, and many other fun things. These ladies are here to give us a preview, so find a partner and let’s dance!”

Sharon moved toward Steve, but Sam grabbed her and she plastered on a fake smile. You smiled over at your cousin who was currently in the process of being caught up in the arms of James Buchanan Barnes.

Activity swirled around you as the dance instructors organized groups to teach, but you and Steve were left in the center of the dance floor.

You smiled at him.

“Looks like I get to teach you Mr. Rogers.”

“Lucky me. Hope your feet survive.”

His sexy chuckle did you in as you slid into his arms. You placed your arms in the right position, but shifted to help him adjust.

“Relax your shoulders,” you murmured, stepping closer and running your hand along his broad trapezius muscles.

Your voice was warm and laced with patience as you looked into his eyes.

“Salsa isn’t just about the steps. It’s about how you feel the music.”

“I feel it,” replied Steve, swallowing as he watched your hips move effortlessly with the rhythm. You made it look easy, natural and beautiful. He, on the other hand, felt a little bit out of sync, out of breath, and out of his depth.

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, your palms pressing together and conducting electricity.

“Start with the basics,” you whispered, guiding him.

“One, two, three: back. Five, six, seven: forward.”

Steve looked down to catch the rhythm and you pulled his arm around you tighter, causing you two to meld even closer together.

“Don’t overthink it. Just listen to me.”

Steve nodded and looked into the kaleidoscope depths of your eyes.

And he listened.

He listened to the way your breath hitched as his hand slid to your waist.

And he noticed.

He noticed the way your eyes flickered to his lips when you moved together in sync, your bodies sinfully connected.

“That’s it,” you said, your voice lower now, “Now, feel me.”

You guided his hand to your lower back, and his fingers instinctively pulled you more firmly against him. This power from him made you high along with the way your body fit against his.

You moved in perfect harmony.

“Better,” you murmured as you watched his mouth again.

Steve was found himself smiling, his steps more fluid now, as if he’d been dancing with you forever. His confidence grew with each turn, each time your bodies came in contact.

And when you finally spun into him, your palm resting against his chest, your breaths mingling in the space between you, he knew this wasn’t just a dance.

It was his chance.

Steve was about to lean in to kiss you when a slow clap began, started by Sharon.

You both looked around, surprised there was anyone else there. The music had stopped.

“Great job, Mr. Rogers. You made that look convincing.”

Sharon’s voice grated on your nerves but you had to laugh at your cousin giving her the gas face. You just rolled your eyes. Not even she could bring you down at the moment.

“SOB’s opened early just for us, we have another hour to dance and have fun. I’d love to talk more if you all are inspired. Have fun!”

Steve stood back and admired you, his creative queen, as the others swarmed around you.

—-

The way you moved made Steve Rogers feverish.

The sway of your hips hypnotized him and he had to concentrate very much to appear unbothered. The smell of you made his cock thicken and gotdamn, when you laughed his stomach did flips.

He’d pay a million dollars to the first person who convinced you to kiss him.

He’d pay you ten million for each kiss you’d give him willingly.

Steve was down bad.

The nail in his coffin was your creativity and bravery; the way you shared your opinions on your art and everything else made him mad with desire.

He now fully understood Bucky’s insistence to get fully clean. Steve was glad they were so close to the finish line and was willing to beat Bucky there.

Steve was determined to be the good man you once thought he was.

—---

Over the next couple of days, your heart raced each time you watched Steve across whatever rooms you were in. His six foot plus form dominated every space and his natural affinity for art was so fucking appealing.

You finally admitted to yourself that you were feeling him, although the issue of whether you could trust him would not die. But when he looked at you with those baby blues, you got weak. There was definitely a connection and a chemistry that you couldn’t resist for much longer.

You couldn’t deny it any more.

But that didn’t stop you from trying.

—--

Sharon would not stop talking. You were unfortunate enough to sit near her on the Sprinter as it took you back to the hotel for the mid-day break on Wednesday. She was going on about her meeting with Steve to Lily from Montana.

Each recipient had meetings scheduled with Sam, Steve, Bucky and Natasha, another requirement of the week. Frequently, the meetings included a meal. It must have been a dizzying pace for them, but you’d really enjoyed your coffee with Sam and lunch with Natasha. They were cool people.

And of course your dinner with Bucky was amazing. You couldn’t wait for him to be your cousin, although he remained coy about proposing no matter how much you pressed him about the holiday trip.

“I mean my meeting with Steve was convenient this morning. He was right there and we were already in our comfortable clothing… the breakfast place was perfect…”

Your ears perked up at that.

“I just woke up so sore this morning. It’s all Steve’s fault…and then he had the nerve to do it again…”

Your mind filled in the gaps and your blood started to boil.

This must be why he hadn’t been around that morning. He was recovering from fucking with Sharon. Rational thought was out the window and you couldn’t see anything but red.

Instead of going up to your room to rest, you walked the four blocks to the Rebirth building.

Your spine was straight and your chin was up as you entered the gallery, passed Natasha and headed to Steve’s office. He came to stand at the door as you approached, obviously warned that you were coming. He was in shirtsleeves, his black button-down clinging to his muscular frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You blinked because he looked dangerously, devastatingly handsome in a way that was almost too much to look at directly. His mesmerizing blue eyes locked with yours, and the rest of the world disappeared. For a moment, you were frozen, ready to fuck him or spring into battle.

Just then, Bucky Barnes bounded out of a door near Steve’s, looking like a black lab, and headed in the same direction you were.

“Yo, Steve. I think that we should… oh shit! Peach!”

You couldn’t help but smile at Bucky, who looked cute in a black pullover with his curly hair tousled. Over Thanksgiving weekend, you’d grown to like him a lot.

Bucky Barnes obviously loved his friends. He also was a good guy, despite his line of work. The way he loved your cousin had earned your respect.

You smiled and held your hand out for him to shake.

“Hullo Bunny… eep!”

He pulled you toward him, drawing you into a hug and twirling you out into a salsa spin, causing you to laugh.

“It’s Bucky, Mr. Barnes if you’re nasty!”

You were shaking with laughter.

“Oh gawd! Does my cousin know that you are so corny?”

Bucky had mellowed your harsh.

Momentarily.

“It’s part of why she keeps coming back, Peach.”

Bucky winked at you and instantly you understood the appeal. You grinned up at Bucky, lightly slapping him on the arm as he laughed at you.

Someone cleared their throat and Bucky smirked over at Steve. Then, he caught the drift.

“I can see that you have important business to attend to with this Punk. Catch you later.”

Suddenly you didn’t want to have this conversation, because the way Steve was looking at you was too intense. You didn’t move. You felt Bucky’s warm hands on your shoulders and you were compelled to move forward.

“Onward. Into the fray.”

You glared over your shoulder at Bucky and then looked back at Steve.

“Mr. Rogers.”

Steve’s jaw clenched and he greeted you in kind.

“Ms. Y/LN. Is there something I can help you with?”

He walked into his office and you followed him, making sure to leave the door open. Steve's gaze slowly dragged down your body and back up again until it settled on your mouth. You felt that look like a physical touch, making your clothes feel irrelevant. You took a deep breath to keep from shedding them right there.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers. I need you to be honest with me.”

Normally, that was a throwaway comment, but Steve knew how important him being honest was to you, so he nodded, cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” while looking you in those beautiful eyes.

“Did you fuck Sharon Carter last night?”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock. He blinked a few times to digest your question. Then he answered it. Blood rushed in his head.

I’m gonna kill the mutherfucker that said that, he thought. But he was calm when he replied.

“No. I was very much alone last night.”

Missing you, he thought.

“Did you fuck her this morning?”

Steve put his file down on his desk and leaned back on it, crossing his arms.

“Absolutely not. She showed up at my gym, for the second day in a row. I helped her with some technique and then had our meeting in a coffee shop. Who is spreading this rumor that’s got you so worked up?”

He would find the fucking liar and strangle them to death.

“That bitch is going around insinuating to everyone…”

Then you realized what was going on. You closed your mouth. Sharon.

That bitch. Why were you letting some hoe rag get to you?

“Never mind. You’re absolutely right. I don’t care.”

You raised your chin like the regal queen you were and Steve wanted to fall at your feet.

“Well for your information, I’m not interested in Sharon Carter. As a matter of fact…”

All I want is you.

Steve looked you in your eyes. God, you were so beautiful.

“I’m taken.”

Your breath caught in your throat and a feeling in between panic and jealousy furled in your stomach at those words. As he looked at you, understanding dawned about what he meant.

This conversation was not going the way you intended it to.

Your eyes moved to avoid Steve’s and it was then you noticed Bucky leaning on Steve’s door frame and snacking while he watched you two.

“Popcorn? Really Bucky???”

Bucky extended the bag to you.

“‘SmartPop. Want some?”

Steve went over and closed the door in Bucky’s face and then turned back to you. You noticed how his bicep bulged when he ran his hand through his hair and your nipples tightened into stiff peaks.

“Sorry to that woman.”

You played dumb, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue. But Steve clocked you. He shook his head and chuckled.

You crossed your arms and jutted your hip out.

“What?...What, Steven!?”

You were the most adorable human he’d ever seen.

“Nothing.”

You turned around to leave and then whirled around again.

“And another thing!”

Steve was smirking now.

“You upgraded me on the airline and at the hotel. Didn’t you? And you gave me more endowment than anyone else. You’re just trying to get in my pants again.”

Steve sighed.

“Okay, so first I fucked Sharon, now I’m trying to get in your pants. You’re going from one extreme to another.”

“Tell me I’m wrong!”

Steve clenched his jaw, but his voice remained even. He really wanted to grab you and spread you over his desk and give you his cock until you calmed down. But baby steps.

He stepped to you and you looking up at him was his Roman Empire.

“You. Are. Wrong.”

His glare was blue ice and you felt just a little bit afraid.

And a lot turned on.

“Do you realize that your cousin helped us out with travel and accommodations?”

You opened your mouth and then closed it.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t get more than anyone else. Russ received $250,000. Awards were scaled according to the project.”

“Ah.”

“And I don’t just want to get in your pants. I want so much more.”

You stood there dumbfounded.

“W-what are you talking about?”

Steve gave you a rueful smile.

“Stop pretending you don’t know. Peach, I–”

You raised your hand to signal stop.

“Ain't nobody got time for this.”

He gazed at you with a sparkle in his eye and licked those red, red lips. But he put his hands up and backed away, still smiling.

“Also. Stop doing that!”

You waved your hand in the direction of this face. You needed him to stop looking at you like that.

He was trying to hold himself back. Your lunacy had him hard. And you not letting him tell you how he felt made him want to make you beg for him. He shook his head to clear his lust.

“Just what am I doing to you, Ms. YLN?”

That voice again. Your eyes shuttered and your pussy pulsed at the answer to that question, but you were determined to get him told.

“Sparkling those eyes down at me like that!”

“Sparkling my eyes…?”

Steve feigned annoyance, but he was enjoying the fuck out of this.

“What does that even mean?”

“You know exactly what it means! Looking at me like.. Like.. like you…Just. Stop.”

He stopped smiling.

“As you wish.”

Steve’s eyes roamed over your face, pausing to look at your lips. Then, he looked back up into your eyes and the sparkle was gone. It was replaced by a warm blue fire that for some reason caused you to shiver. You wanted to fall into it and his arms, but you shook yourself out of it.

“Nope. Don’t do that either.”

Steve huffed as the corner of his mouth hooked upward into a sexy side grin. Your panties couldn’t take it.

“Do wh–? Umph. Ummhmmhhmm!”

You put your hand over Steve’s mouth to stop him from assaulting you with his voice but he kept vocalizing. You realized that Steve’s hand was on your waist and was pulling you closer to him.

Your breasts were pressed up against his rock hard torso and your hand was on his chest. Lord help you, all you needed to do was remove your hand. You stared into those blue depths for half a second and then moved back.

Steve licked his lips when your hand was gone and your body buzzed as he contemplated pulling you back into his arms.

When that look came into his eyes, you gave up.

“Ugh. Never mind. I’ve got to go.”

You straightened your spine again, turned on your heel and marched toward the door.

Steve followed you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that Bucky was pumping his fist as you made to leave the building. You thought about giving him a piece of your mind, but you had to get out of there; Steve was close behind.

“Peach. Stop running. Calm down.”

You stopped and whirled on him, poking your finger in his chest.

“NEVER tell a mad woman to calm down, Rogers.”

He smiled down at you and your world spun out.

“So you admit that you’re crazy?”

“Fuck you!”

You turned and walked toward your hotel at a steady pace but Steve was right behind you. He followed you back to your hotel lobby and was right there when you pressed the elevator button.

“What do you want, Steve?”

You sideyed him as you looked up at the floor indicator panel.

“You.”

You whipped your head around as the elevator doors opened. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. But then you just wordlessly walked into the elevator as Steve followed closely.

“You feel this thing between us, Peach. I’m not alone in this. I know I’m not.”

He moved close to you as the elevator doors closed, placing one arm on the wall near your head and the other on the railing beside you. You were enveloped in him. But when you looked up at him. Jesus.

“You wish. You think you’re god’s gift to women, Rogers?”

Your whisper was fervent.Your heart was beating out of your chest and your cunt was soaking wet. The electricity was arcing between you in the small space. You felt it in the small of your back.

“Judging by the way you look at me, Peach. I’d say you wish, too.”

You shifted, trying to rub your legs together on the low. There was an ache you needed extinguished.

“Boy, please...”

You were still trying to fight it as Steve moved close, his lips a breath from your ear.

“Not all women. Just you. And you don’t need to beg. Just ask for what you want, Peach.”

He pulled back and you almost chased him, but bit your lip and tried to remain calm.

“I don’t want anything from you, Steven.”

“Now, you’re the liar.” Steve intoned, his jaw working tightly.

When the elevator door opened, you ran out, moving quickly down the hallway to your room. You stood in front of your door and stared at Steve, not opening the door and not speaking.

He looked down the hallway and spoke, anger laced in his tone.

“Open the fucking door and get your sweet ass in that room, Peach.”

You tried to stare him down, but he was determined. And something in those blue eyes made you want to comply.

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Your hands shook as you opened your door with Steve breathing down your neck, reminiscent of that night in Atlanta.

Once the door was closed, he stalked toward you, tipping up your chin to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushed your bottom lip and you suppressed a shudder.

No one had ever made you feel this way with just a touch.

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice was barely a whisper.

Steve leaned in close to reply, his breath fanning your face.

“Stop fucking running from me. I apologize for all the things I’ve done. But now I’m underwater and I’m drowning in my feelings for you.”

Your resistance were just bare thread now. And the last ones frayed into nothing at his proximity.

“Prove it,” you said as you met his gaze.

Steve’s eyes glinted with something you couldn’t read, and his hand moved to your waist.

“Careful now, Peach,” he murmured and bent his head, still not quite kissing you, but driving you crazy.

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered.

“No?”

His hand was on your back now, moving you impossibly closer.

“I think that I do. I think the feelings you have for me terrify you.”

His lush lips crashed down on yours, and you were completely lost to the way he devoured you, all heat and hunger and lust. Your tongues tangled and danced, and you moaned into his mouth.

Steve broke away to nip down your jaw.

“Taste so fucking sweet, Peach. ‘S all I could think about this past month.”

His hands slid down your body to palm your ass, pulling you close and making you feel how hard he was for you. Damn he was big. He was right, you’d probably struggle to take him, but god you wanted to try right now.

Slowly, Steve lowered his head again, watching you intently as his lips capture yours. The kiss started off slow and delicious, then it deepened, growing more passionate, more demanding. Your fingers tangled in his thick hair, pulling him closer. And when you came up for air, you were both breathing hard. He leaned his forehead on yours.

“I want every single part of you, Peach,” he said roughly. “Not just your body.”

Your heart swelled. There was no more holding back now.

“D’you think you can… can you think about trusting me with your heart?”

You hesitated and he knew he needed to get you not to get back in your head. He settled into the large couch and pulled you into his lap. His hands on your body was like nothing else.

“You feel fucking amazing.”

Before he knew it, Steve wrapped a hand around your neck and pulled you down to his mouth. He nipped at your lower lip, then soothed the tender flesh with his tongue, leaving you a trembling mess.

He lifted his hand and ran a finger down the side of your neck; the touch was light but somehow burned.

“Tell me you don’t think about being mine?”

You only whimper in answer, your stubbornness still in control.

He shook his head as he leaned down and followed the trail of his finger with his lips.

It felt so good that you tilted your head to the side with a soft sigh, giving him better access. Steve took full advantage, trailing kisses back up to the sensitive spot behind your ear that made you shiver.

“Fuck, Steve.”

You hooked your leg around his waist and rolled your hips against his like he was a pole. You arched your back and attempted to ride him to get some satisfaction to your core, which was

aching and weeping.

“No. We’re not gonna fuck. Not until you tell me you’re mine. But we can play.”

He arched a dark blonde eyebrow as he kissed down your cleavage and one big hand cupped your breast over your shirt and the other reached down to slip inside your panties.

“You wanna play, Peach? You’re absolutely soaked Sweetheart. Want me to make you feel good?”

It was his one mission in life, and he could do it all day, bring you pleasure.

You pouted up at him, but you couldn’t resist. This high was too addictive.

“Yes, Stevie. Please. Make me feel good.”

He growled lowly when you arched into his touch. You felt the hard length of him pressing against your core, and you reached down to palm him through his pants.

“Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Suddenly, your bra was pulled down and his mouth was closing over your nipple, sucking and teasing. He moved lower, getting on his knees beside the couch.

He stopped manhandling you long enough to unbutton his shirt and damn, did you pay attention.

You bit your finger as those muscular shoulders and biceps and chest came into view. Your eyes followed the happy trail that flowed down his six pack and damn the bugle in his pants was big.

That shocked look on your face when you met his eyes again was so hot that Steve wanted to fucking ruin you, but he decided have settle for just tasting you.

“Don’t want you to get my shirt wet, Sweetheart.”

He winked and then reached underneath your skirt to find your panties.

You scrambled up on your hands and scoffed.

“It’s like that?”

Steve grabbed your thighs and pulled them apart, making your skirt ride up.

You leaned back and smiled as he winked and nodded.

He hiked your legs over his shoulders and a second later, his mouth was between them, his tongue teasing the skin near where you really wanted him to be.

You grabbed his hair and ground against his face, already desperate for more. And when he licked straight through the center of you, a scream started in your throat but you stifled it, looking down to see Steve’s eyes twinkle up at you.

He kept you pinned against the couch, gripping your hips with those big, strong hands and holding you in place. His tongue traveled up and down your slit, between your folds, and slid inside your wet cunt.

Your entire body trembled as his tongue toyed with your clit. You felt his smile as he started circling his tongue around the small bundle of nerves.

“Fuck! Give me more!”

Your eyes rolled as two of his long thick fingers entered you and scissored before quickly finding the pile of sensitive flesh inside you. He massaged it and at the same time leaned down to suck your clit into his mouth. It was at that point that your orgasm hit you like a wave.

“Steveeeee! Godddd!”

You screamed as your pussy simultaneously clenched and squirted fluid into Steve’s waiting mouth. Your vision went white, and all the air was sucked out of the room.

Slowly, your surroundings came back into focus. Steve kissed the inside of your thigh, then stood up, watching you with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“The way you scream my name makes a man wanna buy you jewels Peach.”

His beard was wet and his voice was raspy, but you reached for him and he leaned down to kiss you, letting you taste your essence on his tongue.

Then, he pulled away and found your bathroom. You stared at the ceiling as the water ran and you assumed he was cleaning up. He returned with his shirt on and a warm towel to help you clean up.

He watched as you shed your clothes, sensuality on display only for him. You reached for his pants and he grabbed your wrists, shaking his head.

“Like I said. That was fun. But you’ve got to make a decision, Peach. Do you want me like I want you?”

The words were right there in your throat, but they refused to come out.

You just stared at him.

Steve smiled at you ruefully.

“Okay. It’s all right. I’m not giving up. Just giving you space.”

He handed you the fluffy white robe that was in the bathroom and you put it on to follow him to the door of your suite.

“See you tomorrow after the Summit for our meeting.”

He kissed you goodbye on the cheek and the dance you and Steve Rogers did continued as you watched him walk away from you.

——-

Hope you liked it! Interaction gives me lifeeeeee! Read, comment, reblog, like. TIA 🥰

Read the next part, Peach VI

#steve rogers #Steve Rogers #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #Chris Evans #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mob boss!steve rogers #mob boss!Bucky Barnes #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #kyd ask #ask dj #peach fic #knock you down fic

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bangaveragewhitewine · 2 years ago

Text

crazy-mad for you

Eddie Munson x Reader (bouncer x bartender, frenemies to lovers) - Happy Hours series

Chicago, 1991. When you’re not pouring beers and shaking cocktails behind the bar of Jackie’s, you’re fighting flirting balancing banter and bite with the metalhead bouncer on your break.

A busy Friday night changes how you see Eddie Munson. Maybe you were wrong about the bouncer with his silver tongue and Bambi brown eyes...

This is 18+. If you’re not 18 please hit the back button and read something else.

Word count: 16.7 K

Contents/Warnings: Frenemies to lovers. Misogynistic comments; objectification, men being men. Some violence; Eddie gets in a fight. This is an 18+ fic. Smoking, alcohol consumption & drug use. Oral (reader receiving). P in V sex. Excessive use of pet names. Eddie & Reader are mid to late twenties. Reader is written as AFAB and uses female pronouns.

Author’s Note: One minute you’re daydreaming about cherry margaritas and Eddie Munson, and the next you’re writing 36 pages of how you fall in love with him... Just girly things? This is my first attempt at writing Eddie ❤️

I do hope you enjoy it, I had fun writing it! Thank you @specialagentmonkey for beta reading / being my hype woman.

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not repost my work to other sites.

Dividers by me ✌️

The cold fizz of vodka soda lime prickles your throat with a pleasant burn.

It’s August and it’s warm, too warm to be crammed in this little dive bar with too many bodies and not enough of them wearing antiperspirant. Way too warm to be working, slinging cheap drinks to the thirsty Friday night crowd crushed into Jackie’s. They can be stingy with their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ but the tips are good at least (thanks to the pulled-low hem of your tank top showing just enough and the hug of denim on your hips).

Jackie’s was a popular little dive you had visited during your first week in Chicago; a drink with your new roommate and some friends ended with you charming the owner Frank and promising to return for a trial shift the following evening. That was almost a year ago and you had settled in well, stepping up to be a supervisor after six months.

Now, bone tired and wishing just a little bit that you worked a nine to five, you long for a cool shower and something fried and crispy and maybe cheesy (not particularly in that order). You’re here until close, two a.m last call followed by another hour of cleaning. Then you’re home free. Until tomorrow night anyway.

You tip back the last of your drink and crunch the ice between your teeth. Those last few minutes of your break are dwindling and soon you will haul yourself back, to fill beers and shake-up cocktails, all tits and teeth and aching feet. The music from the bar is loud as you perch on your stool at the back door, but you hear him over it hum-singing something way more Billboard Hot 100 than his usual taste. It makes your lips curve into a smirk, your head leaning back against the cool brick wall.

“Don't you know, hmmhnn change. Things'll go your way. Hmmm hmm Hold On for -”

“Hey, hotshot.”

The small startle that shakes Eddie’s black-clothed body makes you laugh more than it should, particularly when he attempts to brush it off and play cool.

“Fuckin’ Christ, I should’ve known you’d be here.” His voice is a groan, head tipped back with hammed-up exasperation.

“Careful, Ed. They’ll revoke your metalhead licence if they hear you’re singing Wilson Phillips these days.” Your voice is a conspiratorial stage whisper as you cross your legs, stacking one over the other. His usual leather jacket has been swapped out for the hot summer nights, black denim over his usual tight black t-shirt and Dickies.

He rolls and flicks his lighter to set the cigarette between his lips aflame as he meanders toward you. You can hear the crackle of burning tobacco as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you. “Not shaking your tits for tips, sugar?”

“Aw, been thinking about me while you’re asking cute girls what their star sign is?” you snark, missing the shadow of something that passes over Eddie’s face as your eyes roll.

You switch your focus to the night sky above as Eddie comes to loom by you. The smoke swirls around him as he offers the cigarette out to you. Before taking it, you reach back and leave your empty glass on the sill behind you and swap a chilled bottle of Budweiser for the smoking cig.

It’s not an olive branch, just part of your usual ritual; trading acidic barbs, mean words, shared smokes and free drinks whenever you’re scheduled on the same shifts (which is most nights).

Eddie uses his keys to uncap the bottle and takes a long pull, head tipped back to show off his pale throat. A sliver of silver glints around his neck. The beer is almost half gone when he rips a truly boyish burp. Gross.

You take a drag, sighing the smoke into the warm air.

“What’s the sigh about, princess? Did someone not say please when they asked for their Cosmo? Your little apron tied too tight?” Eddie plucks at the wrap of black fabric around your waist. The way it hugs the curve and flair of your hips is certainly not lost on him.

You blow your second drag of smoke directly at him for that one. “Well if you could make sure we’re not packing the place out and breaching health and safety, that would be fuckin’ fantastic.”

“Simmer down, princess. I’ve got it handled. You just pour your little drinks and wink at the boys and we’ll get through tonight just fine, ‘kay? Leave the crowd control to me.” Eddie tilts his head, dripping condescension like the total asshole he is. He’s way closer than you even realised and you can smell the spicy Fahrenheit behind the smoke. There’s heavy silence as you both glare at each other in the back alley.

The heat and hectic night make your banter especially snarky but Eddie’s the first to break, nudging you with a little smile. You barely catch his gaze dropping to your lips as you take another drag from his cigarette.

“No one giving you any trouble tonight?” he asks.

“No more than usual. Just absolutely slammed in there. Just got done changing kegs again - they’re drinking us dry and it’s only Friday.” You roll your neck, sighing again when it cracks.

“Tips good?” He seems almost genuine until his mean little smirk returns, “Your tits are probably doing the real heavy liftin’ but..”

“Listen dickh-”

Just as you’re about to cuss him out, there’s a burst of music and crowd noise as one of the other bartenders comes to find you. Michelle looks between you and Eddie before rolling her eyes. “C’mon, you’re really pushin’ that ten-minute break tonight. Sorry to break up whatever this was,” she flaps her hand between you and Eddie (who’s grinning like a wolf as he finishes his beer), “but we have a bachelorette party in line and it’s already crazy in there.”

“Bachelorettes?” Eddie pushes off the wall and steals the smoke back from your fingers, “Sounds like I should probably get back to work. Ladies.” He winks before sauntering off, leaving you almost simmering with something like anger until Michelle scoffs and drags you back inside.

“The sooner you two just bang and get it out of your system, the better,” Michelle tuts.

“Ew. Pass.” You scoff and pause at the dingy mirror to fix your hair and pat the sweat away with a rip of trusty blue roll, scooping your breasts up in their cups and adjusting your top before scurrying after Michelle again. If you’re going to be busy, you may as well make it worthwhile and rake in the tips.

The bar is louder than loud but you’re energised from your vodka soda and little sparring session with Eddie and easily fall back into step with the other bar staff, working together like a well-oiled machine - despite the annoying rusty hinge manning the door.

Eddie rejoined the staff with his buddy Jeff in tow after they had spent some time on tour with their band. You had barely contained your eye rolls when the loud metalhead had waltzed into one of Frank’s staff meetings (conducted over pizza and pitchers of beers) unannounced and kicked his feet up on a table like he owned the place. Everyone was happy to see him (adding a round of shots to toast his glorious return) but you stayed wary of the flirty metalhead with a silver tongue and big brown Bambi eyes. Yeah, you felt warm all over when he looked you up and down and smiled like a wolf but you knew his type - total flirt, make a girl feel special and then move on to the next one. You didn’t move your entire life to a whole new state to get fucked over again, so you and Eddie settled into trading catty comments while you watch out for each other, allowing the occasional flirtation for balance. Getting under each other’s skin in whatever way seemed most annoying and fun? It worked, made the slow nights bearable, the busy ones more fun. Whatever it was.

An hour later the small of your back is nearly soaked with perspiration. The bachelorettes are in full flight, meaning you have been pouring shots and mixing cocktails non-stop. They’re sweet at least, good with their excited ‘thank you!’s for all the fruity drinks you made them - cherry margaritas, blue lagoons and strawberry daiquiris going down an absolute treat.

You’re shaking another batch of lemon drop shots for a girl's night group when you become hyper-aware of two yuppie finance bros with their gaze firmly fixed on your chest, trading little smirks and comments with each other behind their glasses. You’re overcome with an overwhelming sense of ick.

It’s nothing new, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore sometimes - even when you’re up-the-walls busy and the kegs need to be changed. You refocus and fix your gaze on the glowing EXIT sign, thinking about how many more cocktails you will make before close. Your eye is caught instead by Eddie standing by the door, already looking at you while he’s supposed to be making sure none of the patrons are being too dickish.

When your eyes meet he tilts his chin in a nod. Eddie smirks as he shimmies his chest at you, to which you mouth a very easily recognisable ‘FUCK YOU’ with a cheeky wink for good measure.

He shakes his head and you pour the line of shots, earning yourself a nice big tip and a rake of compliments from the drunk girls who make you promise to do a shot with them later. Not a promise you can definitely keep, but their enthusiasm is a balm for your soul.

As they shuffle away to give each other pep talks in the bathroom (gosh, you love them), one of the men who had been eyeing you up steps into their place. You don’t miss the way he drags his eyes over their bodies before his snake-like stare is fixed on you. You have already made plenty on tips so you dial back the smile, giving him a barely polite brow raise in place of a ‘What’ll it be?’

“Two whiskeys, top shelf. Whatever’s expensive in this dump,” he says, speaking to your chest rather than your face. You can smell the sour of his breath across the counter.

You square your jaw and suppress an eye roll that would surely render you sightless for the rest of your days. “If you don’t like it, the doors over there. Ice?”

He grunts affirmative and you pour the drinks from the barely touched bottle, slamming the glasses down just hard enough to startle him before you give him his total.

“There’s an extra fifty in it if you give me a smile,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar with the crisp note in hand. “You been given’ out a lot more for a lot less all night. One little smile for me?” The man nods to your cleavage, and you refuse to feel self-conscious.

You can’t summon the effort to even fuck with him, come up with a comeback that his Neanderthal brain couldn’t possibly comprehend. You give him his total again along with your best deadpan glare. “You’re holding up the line. Pay up or am I going to need to cut you off, buddy?”

His face turns sour, acidic anger bubbling up. “You’re a hard little bitch, aren’t ya?”

You smirk at that, plucking the fifty from between his thin fingers to cash up before dropping his change back on the counter. “I am, thank you so much for noticing.” Your voice is nearly saccharine, and you play up the airhead facade for a moment before turning to the customer next to him. “Next please!”

His curses blend into the background as Michelle hip-checks you with a grin and wink, which you return while beginning to pour beers for your next order. If you let every slimeball get to you, you would have given up a long time ago.

On such a busy night, it was easy to be distracted and forget all about him, but the sharp brown eyes standing by the door saw everything - and he wasn’t so forgiving.

Almost another hour passes; another keg change, more cocktails to shake, another few visits from your favourite group of girls (who you take a shot of tequila with when they bat their lashes at you - you’re a sucker when it comes to girls who give you compliments and smell like vanilla).

The crowd thins a bit and you take a turn collecting empties, happy to have an excuse to get out from behind the bar and stretch your legs again, even if it is to balance too many glasses on a too-small tray. The ever-changing obstacle course of the floor on a Friday night is one you’re well practised at, dodging stray elbows and dipping in between patrons to take their spent glasses from the sticky tables, maybe chat a little if it’s not too loud or busy.

Paradise City is pouring through the speakers as your arms begin to protest the load they are carrying. You know your limit and pick up two more stacked pint glasses, catching Eddie’s eye as he bids goodnight to some regulars. His boot is already halfway out the door after them when you see his face change into something you can’t fully comprehend. Not because you can’t read him - you absolutely can - but your body is careening forward and down toward the floor before you can catch yourself. Your foot had caught on something that hadn’t been there before you met Eddie’s stare, sending you flying forward.

There’s a thud, crash, smash as you hit the deck alongside every single glass you had expertly balanced. The sound feels huge, ringing in your ears and it’s like the air is sucked out of the room, your body is winded by the unexpected impact. The music cuts and everything hurts - part ego, part ‘that’ll bruise tomorrow’ pain.

You wish for the sticky floor to just swallow you up as patrons form a little circle around you, crunching broken glass under their feet. A familiar pair of boots stops right by your head. Eddie. He crouches to kneel by you with one hand heavy on your shoulder and floods your already overwhelmed senses with his smoke and leather and spice.

He says your name, edged with panic until you open your squeezed-shut eyes. You manage to push yourself up with a small wince, hauling yourself with his help to sit on a quickly-vacated low stool. His hands feel huge as they cup your face, you hadn’t noticed how long his lashes were (unfair) or the freckles dusted across his nose.

“M’okay, Ed. Jus’ need a minute,” your murmur, head ducked to hide your hot cheeks and embarrassment. He stands and puts his arm around you, without thinking you rest your head against his hip but miss his slight intake of breath as your coworkers calm the crowd and start sweeping and gathering the glass, and thankfully turn the music back on.

Eddie bends a little to speak to you, low and quiet, “Just sit there a sec, okay? ‘Chelle is going to bring you to the staff room.”

You nod and take a few breaths before taking his hand to stand and be passed safely into Michelle’s care.

“I’ll be back to you in a sec. Don’t go gettin’ in any more trouble, ‘kay?” Eddie’s softness has an edge now, his eyes zeroing in on the man who had given you shit at the bar earlier. The one Eddie had been glaring at ever since; he had seen him stick his foot out to trip you.

You’re just about to push through to the back hallway when you hear raised voices. Eddie’s voice is louder than the others. You turn and see him squaring up to the slimeball who asked you for a smile earlier, not looking as clever or slick now that Eddie’s up in his face.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Michelle murmurs, pausing behind you to watch.

“I saw you fuckin’ trip her man. Get the fuck out.” Eddie is incensed. “Been givin’ her shit all night.”

Trip her? Oh. He means you.

“I wouldn’t touch’er. That bitch? Fuck off man, get out of my face.”

There’s a scuffle, another broken glass. More shouting before it really kicks off, fists swinging. Through the horrified crowd, you see knuckles connecting with Eddie’s pretty face. It hurts when you yell out his name, adding to the noise as Jeff rushes in to get the men under control.

Eddie lands his own punch, rings slamming into the man's jaw, raising a collective ‘ooof’ from the gathered crowd. Despite the blood on his face and hands, Eddie manages to haul him out into the street with Jeff, some beefy regular marching the second man out by the scruff of his neck.

“What the fuck…” you breathe, realising that you were holding on to Michelle’s arm way too tight. You apologise and she steers you back to the staff room in a daze of pain and confusion (more from the fight than your fall). The room is little more than a box with a wall of beat-up lockers, a sink and counter, a table with cracked Formica and creaky chairs and a squishy old two-seater. It’s cramped but it can be a haven on a busy night.

As you ease yourself into the corner of the squishy sofa, Michelle pours you a big measure of whiskey for the shock. She kneels in front of you, looking you over for any cuts or scrapes from the glass, and checks your pupils for good measure. You’re just shaken up and feeling the impact of the fall.

“You dizzy or anything?” she asks, squeezing your knee. “You’re gonna have a big fuckin’ bruise, babe. Remember when I spilled that pitcher, slipped and fell on my ass back before Christmas? Black and blue well into New Year.” She squeezes your knee and encourages you to take a sip of your drink.

The whiskey burns but you barely feel it.

“Why did Eddie hit that guy? Did.. did he trip me? The floor was clear, I just… I didn’t see... My foot caught something but..” Your voice shakes from the adrenaline, the shock of the last few minutes.

She shrugs with a little smile. “I didn’t see either. You’ll need to ask Ed yourself.” A little frown etches between her brows. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t get pissed like that for no reason. He’s a good guy, babe. He looks out for everyone, staff and the drunks. He wouldn’t do that without a good reason. I know you get up each other’s ass but..-”

As you take another sip, the door swings open.

Eddie. Eddie with a bloody nose, lip swollen. Eddie with his jacket off, draped over his arm as he flexes his bloody knuckles around a bottle of Jack Daniels, a pint glass of ice in the other hand.

“Hey, you okay?”

His brown eyes are wide, but he’s trying to play cool despite the adrenaline coursing through him too. Eddie feels like his entire body is buzzing, not in a good way like when he plays a gig or when he gets you riled up at him, when you roll your eyes and give him that smirk - bad like when he used to get in fights in school, when a teacher would assume he was the troublemaker and send him to detention or the principal’s office.

You look at Eddie and he looks right back at you. You can’t look away from each other. It’s like your fall and his punches caused something to shift; you can’t name it but it weighs on you, both of you.

Michelle squeezes your hand. “I’ll leave you two to patch yourselves up. Be good.” A kiss is dropped to your head and she squeezes Eddie’s arm as she passes him by.

It’s just you now. You and Eddie, both hurting.

“Ed…”

He takes a long pull from the bottle of Jack and drops into the seat next to you.

“Eddie, what the hell was that?” Your voice is quiet and your eyes shine when you look at him. He is a ball of frenetic energy, knee bouncing. You take in the black ink on his arms, see the veins and muscles twitch beneath. His nose and mouth are stained bloody, knuckles and rings too.

He looks over you, sees how you’re holding yourself carefully after your fall. “He tripped you.” Eddie’s voice is quiet, not something you hear often. He’s loud and he’s brash, hear-him-before-you-see-him kinda guy.

“Oh.”

“Oh? He’d been giving you shit all night, you could’ve called me. Or Jeff.” He sips the whiskey again and tops up your glass without another word.

“Yeah, he was a creep. Nothing new there. If I come crying to you and Jeff every time someone gets fresh with me I’d never be behind the bar. People are assholes. I can handle myself, Ed.”

“And how’d that go for you tonight? You could’ve been really fuckin’ hurt.” His eyes blaze, nostrils flare.

Your jaw drops, “You’re blaming me?”

“No. No, fuck,” he growls in frustration. “I know you can handle yourself. That’s why you’re fuckin’ great at your job. If I had just taken him out when he gave you shit at the bar then maybe -”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie I don’t need you to save me or protect me! Shit happens! This was shit. It happened. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I wanted to... I want to..”

The air between you is charged and heavy.

I want to. What does that mean?

Eddie covers himself quickly.

“It’s my job. I want to make sure you, everyone here, can do their job without some fuckin’ guy with halitosis making it worse for you, waving his cash in your face like that.” Eddie nudges you gently, “I just want to do somethin’ right. I like working with you, even when you’re a pain in my ass.”

You scrunch your nose up, “Sap.” It’s easy to both fit back into your normal routine, ignoring the lingering something more that had just become quite clear to both of you.

“I might like working with you too. Don’t let it get to your head, I’m not sure your ego needs to get any bigger, Munson.”

He smiles, but the throb of his nose makes him wince and swear.

Eddie has made no attempt to put that glass of ice to good use so you ease yourself up to grab two clean bar towels, tipping the ice into one before wrapping it up. You pass it back to him before filling the empty glass with water.

“Thanks, princess.” Eddie flexes his fingers as the ice soothes the burning with cool unpleasantness.

You ease yourself back into your seat, facing Eddie now. “C’mere. Let me clean you up.”

He pauses, looking at you from the side of his big brown eyes before turning to face you. “It’s not broken. Just a little blood. You should see the other guy..” Eddie grins when you roll your eyes.

“My hero,” you deadpan, though you do kind of mean it.

With the damp corner of the rag, you gently begin to wipe the blood from Eddie’s face, sitting closer than you have ever really been to him. It’s silent between you, the quietest you have ever seen him. He’s too busy watching you, your focused face and how seriously you are taking your task.

“Very gentle,” he murmurs.

“Mm, don’t try me, Munson.” You’re quiet again, concentrating on wiping the blood and not looking into his eyes. “Not your first bloody nose after a fight then?”

“M’nope. High school… Mosh pits. Few angry drunks. The usual.” He doesn’t mention his father’s temper, his first bloody nose from a beer-soaked backhand. The whiskey tastes sour in his mouth at the memory.

You lean back a bit, assessing your work before wetting another edge of the towel. Eddie crosses his eyes, looking down his nose. “Am I pretty again?” He gives an extra cheesy grin for emphasis, making you laugh. It makes his heart soar; that sound, how you duck your head. But he sees your pained wince, bringing him right back to earth.

“Shit, sorry.” “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

You bring your hand back to his face and wipe the last of the blood-stained around his mouth, taking one last slow swipe over his too-plump-to-be-decent lower lip. That was more for you than for him, though the spark of fire in his eyes said otherwise; it was the same spark lit low in your belly since you had first laid eyes on him and started your incessant teasing of each other.

“All done.” Your voice is just above a whisper, neither of you making any move backwards.

“Thank you, nurse.” You can feel the warmth of his breath on your face. “Hey, can you... wear one of those little white dresses next time?”

He’s grinning again when you shove at his shoulder to put some space between you, the skin beneath almost burning hot under your hand even through the black cotton of his t-shirt.

“No next time. You hear me? Your groupies will come for me if that pretty face gets all bashed up.” There’s that smirk of yours that sets the embers burning low in his stomach alight.

He rolls his eyes at you, stealing your move. “You heading home?” he asked, watching you again as you drained the last of the whiskey in your glass.

“Mm, soon. I’ll check if I can help close and clean, then I’ll go.” You lean your head against the back of the battered sofa and close your eyes briefly. You think you might just sleep here until your stomach growls like something from the seventh circle of hell.

Eddie’s big brown eyes shine with mirth, astounded at the inhuman noise that just came from your curled-up body.

“Shut up. I’ll make cereal or something when I get home.”

“Nuh-uh. You like fries?”

“Who doesn’t like fries?” you peek one eye open to look at him.

“Let’s get some and I’ll make sure you get home safe.” Eddie checks his knuckles and swipes some of the blood from his rings, acting far more nonchalant than he felt.

“You don’t need to.” Fries and a shake did sound amazing. Walking home while I felt like a human embodiment bruise? Not so much.

“I know. But I’m going anyway, and you need to eat. So let me.”

He pokes your arm as he speaks; you think fleetingly that you might let Eddie Munson do anything if he asked you nicely, spoke to you with that hushed husky voice. You think that you definitely must have hit your head when you start thinking about his eyes…

But he can’t know that, so you settle for an eye roll. “Ugh, fine.”

With far too much energy, Eddie pushes himself up and empties the ice into the sink along with the red-tinged water. He potters around the little staff room, chucking rags into the bag for the laundry and rinsing glasses. You watch him, curious and a little confused until you realise you are staring and don’t want to be caught.

You sit up and unlock your tiny locker, taking off and balling up your apron to throw in your bag, spraying deodorant under your arms before shutting and locking it again. Eddie’s got his jacket back on and you carry your own too-big denim jacket over your arm. You give him a nod, ready to go, and head out to the bar to check with Michelle that it’s okay for you to call it a night

The crowd had thinned to a few stragglers who were almost ready to call it a night. Jeff has the door under control and the bar staff are already cleaning tables and glasses. You promise Michelle you will call her tomorrow, that you will stay in bed if you hurt too much, and accept her gentle hug after she passes you your tips for the night.

“Get home safe. No more getting into trouble,” she says, eyeing you and Eddie together with interest (and some smugness).

“No promises. See ya tomorrow ‘Chelle,” Eddie says with a wink before you both head out toward the black ‘86 Dodge Daytona parked a little down the street. It’s still humid and warm outside and you walk in silence until you see him unlock the nice car, opening the door for you. Your stomach flip-flops when he gives you a slight bow. He’s only being nice because you made an ass of yourself at work, you tell yourself.

“Jesus, being a rockstar really pays off,” you tease and throw your bag into the passenger footwell before easing yourself in. “Or did you steal this?”

You knew he had worked in a garage before moving to the city, and you force the thought of Eddie in a grease-marked tank top out of your head.

“Nah, my days of grand theft auto are long behind me.” Eddie winks and closes the door before rounding the shiny bonnet to sit in the driver’s seat. His keys jangle before he turns the ignition.

The radio blares Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast so loud that you just about hear Eddie’s swearing over it until he gets the volume down. “Oops.”

“Dude, mind your fuckin’ ears. You’ll be deaf by thirty.” Your own ears are ringing after the onslaught of noise.

“Huh?” He holds his hand up to his ear and smirks stupidly before revving the engine.

You sink back into the low seat and shake your head; your own smile reflects at you in the window as he peels away from the curb. “You better not murder me, Munson. I’ll haunt the fuck out of you if you do.”

“Once again babe, kidnap and human sacrifice are also long behind me.”

He drives a little fast, but you don’t hate how you feel sitting in the passenger side of his car. He has a faded Black Ice Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror alongside a skull keychain that cackles and glows red when you push a button on the back. The cramped back seat camouflages balled-up band shirts, a pair of beat-up Chucks, amp leads and guitar strings - a random accumulation that gives you a glimpse of who Eddie is outside of work. It’s easy for your mind to wander; Eddie, a back seat, what kind of girls he usually brings for a ride in his baby. Instead, you wonder about all you don’t know about the guy you spend a good part of your week with, the man currently driving you to get diner food at 2 a.m. after he punched a guy who was mean to you.

“Feelin’ okay?” he checks, flexing his knuckles on the steering wheel as he takes a left.

“Yeah.” You roll your head to look over at him. “Tell me something.”

Eddie glances across at you, brow raised under his bangs. “What?”

“Something, anything. A secret, a story. You always have something to say, so tell me something.”

“Mmm. You gonna laugh at me?”

“Probably.”

“Shit okay. Um... Okay. I almost got kicked out of my high school graduation. My friends were disruptively loud, like obnoxious motherfuckers - love them to death. And I flipped the Principal off instead of shaking his sweaty little hand.”

It does make you laugh, just a little - more of a really amused smile. “That’s fuckin’ cool, Munson. Were they your little Dungeons and Dorks friends?”

“Rude.” He pauses. “Dragons. Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Nerd. You’re from where, like Ballsack, Indiana?”

“Close. Hawkins - just north of Ballsack actually.”

“Can’t say I know it. Home of the Metalheads or..?”

“No. Definitely not. S’why I left.”

Your lower lip juts out just a little at the loaded confession.

“Your turn. One secret, please. Dirtier the better.”

“Perv.”

“Witch.”

You smirk, leaning your head back. “Been called worse tonight.”

You don’t see Eddie’s knuckles twitch while you think of a secret. Hearing that guy call you a bitch reminded him of all the times he had heard his poor mother called the same by the deadbeat he called Dad.

“Okay, you’re going to piss your pants at me. I used to work at this kinda fancy cocktail place before I moved here,” you say. “Totally lied about my experience before starting. Think… wannabe jazz lounge for yuppies. The menu was like this leather folder thing. Anyway, my first week and this like.. rich lookin’ guy comes in and asks for a Roman Coke.”

You see Eddie glance at you as he indicates and swerves the car smoothly to park opposite a little diner not far from where you live.

“I’m a few days in, super eager to get it all right. I’m like, ‘Yes, of course, coming right up’ and can I remember what the hell is in a Roman Coke? Fuck no. It’s not on the menu so I think ‘Hey this guy must know better than dumb little me’. I’m flipping through the recipe cards, everyone else is busy and kinda mean anyway so I stare at the liquors for like two minutes before I go back and ask him ‘What’s in that again?’.”

Eddie’s biting his lip. He knows where this is going. He sees how you light up when you tell your story, begs the butterflies to calm their swooping and swirling behind his ribs as you deliver the punchline.

“Rum. And Coke.”

His head falls forward, rests on the top of the steering wheel. His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“Eddie. He was the owner.”

He cackles. That throaty yell of a laugh you hear ringing through the bar or from the staff room when he’s goofing around instead of working.

“Oh no..” He’s wiping tears from his eyes as you cringe in his passenger seat. “Oh princess, that’s fuckin’ terrible.”

You sit together in his parked car until you settle, faces hurting from smiling until your stomach growls again.

“Jesus, the woman needs fries - stat.”

“And a Coke?”

“And a Coke.”

Eddie is out of the car and opening your door before you even have your seatbelt off. He offers you his hand to help you out of the car, careful of your sore body after the fall.

“Feeling okay?” he asks, still holding your hand.

“A bit achy. I’ll have a hot shower and take something before bed.” You lift his hand to check his knuckles. “Sore?”

“I’ve had worse.”

He squeezes your hand gently before you let go and cross the street to the hole-in-the-wall place glowing with neon Coca-Cola signs.

“You get in a lot of fights then?” you ask as he holds the door.

“Not anymore.” Eddie shrugs and leads you to a little table, nodding politely to the waitress filling coffees at the counter. She says hi to him by name and you think about Eddie coming in here alone, or not, after his shifts.

The backs of your thighs catch on the red vinyl and you know you will need to peel yourself up later.

Eddie sits opposite you, looking immediately at home as he relaxes back in the booth. In the bright diner lights you can see where his lip is still swollen and sore, the lingering specs of blood in his nostril despite your careful clean-up.

The waitress, an older woman with thinly drawn brows, comes over and pinches Eddie’s cheek with motherly affection. “Hi hon, you two know what you’re havin’?”

Eddie scrunches his nose like a bunny. “Hi, Marie. Usual for me, and a big basket of fries and a Coke?” He looks at you for confirmation, and you nod. “Please and thank you.”

She eyes you up with a little smile as she writes the order. “I was wonderin’ when Eddie was going to bring a nice girl for me to meet. Make yourself at home, sweetheart.”

By the time you both open your mouths to set Marie straight, she’s already gone. Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, but he shrugs it off. “Hate to have to break her heart and tell her you’re not a nice girl.”

You gasp in mock offence and put your hand to your heart. “I am so nice.” You can’t even keep a straight face as you say it. “Slandering my good name, Munson. I thought you were all about protecting my honour.”

Your close-to-the-bone teasing keeps the rosy tint on his cheeks.

“I never told you, your face when you fell? Fuckin’ hilarious. Should’ve taken a picture to put behind the bar.”

The jab puts you even again, not that either of you keeps score but it’s all about balance. Can’t be too nice, don’t want to be too mean.

You rest your head against the back of the booth and close your eyes for a moment, feeling the exhaustion from a busy and unpredictable night wash over you.

Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you for a moment; even under the too-bright lights of the diner, he thinks you might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Tell me something else,” you say before opening your eyes. When you do, you catch a fleeting dreamy look on Eddie’s face and lean forward to rest your chin on your hand as Marie drops over your drinks and food; fries for you, a burger with oozing American cheese and crisp bacon for Eddie.

“So nosy,” he teases, shoving a straw into his fizzing Coca-Cola.

You shrug, feeling a burn in your stomach; maybe you were overstepping. “You don’t have to. You can sit and stare at me if you prefer,” You take a long sip through your own gently placed straw and raise your brows at him.

He can’t and won’t argue with that one and stirs the ice as he thinks, takes a sip.

“One of the first gigs I played out of our hometown, we had like thirty people instead of the usual five drunks in the Hideout. I tried to crowd surf, thinkin’ I was hot shit. Broke my wrist.”

Your eyes blow wide as you eat the best fry of your life - it’s perfectly crisp and fluffy, salted just right - but the punchline of Eddie’s latest confession had you wanting to know more.

“You want half?” Eddie asks, nodding to his burger.

“No, I'm good, thanks. Hold on, reverse to the breaking your wrist after thinking you were Iggy fucking Pop.”

He’s already a bite in but holds his wrist up before he flips you off. “See? Good as new,” he says, pausing his chew.

The fries are too good to waste so you push down the urge to throw one at him.

“I was eighteen. Stupid kid. S’the reason I didn’t graduate that year.” He sips his Coke again and watches your reaction from beneath his lashes.

“That’s shitty.” You feel the frown deepen between your brows, angry on his behalf about something he was long over. “No wonder you flipped the principal off.”

You share your fries with Eddie and eat until your stomach feels warm and full. You share another secret too, tell him about the time you got so scared in a haunted house that you punched some guy dressed as a zombie and got kicked out. He almost choked on a fry at that and laughed so loud that Marie looked over and shook her head fondly at her favourite customer.

It’s easy to drop the charade that you and Eddie don’t get along. A diner at fuck o’clock in the morning exists a world away from the little bar that pays your rent and bills. When you see him get excited telling you a story, letting you see Eddie beyond the bar, you know you got him wrong - he’s funny as fuck, sweet too.

Midway through a story about how his friend Robin had dragged him to do (very) drunk karaoke last week, Eddie catches you staring and scrunches his face a little. “Am I rambling? Fuck, sorry.”

“No. Well, a little, but I like it.” You sip the dregs of your refilled Coke and smile a little.

He smiles back, ducking his head just a little and he catches the time on his watch. His Bambi brown eyes blow wide when he realises. “Jesus, I oughta get you home. The sun will be up soon.”

You didn’t realise either, but you also don’t care. You’re still tired, still aching, but you feel lighter than you have in months, like a long-dead spark might just be coming back. The warm glow is dampened just a bit when Eddie gulps down the last of his drink.

He pulls his jacket back on and insists that he helps you put yours on when you wince. He settles the bill, kisses the back of Marie’s hand and promises to come see her soon. Neither of you let her down when she says she hopes to see you again sometime.

It’s cooler outside now, but the warmth in Eddie’s car and his gentle singing along to the radio rocks you into a light doze as he drives the few blocks to the address you gave him. It kills him to wake you once he’s parked outside.

The small frown lines on your forehead tell him you’re still in some pain after the tumble you took. The ache in his knuckles felt like nothing in comparison to the twisting anger in his gut when he saw that prick’s foot shove out into your path and you watched as you fell in slow motion.

He gives it a minute, tries not to stare like a creep, before reaching over to shake your knee gently.

“Hey.” He says your name so softly, so gently, and taps his fingers against your knee.

You startle slightly and realise where you are. “Sorry, Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you say quietly. “And the fries. And everything.”

He smiles again, a gentle curve upward of his lips as his fingers rest on your knee. “Any time. We’re like two or three blocks from each other.”

Neither of you wants to burst the already waning bubble you have been in since you left the bar. For a moment, you just look at each other until the air becomes too thick, too heady to breathe easy. You’re not entirely convinced that you didn’t hit your head, that this whole night hasn’t been just some dream of yours. The heat of his hand on your leg tells you it’s real. This is something real.

And still, you make the first move. Pop the bubble. Too much. Too scary.

Your seatbelt clicks open and you grab your bag as Eddie does the same, coming to open your door and offering you a hand to get out.

Neither of you let go of the other’s hand, eking out the last of whatever this was before you have to go your separate ways and think about what it could turn into if you only had the bravery. You’re both standing so close and you watch the shadow of his stupid-long lashes under the street light.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Today. Whatever. At work.” You want to slap yourself for stuttering.

“Only if you feel up to it. Don’t be a hero, princess.”

“That’s your job, Ed. I’ll see you at work. Thank you, again..”

You squeeze his hand, he squeezes back.

You walk to your door and Eddie rounds the car again to the driver's side. He raises a hand to salute you as you turn to give him one little wave before closing the door.

“Fuck,” you sigh with your back pressed to the wood of the door. “Fuck.” Eddie growls as his head drops against the roof of the car.

You both take a minute. Need a minute before you can move on.

You drag yourself up the stairs and let yourself in, quiet enough to not wake your flatmate. Eddie waits to see your light come on before starting the car and driving the two blocks to his place.

After popping some painkillers you crawl into bed. Even your racing mind and pounding heart can’t keep you from falling into the deepest sleep you have had in months. Your dreams echo with Eddie’s happy throaty laugh, the gasp from the bar when he threw the first punch, the sound you made when you saw a fist crash into his pretty face.

You sleep late through the Saturday morning city sounds as they turn to afternoon and float through your cracked open window. You sleep until your flatmate knocks to check you made it home and are still breathing, then doze off again while she makes brunch for you both.

Over eggs and bacon, toast and fresh fruit, coffee and Advil, you tell her everything from last night and show her your bruises. She runs to CVS to get arnica cream and more painkillers while you strip your bed, shower and do laundry, keep busy to keep the recurring thoughts of Eddie from your head.

While you are folding clean clothes from earlier in the week back into your drawers, you come across a guitar pick Eddie had left on the bar one time before your shift started; once lost from his pocket, found again amongst the collection of shirts and shorts and jeans you wore to work. You had meant to give it back, then he had called you a brat for something stupid. Maybe he had burped too loud in your direction, and so you didn’t bother. As you run your thumb over the smooth curve of it, you think maybe he’s been at the back of your mind for a longer time than you even realised.

You’re sore all over but you call Michelle and let her know you will be in for your shift. You don’t tell her that you stayed out extra late with Eddie talking about stupid shit and laughing until your face hurt - you're not sure you could handle her sweet smugness over the phone.

After a long bath to soak your muscles and a huge plate of pasta for dinner, you get ready for work. Denim shorts, a tight black t-shirt tucked in, and your trusty Dr Martens (despite the heat). You add some jewellery, spritz your perfume, and fix your hair up off the back of your neck to keep cool. You swipe some Raisin Rage on your lips before wiping it off in favour of a slick of cherry flavour Chapstick. At the last minute, the lipstick makes its way into your bag - just in case.

It’s just after six when you step back into Jackie’s to help cut wedges of lime and lemon for drinks, make sure the barrels and kegs are hooked up properly, the mixers ready to go. It’s almost time to open up and you haven’t seen (or heard) Eddie yet. You chase your disappointment with a quick smoke break with one of the summer hires before Frank pulls you aside, making sure you’re okay after last night (and that you’re not thinking of suing the bar or anything).

“My wages wouldn’t cover a lawyer, Frank. Even with the tips,” you smirk before stepping from his office out into the hall, running straight into black denim and spicy cologne.

“Woah, easy there.” Eddie’s hands steady you, two wide palms on your arms that squeeze gently when you look up into his smiling face. “You’re a fuckin’ liability, honey.”

Your cheeks feel hot but you shove his chest gently. “I was wondering when you’d arrive. It was so peaceful and quiet, what a shame.”

Back to normal. Except Eddie’s hands are still on your arms, his thumb circling on the round of your shoulder. “Feelin’ okay?” he checks, speaking quietly just for you.

You nod and lift your hand, taking his chin between your finger and thumb, feeling brave alongside the little intake of breath Eddie just about hides. “No bruises. Good.”

There’s a beat where you and Eddie aren’t quite sure what you mean, what to say next. You’re glad that Frank calls for Eddie from his office, wanting to have the same chat with him as he had with you. It gives you both a good excuse to let go of each other, figure out what the fuck that was before your shift starts.

He squeezes your shoulders and gives you a little smile before letting you go. “Be good. Don’t get in trouble.”

“I’ll try, hot shot,” you say quietly, giving him a wink before going to join Michelle and the other bartenders for a quick pre-open meeting - but not before you dip into your locker to pat a layer of lipstick on.

The crowd begins to trickle in, slow and steady until it’s packed full and the music blares just loud enough. They’re a fun crowd tonight, and everyone is in good spirits now that it’s not quite so oppressively hot outside. You don’t have time to think about much else in between chatting to customers and mixing drinks; shaking cocktails is a bit more laborious when your body aches but you don’t complain.

It’s almost eleven before you take your break. You take another Advil before slipping past the Staff Only door. The air is tinged with smoke as Eddie leans against the brick, waiting.

His face lights up when he sees you and the two glasses you’re carrying. “Double fisting?” he asks, taking another drag.

“One for you, one for me. Mines the water.” You extend out the dark fizzing highball glass to him, which he eyes suspiciously. He passes you the nearly burnt-out smoke as a trade-off.

“What’s this?” he asks, “The witch's potion? I knew you’d take me out by poisoning me.”

You prop yourself on your stool and sip your ice water, smirking into your glass. “It’s a Roman Coke.”

Eddie’s laugh rings through the alley and he holds up the glass. “You fuckin’... Wow. What an honour.” His free hand covers his heart, silver rings glinting in the light. It would be easy to think he’s being condescending or playing around, it’s what you do. But Eddie is genuinely a little bit touched and a whole lot smitten. He can feel his heart beating faster under his palm.

You pass him a paper-wrapped straw before watching as he takes a curious sip of your special mix. You take a drag of his cigarette and watch his eyes blow wide as he computes the flavours.

“D’you hate it?” you ask carefully.

“What is in this? It’s insane! I really like it,” Eddie says, grinning.

His smile makes your tummy flutter.

“It’s rum - but like, a coffee-infused rum - and Coca-Cola, with Sambuca,” you list off the ingredients that had been turning over in your head all evening.

Eddie nods as he takes another sip, letting the flavours wash over his tongue. “Mm, I like it. You’re a real little alchemist, huh? Get it on the menu.”

You laugh and pass him back his smoke. “Nah. That’s an Eddie special. Just to say thanks..”

Eddie looks at you, watching your teeth sink into your stained-dark lip as you wait for him to respond. He’s a shade softer than the usual tough-but-fun guy who works the door, softer than when you’re usually tearing strips off of each other for fun on your breaks.

“Careful,” he says, voice quiet. He looks almost bashful.

You frown a little. Your gut twists uncomfortably. Had you read it all wrong?

“I don’t know what to do with myself when pretty girls are sweet to me,” he says, sipping his drink pointedly.

The knot in your stomach swoops. He thinks you’re pretty. Eddie thinks you’re pretty. Eddie who flirts with dolled-up girls all night while he’s checking IDs.

You look back at him, see how the light and shadows play on the slope of his nose and those long lashes. “You have plenty of practice, Ed,” you say, so quiet. “You always know what to say.”

He smiles just a little and shakes his head. “Not with you. S’why I say stupid shit. Anyway, no one’s as pretty or sweet as you,” he says. “Even when you’re mean. Especially when you’re mean - so fuckin’ pretty then.”

Your laugh is almost involuntary, cheeks feeling warm. “That was smooth, Eddie,” you say, teasing him again; that was comfortable, less scary.

“It was? Oh good. I’m fighting for my life here.” He laughs and leans against the wall beside you.

He’s taller than you as you sit on your stool, tuning your body sideways to look up at him. “Putting the moves on me, Munson?”

“Is it working?” Eddie raises his brows, pushing them up under his choppy fringe. There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, hopeful and yet apprehensive.

“Yeah, I think it might be,” you whisper, biting your lip again. He wants to bite it for you, soothe the pinch of his sharp teeth with his silver tongue.

You reach a hand out, sliding your fingertips up over the back of his hand and wrist until they slip under the cuff of his sleeve. You bring his hand down onto your thigh, warm and bare in the summer evening heat.

You’re feeling brave. Eddie is too.

He leaves his drink on the sill next to your water and steps closer, his hand huge on your legs as he feels the smoothness of your skin and the frayed hem of your denim shorts. Eddie crowds closer, smelling the sweetness of your perfume as his leg slots between your knees. His eyes flick from looking at your lips to searching your gaze for any hesitation or hint that you’re just fucking with him. He finds none and feels braver than ever.

He dips down, brushing his nose against your cheek and hears your intake of breath, that little gasp he wants to swallow and consume. His lips press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, begging sweetly without a word.

You turn your head just a fraction to close the minute gap, bringing your lips together. With your hand on his neck, you feel his pulse race in time with your own beneath the stroke of your thumb, sliding down the strong tendon to where it meets his shoulder.

Eddie’s lips press and slot with yours, plush and gentle and tasting sweet like Coca-Cola. He kisses you slowly, savouring the feeling of your lips on his. You pull him as close as you can, your warm breaths mingling as he sneaks a look to make sure you’re real.

He is gentle behind the bawdy jokes and leather and silver rings. He’s softer than anyone can see. But you can feel that sweet softness in the way he cups your face before kissing you again. Eddie strokes his tongue against your lower lip to ask for permission he doesn’t need. It makes you shiver as that smooth-talking tongue slides with yours, making you gasp.

Before it can build pressure and turn any steamier, he slows it back down and kisses you in slow pecks again before leaning his forehead against yours. He can’t stop himself from smiling and doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not elated when he feels your shy smile too.

Behind that smile, you’re aching for more. You want to run your fingers up through his curls and tug, be kissed breathless by him. You want a hundred more soft kisses, feel his smile on your mouth. You want to feel him everywhere.

“You okay?” he whispers, and can’t resist pushing another kiss against your cheek before moving back to look at you again.

“More than okay.” You bring your thumb to swipe the lipstick transferred over from your lips to his. You want to see every shade you own smeared around his mouth.

Eddie kisses your thumb, before pretending to nip it to make you laugh. “Are you going to be able to go back to the bar?”

You shake your head, smiling before sighing over-dramatically and fixing a pout on your face. It drives him mad in the best way. “Mm, maybe give me one more for luck?” you whisper.

He puts you out of your misery with one more long lingering kiss. “I’m not done kissing you. At all.” Another peck, because he cannot simply stop himself. “I’ll wait for you after work.”

Your smile is too big to hide, rendered speechless by his confession. So you nod, giving his lower lip one last swipe to remove the evidence before patting his cheek.

Eddie reluctantly backs off for his own good. He had thought about pressing you against the bricks and kissing you stupid too many times to be decent. He still will - it’s at the top of his bucket list - but just not now.

He grabs his drink, downs it, and gives you a wink. “Don’t go sharing that recipe, okay? That’s for me only, sugar.”

“Cross my heart,” you tease, sitting on your hands so you don’t drag him back against you. You think he might just be okay with it if you did.

“Later…” As if he can read your mind, he backs away with absolute mischief in his eyes.

“Later.” You wiggle your fingers at him and laugh when he almost walks ass-first into the stacked crates of empty bottles. He swears at them and flips them off before throwing one last wink your way.

Once you’re sure Eddie has turned the corner of the building you cover your face with your hands and smile into them, murmuring ‘What the fuck, what the fuck’ as your cheeks heat up your palms.

When you have just about gathered yourself, you head back inside and fix your smudged lipstick. You tap Michelle’s hip when you get back, signalling for her to go take her break.

She looks you over, suspicious of where exactly that coy little smile came from. As she throws one last look over her shoulder, she sees Eddie at the open door, looking just as dreamy and pleased with himself.

The rest of your shift passes without incident, which is a miracle because all you have been thinking of is Eddie Eddie Eddie. Eddie’s lips, Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s strong inked arms and his sturdy thighs. His lips (again).

You caught each other’s eye a few times during the night, and it made you feel hot all over. Especially when he was being a total gentleman to some pretty girls, telling them to get home safe. You had felt his dark–chocolate stare on you as you laughed with customers, and shook up cocktails while he watched the strength of your arms and the subtle bounce of your breasts. Knowing Eddie was watching, thinking about how he might kiss you again later, made you slick with desire and excitement.

You ring the bell for last call at 2 a.m. as your feet burn, and arms ache. There’s a flurry of orders while Jeff and Eddie close the doors and stand inside shooting the shit together, bidding customers good night as they leave in pairs and groups. By three it’s kicking out time and the few reluctant stragglers take recommendations for pizza joints and all-night diners to soak up the alcohol. While the bouncers do one last sweep of the place, you work through your checklist with a singular motivator; kissing Eddie Munson.

With anticipation buzzing in your chest, you wipe spills behind the bar, refrigerate the mixers and hand-wash the muddlers and stirrers from the cocktails. The younger guys fill the dishwasher with glasses and barware. You thank your stars that it’s not your night on bathroom duty, refilling the straws instead and making a note for Frank of what’s running low before he does his full inventory and stocktake. It’s a well-oiled machine and your duties are finished in record time...

Eddie made himself useful, staying out of your way (but watching closely, in absolute awe of you) in favour of picking up a broom and keeping the music going to keep morale up. He leans on the clean bar, chin on his hand as he looks at you standing with your hands on your hips. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, tilting his head toward the back door.

You nod, “Gimme two.” You restrain yourself from running to your locker (a quick walk is sufficient and unsuspicious). You fix your hair, blot your shiny face and spray deodorant and perfume again before opting for cherry flavour Chapstick. Extra lipstick this late? Far too eager.

After a quick round of goodbyes, you notice Eddie and Michelle have both already gone and you rush around to meet him by the door. One taste and you are hooked, needing another kiss like your next breath. When you can’t see him, it’s like your lungs shrink. There’s no lingering scent of his cologne or swirling smoke, no glowing cherry or loud laugh in the back alley…

Breathe. In, out. Calm the anxious flutters. Is he already at his car?

Just as you’re about to round the building, the back door opens and an almost frantic-eyed Eddie nearly catches you with the door... “Hi,” he breathes. Relief. A sigh you both share before the smile, the relief.

“Shit, did I get you?” He puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezes when you shake your head. His hands skate down your arms to squeeze your hands. “Sorry, got distracted inside. Can I... Can I drive you home?”

Your nod is far too eager and you squeeze back, your rings tapping against Eddie’s. You drop each other’s hands but stay close to each other. This is new and unnamed and you don’t want the work crowd throwing questions at you before you have even figured it out yourself.

Your hands and arms bump as you round the building together and for once neither of you know what to say. When you look up, Eddie is already sneaking a glance at you; he smiles when you catch him and you both dissolve into laughter.

“What the fuck, you’re literally never this quiet,” you tease, elbowing him gently. “Say something.”

Eddie takes your hand again, swinging his arm with yours. “You looked hot tonight. Like, hotter than usual.” Eddie licks his lower lip and it makes your stomach flip.

“You think so? It must be the drink I made you. Pretty strong…”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you kiss.” He’s so smooth and it makes you feel warm all over.

Close to his car now, you slow your stroll and lean against the passenger side. “Yeah? Maybe you should kiss me some more then, seeing as you can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Oh, I’m gonna.” He grins and crowds you against the shiny black metal, bracing one hand on the roof as the other loops around your middle to press your body close.

It’s like stars bursting behind your eyes when you feel Eddie’s lips on yours again. This kiss is eager and almost needy after hours of trying and failing to not eye-fuck each other. The hand lying low on your back slips lower and Eddie uses the leverage to step his thigh between yours with a delicious press of pressure. When you gasp he takes the opportunity to dominate the kiss a little more, licks his tongue against yours in a dirty slide.

You haven’t been kissed like this in a long time, all tongue and pulling soft gasps from each other. It has been even longer since you have been heckled while you’re kissing someone; Michelle breaks that streak as she wolf-whistles at you from across the street as she walks to her own car.

“Get a room!” You don’t see her grin and salute as you laugh into Eddie’s chest, hugging your arms around him beneath his jacket. He kisses your forehead and holds you after flipping Michelle off with a rosy-cheeked smirk.

“She made me late, by the way. Gave me the talk in the office.”

You rest your chin on his chest, pulling your eyebrows together. “The birds and the bees? Where do babies come from?” You laugh when he pokes your ribs and holds your squirming body closer still.

“Ha ha, jokes on you. That’s next week.”

You muffle your laugh against his black t-shirt.

“No, just that I better treat you good and not fuck around. Don’t want work to be awkward, blah blah.” Eddie squeezes your hips. “She also said ‘It’s about damn time’.”

You nod slowly, remembering her quips over the last few months about how you two should just shut up and get over yourselves, bang it out or something. It seemed like it was obvious to everyone but you and Eddie just what was going on behind your little frenemy routine.

“Well then…” you say quietly.

“Well then indeed…” Eddie echoes.

There’s a lot for you to figure out. You can’t just kiss your co-worker and expect everything to stay the same, but inside you think that maybe you don’t want that and Eddie doesn’t either. That’s something you both need to figure out, but right now you just might die if you don’t kiss him again soon.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to your place?” you ask quietly.

Eddie nods, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. I’d like that a lot. Are you sure you want to? We don’t have to...”

You rock up on your toes to kiss him again. “I want to. Let’s just... See where it goes?”

A little breathless, Eddie nods and roots for his car keys to unlock the door. He pecks your lips again before you both get into the car. This time he keeps his hand on your knee while he drives through the dark streets, only moving it to change gears. You keep it there, smoothing over the rings he wears with your fingers.

You recognise Eddie’s street - there’s the bagel place you go to, the camera store where you get film developed. You can’t believe he’s been this near all along.

He swings the car into a little parking garage under the building and takes the spot reserved for apartment 8. You twist in your seat to face him and see he looks a little lost in thought. “I can go home if you prefer?” you say.

“No no. Please, don’t. I’m just.. thinkin’ about how messy my room might be.” He twists one of his rings and you cover his hand again to stop the anxious little movement you recognised from your own fidgeting.

“I don’t mind. Being nocturnal can be pretty shitty for keeping your place clean,” you say.

Eddie nods, shoulders deflating now that he’s less worried you’re going to think he’s a total animal.

You pull his hand back over to your lap, fingers intertwined. “Anyway, I’m not here to snoop at your stuff, Eddie.” You shrug a little, hiding your smile as he thumps his head against the seat.

“You’re going to be the death of me, I know it.”

“You should be so lucky.”

Your lips meet again halfway across the centre console, smiling mouths and ringed fingers grasping at each other, wherever you can reach. A rogue elbow hits the horn, making both of you jump - Eddie yelps - then dissolve into a fit of giggles which Eddie gladly smothers with one more kiss.

“Lemme get your door, princess,” he says, lips brushing your chin and cheek one more time before freeing you from his hold to hop out and round the bonnet. You could get used to this…

There are more kisses in the small shaky elevator, crowded to the mirrored wall as Eddie’s lips get acquainted with your jaw and neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes you moan his name quietly, tug him closer by his belt loops.

You drive him crazy in the best way, he makes you feel wanted - perhaps craved is more apt - as his hands run over the flare of your hips and dip to your behind.

The elevator stops, dings, and you drag Eddie’s mouth to your own again to taste his tongue before he takes your hand and does his best not to drag you to the door marked with a brassy 8.

“Shit,” he mutters, fighting with his keys to find the right one as you slip a hand up the side of his t-shirt, feeling the trail of hair below his navel to scratch through.

“You’re a demon. An actual devil woman,” he hisses, resting his forehead against the door as he lets you distract him for a second. Before you can tease him anymore, Eddie turns and takes your face gently in one hand. “You actually want to come in or am I going to need to put you over my shoulder and bring you back to the car?”

His eyes are burning with want, lips pink and puffy from your kisses. He watches your pupils blow wide and sees the gulp in your throat.

“You gonna behave?”

All you can do is nod, brain static with want, accept a kiss on the pout he’s placed on your lips, and try not to swoon or combust on the spot while he wins his battle with lock and key.

Eddie flicks the light on inside and throws his keys in a saucer sitting on a little table inside the door. There’s a short hallway with a fairly full junk closet before you step into the apartment proper. You told him you weren’t here to snoop, but the urge to look around and soak in all you can about Eddie Munson is too good to pass.

A typical boy's apartment really - an open plan kitchen/living room with a second-hand sofa and mismatched chair, a coffee table cluttered with an empty mug and a full ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a forgotten Coke can. There are some amps stacked in a corner, framed posters yet to be hung as they prop against the wall. It’s kind of exactly what you expected.

Eddie twists a piece of hair around his finger, watching you look around. “Can I get you a water…?” he suggests, “Hungry?”

“Mind if I use your phone? I want to leave a message on my voicemail so my flatmate doesn’t think I died or got in another bar fight.” Sense prevails over your desire to get your fingers back under his shirt, find out what other ink he has hidden beneath.

“Sure, good idea.” Eddie points to the phone on the wall by the little breakfast bar. You notice a Garfield mug which makes you smile a little. “Back in a sec.”

While you’re leaving a message on your answer phone, Eddie stuffs dirty and clean laundry into some approximation of where they should be. He fixes the blanket and duvet on his bed - thankfully freshly changed - and strums his Sweetheart before hearing you hang up the phone. He takes a peek in the mirror after removing his jacket, shakes out his curls and gives his arms a quick flex before telling himself he’s an idiot - being friends with Steve Harrington has definitely altered his brain chemistry in some sort of way.

Meanwhile, you have already given your own armpit a sniff and fixed your hair in the reflection of Eddie’s microwave before you hear his boots on the wood floor again.

“Did you get prettier while I was..?” he looks between you and his left-ajar door glowing with the bedside lamp he had left on.

You roll your eyes at him before following him to sit on the sofa, leaving your bag and jacket on the well-worn cushion of the armchair next to it. He flicks some music on low and relaxes back into the cushions, watching you decide where to put yourself.

“Any time you want to go, just say. I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly. You can feel the warmth of his arm where it stretches across the back of the sofa.

Scooting closer, you turn your body to face him a little more. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, Ed. Promise.”

He nods and welcomes you back under his arm, pressing his lips to your head while one big hand squeezes the top of your arm. “You smoke?” he asks, nodding to a little box like the lockbox you have for petty cash at work. When he flicks it open, you see some pre-rolled joints, papers and a bag of green.

“Oh shit, you’ve been holding out on me, Munson,” you tease, poking his ribs before he sits back next to you with a joint and his Bic lighter.

Eddie flashes his brows upward as he sticks it between his lips to light up. “Something something… Not mixing business and pleasure?” he says, muffled by the joint. He takes a hit before offering it to you, fingers brushing as you raise your brows in turn.

“Oh yeah? I think we’re doing plenty of that tonight.” You take a drag with a smiling mouth as Eddie’s eyes darken and flash mischief again.

“Yeah, think so. Been thinking about it a lot longer than I’ll ever admit though,” he says, watching how your breath catches and you cough a little. He tuts playfully, “Am I going to need to show you how, or are you pretending so I’ll shotgun you?”

You fan your hand in front of your face to give yourself some air before flipping him off. “Be nice, s’been a while.” You tap your fingers against his knee. “Wait, go back. How long have you been pining over me?” You’re more careful when you take your next hit, raising your brows expectantly at Eddie.

Eddie rolls his eyes as he takes the joint back; after another hit, he taps the ash off the end. “Not your business.”

“Absolutely my business. Go on. Was it when I wore that little dress to the Christmas party? Oh no, I bet it was when I spilt that pitcher of beer on my stupid white shirt… Fuck, I forgot that.”

Eddie remembers both vividly (especially the little dress) but no, it was way before either of those incidents. “You going to keep annoying me ‘til I tell you?”

“Yep.” You grin and watch him take a long slow hit. His lips wrap around the end and his cheeks hollow, showing off those sharp cheekbones. “Tell me,” you sing.

He holds the smoke in before sighing it out with his head back against the sofa to look at the ceiling. His head turns to look at you instead. “Maybe like… the first shift we worked together? Maybe the second, either way, you were shaking up spicy margaritas or somethin’, had this little smirk on your face. Then later you asked me for a cigarette and the rest is history…”

Your cheeks heat at his confession and Eddie’s do the same. He’s embarrassed and you feel like an idiot for letting your hang-ups get in the way of really seeing Eddie and giving him a chance.

“Jesus, Ed.” You squeeze his arm, just below the flurry of bats tattooed there.

His arm sizzles where you touch him - well, that’s how it feels to Eddie anyway. “We got a good thing going though, I mean I really do enjoy it. Making you huff at me and roll your eyes. Fuck.” His smile is cheeky, a little dirty as he licks his lower lip.

You laugh together and let him bring the joint to your mouth. Your eyes slip closed as you inhale before opening again to see Eddie watching you. It reignites the spark low in your gut as you begin to feel nice and fuzzy around the edges.

Eddie takes one last hit before saving the rest, stubbing the joint in the ashtray on the arm of the sofa. His eyes don’t stray from yours as you crawl into his lap.

You twist one of his curls around your fingers; his hair is soft and the curls springy. “Guess it was like…perverse flirting or really long foreplay?”

“Mm, hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “I’m good with both of those. That is if you let me take you out. A real date.”

You pretend to consider it, though you are already in his lap, in his home, ready to give him anything he asks for. “Yeah, I’d like that. Last night was real nice, just talking with you. Just… get me some flowers instead of punching a guy next time?”

He copies your faux-consideration and nods, “Deal.”

Said deal is sealed with a kiss; this one is sweet and warm, soft even. You both know you are skipping ahead of your date, but as you smile against each other’s mouths, Eddie thinks he might just keep you in his lap forever if you let him.

Your lips press and slide, tongues tangle and tease as the intensity simmers to a boil again. His hands roam up your thighs and around to grasp two handfuls of you, pulling you close as you press yourself against him. You can feel the hot breaths through his nose against your cheek, and Eddie wants to groan at the feeling of your breasts pushed up against him. Your bravery builds in tandem with how much you want and need him and you start up a slow roll of your hips.

Eddie swears against your mouth, “Shit, you feel good.” He squeezes his hands and pushes his own hips up, letting you feel how thick and hard he is for you.

Your whimper makes him crazy-mad with lust, Eddie’s lips feeling the vibration as he kisses your throat and finds that spot on your neck again. He wants to mark it, hear what noise that would pull from your pretty, kiss-bitten mouth. From the corner of his eye, he sees the flutter of your lashes, the way your mouth drops open. He thinks you are so pretty and it makes the ache in his chest pulse like a bruise.

You direct him back to your lips with a gentle tug, opening your eyes before you press a kiss to his lower lip before leaning back enough to untuck and pull off your t-shirt. Eddie’s jaw twitches as he feasts his eyes on the black lace cups you fill out so perfectly, the glint of your necklace beneath the hollow of your throat.

He moves both hands back to your waist where the denim cuts in, fingertips skating the bare skin above. “Can I?” he asks, looking up to your eyes.

Instead of answering, you cover both hands with your much smaller ones, guiding them upward until you feel the warmth of his hands cover and cup the weight.

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie whispers, looking at your face again as his thumbs seek and stroke the pebbled nipples beneath.

Eddie had never been subtle when he checked you out at work; he made playful and bawdy comments his cover story to get away with letting his eyes linger a little too long on your chest. You let him away with it every time, knowing you would get him riled up another way later that shift or on the next one.

When you look down, the sight and feel of his guitar-scarred hands on your chest make you bite your lip hard. Your palms skate over the gooseflesh of Eddie’s arms, over the bulk of his biceps and shoulders as he learns how to make you keen for him with just his hands on your breasts. You pull him in for another filthy kiss and blindly glide your fingers down his chest to the top of his trousers. You have already felt how hard he is under the roll and grind of your hips, but it’s not enough. Eddie deserves to be touched and tasted after all this time, pining over you. Not because you pity him, you want to make up for lost time.

His hips press upward, seeking out your touch; you adjust yourself to straddle one of his thighs and flip the hem of his t-shirt up to get at the button and zip. Your eyes are fixed on the hard line of him pushing up against the fabric; your fingers brush over it before undoing the fastenings, making his breath catch in his throat.

“I want you so bad,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss your jaw again. That makes you pulse right between your legs; you relish the firmness of his thigh pressing against you there as he kisses his way back to your lips. You pull away only to push the black work pants and tartan cotton boxers down enough to get at him, to see him.

Eddie watches your eyes flash when you see the thick length of him, brushing your fingertips up and down to watch it kick with arousal. You nuzzle against his cheek as you take him in your hand, telling him how big and pretty his dick is before beginning to stroke him. In your mind, you’re thinking about how he will feel inside you and in your mouth, but you try to focus on kissing his neck and learning how he likes to be touched. He’s rock hard and weeping at the tip, it makes your mouth water.

“You think about me when you do this for yourself?” you ask, pausing to lick your hand before grasping him again. The tinge of salt on your tongue makes you want more.

Eddie nods, eyebrows pinching together. “Fuck, I do. Tried not to, but I can’t help it.”

That makes you feel hot all over and you rock yourself against his thigh to relieve the pulsing between your legs. “M’here now, don’t need to pretend anymore, Eddie.” Your lips brush his jaw and the way he moans, the way he pulses with arousal in your hand, it makes you giggle.

“You’re literally gonna kill me,” he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m not. Promise. Just want you to feel good,” you say, and kiss him again when your hand picks up the pace.

Eddie’s hips rock upward into your fist. His hand stills your arm and he has to take a few breaths before looking at you - his chocolate-button eyes are consumed by dilated pupils. “This’ll be over real fast if you keep that up, baby. You’ll never let me live that down.”

His head dips to kiss across the tops of your breasts before running his nose up along your throat. His head tilts toward his room. “Can we? Been thinking about you in my bed.”

You nod, keep cool even though the butterflies in your stomach are back with a flurry of vengeance. Eddie grins, which sets you off too, and you tuck him back into his boxers before moving to let him stand.

He offers you a hand and twirls you once. “Hold on. Let me just..”

Eddie pauses, looks you up and down and you know he’s up to no good. Before you can figure him out he has you over his shoulder with a surprising show of strength. You squeal-laugh, slapping your hand on the back of his thigh. “EDDIE!”

His laugh is throaty and rough - like an honest-to-god gremlin - and he just about manages to keep his pants up as he carries you to his room. “You seemed to like the idea of that earlier, what you complainin’ about, baby?”

You can only laugh in response until you’re deposited onto his bed with more care and gentleness than anticipated. You lay back to catch your breath, cheeks warm and aching as you grin up at Eddie. You’re certainly not unimpressed by his ability to fireman-lift and carry you. He kneels to untie your boot-laces, then his own. You sit up and pop the button on your shorts before Eddie takes over, removing them along with your shoes to leave you in your only slightly mismatched underwear and bra - they’re both black, and Eddie doesn’t notice or care. All he sees is you, in his bed.

His t-shirt and pants are left in a heap with your clothes and in a moment he is with you, laying you back to kiss you everywhere. His hands and lips map your body, kissing freckles and stretchmarks, nuzzling the red mark your bra left around your middle when it’s removed and lost to the floor. He notes the ticklish spots on your ribs, saves them for later, and lavishes kisses on your bare breasts.

As Eddie lays his body between your spread legs, you wish you had longer to see the new ink revealed to you but take the chance to stroke his hair like you have been wanting to. He practically purrs and chases the relaxing motion, leaning against your hand when he breaks his trail of kisses to the band of your underwear. The light is too dim to see how soaked they are, a darker shade of black between your legs caused by him, but Eddie knows it’s there and teases his fingers over the damp heat. He smiles when your hips jump up at the friction.

His chin rests on your hip bone while he looks up. “This okay?” he checks, dipping his fingertips up past the elastic around the top of your thigh. He goes no further until you nod, breathe out ‘yes, please’.

You get the feeling that if Eddie was still wearing pants, your undies would go right in his back pocket. The thought of that alone makes you throb as Eddie looks at the feast in front of his eyes.

“Oh she’s pretty,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “And so wet f’me…”

You gasp when he finally touches you, stroking his finger down the seam of you. He swears and shifts his hips against the bed when he feels your wetness and watches his finger come away shiny.

He pushes one kiss below your belly button before getting comfy, manoeuvring one leg over his shoulder with his arm around for good measure. His curls tickle against your leg but all you can focus on is how his tongue strokes and licks, how his lips suck and press.

His name bounces off the poster-clad walls, your voice gaspy and ragged when his tongue circles your clit before pushing its way inside you to seek out your soak.

“So sweet, I knew you would be.” His voice is a murmur against your cunt, there and gone again as he seals his lips around your clit.

“Fuhhh- Eddie.”

One hand balled in the duvet, the other a crown atop his dark curls as you shift your hips and help him find the angle that is just right. He is rewarded with a scalp-burning tug and a guttural moan you can’t even begin to be embarrassed by as he feasts on you like a starved man.

His fingers squish your doughy thigh before he slows to a pause - it’s brief and yet you whine in complaint. You feel his breathy laugh against your folds, his murmured ‘easy, baby’. Eddie stopped only to remove the rings on his right hand so that he could push one, then two, deep inside seeking out your g-spot before you can comprehend that his rings are on your fingers for safekeeping.

His eyes are fixed on you; your heaving chest and breasts, the blissed-out expression on your face. He knows when he has found it, feeling you gush in time with a wet, wobbly moan of his name and the pained-by-pleasure look that graces your pretty face.

“That’s it, huh? Good girl,” he murmurs. He earns another loud moan as you arch your back to chase absolute bliss.

Eddie’s hips roll against the mattress - if you had the brain capacity to notice you would surely die on the spot. Your heart already feels like it is about to leap from your chest, blood pounding in your ears as he keeps up the pace and pressure. He can hear and feel how close you are as your voice gets higher, begging brokenly ‘yes, yes! Eddieeee!’ when you free fall over the edge.

Your body goes tense and then boneless as he works you through it, not letting up until you nudge his head with your thigh. “Too mm-much,” you slur, hips twitching. Eddie presses gentle kisses and murmurs words of praise against your sensitive sex; he leans into how you stroke his head while you come back to the land of the living.

“Y’okay?” he asks, smiling up at you with shiny lips. He eases his fingers out, marvels at just how soaked they are in the golden glow of the bedside light before kneeling up and licking them clean. “Knew you’d be sweet, sugar.” He winks and you curl in on yourself as you shake with laughter.

“You’re a menace, Munson. Remind me how you've been single all this time when you can do that?”

You take his hand, pulling him down so he is lying on top of you. He’s hard against your hip, but isn’t pushy with getting you to do something about it as he lies with you, holding you as you bask in the afterglow.

“Guess I had this really big weird crush on a pretty girl, got me in a dry spell,” he teased. He smacks a smooch to your cheek and makes a pleased little noise when you pull him in for a proper kiss, taking your cheek in his ring-less hand.

You let yourself feel a little smug as you drag your fingertips up his back, swirling and stroking until they brush the band of his boxers. “Do you have condoms?” you whisper against his lips, hoping that the dry spell won't ruin your plans.

Eddie nods and peels himself away to kneel up and reach over to his messy bedside table, digging an almost full box from the top drawer. He squints at the date and takes one from the packet with a pleased grin, “We’re in luck.”

You reach out to palm him through the straining cotton, feeling the growing damp spot and smiling up at him as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. You sit up, pushing his boxers down with both hands. They join the rest of the forgotten clothes on the floor while you get your hands back on Eddie’s body. You see more ink usually hidden beneath his clothes; you want to look at each tattoo, study it and ask him what it means, listen to him tell you more stories and secrets. But there’s plenty of time for that.

Eddie smiles against your mouth when you wrap your fingers around him again, chancing a glance to watch your hand - your hand heavy with his rings - stroking him. His hips jerk almost of their own volition; his brain has most certainly gone static. “Jesus, fuck,” he murmurs.

You catch on a moment later and giggle against his shoulder. “That got you going, huh? Me wearing your rings…”

“You get me going. That’s just extra hot.” His voice catches when you squeeze him again, and he calls you a devil woman one more time. You’re getting used to it, kinda like it.

The foil packet crinkles under Eddie’s knee. You push his chest gently, sending him to sit up against the headboard so you can make his lap your throne again. Without hesitation, you tear the foil and roll the latex down over the diamond-hard length that’s weeping for you to sit on it. He steadies your hips as you hold the base of him, sinking down through the stretch and pinch eased only by how soaked you still are.

It’s intense, the burn and the closeness. Eddie’s forehead against yours as you watch him watching you take him inside. The lingering tendrils of the weed you smoked together make it all so deliciously fuzzy and warm. Neither of you makes a move, settling into the tight heat and fullness of Eddie inside you.

His fingers stroke your hips while yours twirl the ends of his hair, touch his silver chain and brush up his neck so that you can cup his jaw and kiss him again. You hold on to each other tighter as you begin to raise and roll your hips, savouring the stretch until your body tells you to move faster, harder.

“Look how pretty you are,” Eddie murmurs, taking in the bounce of your breasts and the way your jaw hangs open as you move in his lap. “Yeah, that’s my girl. Are you my girl, baby?”

You whimper, holding him tighter and closer as you nod. “I’m yours, Eddie. All yours.” Your voice wobbles but not because you’re unsure, you’re just feeling so good, so full.

Eddie groans deep in his throat, squeezing your hips and ass tighter as he helps you to bounce. You pause, focusing on rolling rather than rising to ease the burn in your wobbly thighs; it makes you whimper against his neck. It’s so much but not enough; so good, it’s frustrating.

“Shhh, I got you. You’re just feelin’ too good, huh?” he murmurs, nodding with you when you give a small ‘uh huh’. “Yeah, good girl.”

Your brows crease as you keep rutting your hips. “You feel so big. Fuck, Ed…”

“You gonna let me do the hard work, hmm? You just lay back and look pretty for me, princess.” His voice is like hot honey, making you drip in his lap. He feels you pulsing, making his hold on your hip tight enough to leave a bruise as he gathers his composure. He’s wanted this so bad for so long, refuses to let himself (and you) down by busting early like a teenager.

You nod, blissed out as he runs his hands over your warm body. Eddie is careful, so gentle, as he helps you to move up and off of him. He guides you to lay back, comfy on the pillows that smell just like him. You can’t resist nuzzling into them as he makes his way back between your legs.

“Comfy?” he asks, palming your thigh as you hook your legs over his hips. He watches your eyes, sees that you are a little more with it now, with him. He can’t wait to see you dreamy-eyed and blissed out beneath him.

You nod and squeeze his hips. “Very comfy.” He sees how your lips pout, asking for a kiss without words.

As if he could say no, refuse you the very thing he himself is craving.

Eddie leans forward, arms braced on either side of your head and presses his lips to your cheeks, nose and forehead. He laughs quietly when you scowl all mean before you soften at the brushed blessing of his lips against yours.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times before rubbing the tip against your cunt. He imagines how this would feel without the condom, feels the hot winding pull in his abdomen at the thought before your voice brings him back. He smiles and nudges his nose against yours, mirroring the rub down below.

“Please,” you whisper, lips catching Eddie’s. “Fuck me.”

The eye contact is almost too much, a burning intensity, but you feel hypnotised to keep your eyes on him as he pushes inside.

You squeeze your lips together, feeling that stretch again, and watch how Eddie’s brows pinch.

“You feel unreal, baby.”

He rolls his hips and pushes the rest of the way in. Lashes flutter and your jaw drops open. He feels so deep, it’s like he’s all the way in your chest.

After a moment he begins to thrust slowly, dragging himself halfway out before pushing all the way in again and again and again. Eddie drinks in the little whines and moans that spill from your lips.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. When his hips rock again you feel him press against that spot that makes you see stars and there is no way you can keep quiet.

“There we go, is that it?” Eddie asks, repeating the motion. Your back arches and he hikes your leg higher, almost folding you in half as his thrusts get harder, faster.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure. Through the sting, you see Eddie’s clenched jaw, the meaty cord in his neck straining and the rosy glow on his cheeks.

“Eddie, m’so close,” you whimper, almost tearful as you squeeze his forearm.

“I know, sweetheart. I can feel it. Fuck.” He huffs through his nose when you flutter around him and he leans over you more, spreading you wider still as he begins to pound his hips into you. He is barely holding on, feeling hot all over as he fucks you, wishes it could last longer but you’re both so tightly wound.

There’s a perfect press and drag against your clit that winds that cord of pleasure inside you tighter and tighter. Your mouths press together; barely a kiss, more a shared moan. One particularly hard thrust brings you to your climax with a broken moan against Eddie’s chin. Your nails press into his rear and pull him in to rut against that spot, fucking you through the most intense orgasm of your life as he meets his own peak with a husky throaty groan.

You feel like you're floating, fallen over the edge in each other's arms.

The weight of Eddie on you brings you slowly back to earth, breath huffing against your neck as you stroke up his back and up into his curls. You take a deep breath in; when you exhale it's shaky and wobbly almost like a quiet sob.

Eddie summons the strength to press up and look at you, seeing your dazed smile and warm wet cheeks. “Hey,” he wipes the tears gently, “Oh shit. Did I hurt you?” he asks, panic spiking the glowy daze.

You shake your head, almost giggling when you speak. “No, no. Fuckin’... amazing.” You pull Eddie back down and wrap yourself around him, holding each other as you come back to earth. A few more tears escape and Eddie wipes them away with such reverence. You stay quiet until you can string a sentence together. “That was incredible.”

He smiles, cupping your face, and kisses you before carefully rolling you onto your sides to face each other to run your fingers over each other's warm bodies and share more kisses. Once he is sure you’re actually okay, he excuses himself to throw the condom away and returns with water and a damp flannel. He spends a moment cleaning you up as you gulp the water down, then finishes the rest and fills it again before closing his bedroom door.

“You want a t-shirt?” he asks, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before throwing his hair into a low bun.

Despite the blanket, you feel a little shivery and accept the offer.

He helps you into a well-loved Dio t-shirt before pulling the duvet over you both. Your legs are tangled together as you lie together, as close as you can. Outside, past the closed curtains, the sun is already starting to peek on the horizon.

You hum tiredly against Eddie’s shoulder when you remember the weighty silver on your hand and tap his hip gently. “Hey, Romeo. Your rings.” Your hand comes up in front of his face, wiggling your fingers.

Eddie smiles, a lazy curl of his lips, and kisses the tips of your fingers before taking them off for you. He reaches back to drop them on his bedside table.

You want to stay awake, stay in the bubble of bliss, but the pull of exhaustion is too strong.

“Sleepy?” Eddie brushes a kiss on your forehead and flicks the lamp off when you nod.

“Eddie? Tonight was amazing,” you whisper against his chest.

He smiles in the dark, squeezes your hip. “Yeah, it was. I’ll make tomorrow amazing too if you’ll let me, but you gotta sleep first. Bet you’re really grumpy when you’re tired.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, hiding your face in the pillow. In the dark, you can just see the outlines of each other, shapes and shadows. “Lemme sleep and you can take me for breakfast. Like a date or somethin’.”

He hides his grin poorly, you can see his teeth flash even with your eyes almost closed. “Nah, breakfast is part of the package. Lemme plan something for our date.” He gives you one last kiss, “Sleep now, sugar.”

You feel warm, so happy and safe in his arms as you fall asleep. If Eddie asked, you would never leave his arms, leave his bed. And Eddie? Eddie lingers on the precipice of sleep, ready to drift once he knows you’re sleeping soundly. He kisses your forehead one last time before closing his eyes, both holding each other in an utterly blissful sleep.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

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saiyanprincessswanie · 7 months ago

Text

Weekend Loving

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader

Word Count: 1500

Summary: The perfect way to combat a cold rainy weekend in autumn is by cuddling and keeping warm together.

Warnings: Fluff, Cuddles, Oral (Fem), Smut, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Cursing, Andy’s beard is a warning, Quote: “If you only knew the things I want to do to you" & Prompts - cuddling in front of a fire & cuddling on the couch during a cold rainy day.

A/N 1: thank you to @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @pigwidgeonxo for beta reading this. Also thank you to @firefly-graphics for the divider.

A/N 2: This is for @sweater-daddiesdumbdork & @yenzys-lucky-charm autumn writing challenge.

Reblogs & Comments are welcomed and encouraged. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

It was a cold rainy day in autumn and you were thankful it was the weekend. Both you and Andy had today off which meant one thing cuddling on the couch with a fire going. The fireplace in the living room was currently warming the room thanks to Andy’s quick thinking of trying to get you warm fast. You watched the rain pour down against the colorful shades of leaves on the trees. Autumn has to be your favorite time of the year.

You wore leggings, fluffy warm socks, and a long-sleeved shirt. Andy came down the stairs dressed in his gray sweatpants and henley. He was built with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His eyes were cerulean blue and his amazing beard made you clench your thighs together.

You were on the couch with a large blanket covering you. It was big enough to cover the both of you while cuddling. Of course, if you had it your way you would wrap yourself like a burrito in the blanket and not share with Andy.

Andy loved weekends like this where you could spend quality time with one another and relax after a long week at work. Whether cuddling under the blankets or spending time between your legs Andy always considered himself a lucky man.

After a few minutes, Andy came shuffling into the living room ready to get warmed up. He kissed your forehead and made his way under the blanket. As he gets settled, you whine as he stretches out behind you. Bringing your body against his chest.

“Mmmm… you're so warm, babe.” You try to cuddle closer, your butt rubbing against his crotch causing him to groan into your neck.

“Keep doing that and you’ll be in trouble, Mrs. Barber.” He seductively whispers against your neck, stealing a light kiss while his beard scrapes against your skin.

“Trouble is my middle name, Mr. Barber.” You rub up against him again but this time you can feel his erection. He lets out another groan as he adjusts his sweatpants. You turn to face him as your hands roam down his chest to his sweatpants.

“If you only knew the things I want to do to you, sweetheart right here on the couch.”

“Enlighten me.” You whisper against his lips before you give him a quick kiss.

He grabs your hips and does a dirty grind against you. Pushing you onto your back he climbs on top of you keeling between your spread legs. He pushed the blanket briefly off the both of you and pulled your leggings and underwear off. You squealed by the roughness of his hands on you but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. Andy then pulls you into a sitting position and peels your long-sleeved shirt off. You shiver from how cold you feel but instantly warm as he sucks a nipple into his mouth. Every nibble and soft bite has you gasping in pleasure. Andy pulls away with a pop and uses his fingers to roll your nipples. You start to let out little gasps and he stops abruptly making you whine.

Andy stands and pulls the henley off revealing his body you swore was sculpted by the gods themselves. Seconds later he pushed his sweatpants and boxer briefs down his legs revealing his hard, thick cock. He smiles down at you as you stare at him, taking in his nakedness. Grabbing the blanket he covers you both up as he kisses his way down toward your wet pussy. Reaching his destination he kisses your inner thighs and rubs his beard against your core. The roughness from his beard has you whimpering until you feel his tongue lick a stripe through your folds.

“Fuck, Andy!” You moan out as you feel another pass of his tongue. Your hands grip the blanket tightly as he makes another pass through your folds.

Andy buries his face in your pussy, licking and gently suckling your clit. Your breathing hitches every time he plays with your clit. The more he takes you apart the louder your moans get. You feel Andy’s fingers run through your petals getting arousal all over them. He pulls back his face for a minute and slips his fingers inside of you. His mouth is now focused on your clit as he swirls his tongue around it and gently plays with it. You can feel yourself getting closer to your release the faster his fingers work you. Making a come hither motion sets you off as you cum screaming his name from the pleasure he just brought you. As your body twitches from the aftershocks of your orgasm, Andy climbs back up to your face and kisses you. You can taste your release on his lips and tongue.

Your tongues dance together in a sensual kiss, both fighting for dominance but it is Andy that is taking over. His kiss is passionate and he groans against your lips while he grinds his hard cock against your wet pussy. You wrap your legs around his hips and roll your hips against him. God did he feel amazing against you. Before you can do anything else Andy sits back on his legs as he forcefully turns you over onto your stomach. Lifting your hips for him Andy runs his hand over your butt and smacks it causing you to mewl. Grabbing his cock he strokes himself a few times before he sinks into your cunt. The thickness of his cock stretches you in all the right ways as he slowly starts to thrust into you.

“Oh…my… feels so good baby.” Your hands are holding onto the cushion below you as Andy slowly takes you apart.

Andy picks his pace up and starts to piston his hips into you over and over again. Skin slapping against skin fills the room while the fireplace continues to keep you both warm. He continues to thrust into you harder and faster as you moan his name to the heavens above. Now and then he slaps your ass causing you to push back into him hard. Andy can’t help but groan as he feels your walls flutter against his cock. He loves the way you feel around him and taking you like this sends a primal groan through him.

“Fuck…baby…fuck…. Take my big cock.” He groans out as you squeal with every piston of his hips.

Your hand moves to your clit and starts to rub it to the pace of Andy snapping his hips. His thick cock plunged into you so hard you swore you could see stars. You’re a mess, a moaning fucking mess for him. You feel like you’re going to cum any minute now.

Harder and faster Andy snaps his hips against you. Just as he feels you start to flutter against him again he pulls out of you and then rolls you to your back again. Before you can say anything he grabs your legs, throwing them over his shoulders and sinking back into you.

“Andy. I’m so close…” You rake your nails down his chest causing him to groan out. His hips are starting to falter at the pace he is keeping up. Your walls start to flutter and tense around him again as you chase your high.

With a swipe of his right thumb against your clit you are moaning his name again as you finally fall off the edge into eternal bliss. Andy feels your walls grip him tightly as he now chases his high. A few hard thrusts and he is cumming deep inside you. He groans your name a few times before he finally is spent. He gently moves your legs back to the couch and all but collapses on you. His forearms are keeping him from crushing you under his weight. You smile up at him with a blissed-out grin and he leans down to kiss your lips.

“I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“I love you too Andy. With all my heart.”

Andy gently pulls out of you and goes to the bathroom to clean himself off. Once done he brings back a wet washcloth and cleans you as well. He throws the washcloth into the washer and comes back over to the couch. Grabbing the blanket he lays beside you on the couch and holds you close to him again. With the fire still roaring to life you sigh as you are now warm from both the fireplace and Andy taking you apart.

“Let’s stay like this forever,” you whisper to him as you begin to yawn.

“Forever my love, forever you and I,” he whispers back.

Andy kisses your head and snuggles closer to you. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have these moments with you. Thanking the lucky stars above he cuddles you close as the rain continues to pitter-patter on the windows. It may be cold outside but it is warm inside their home.

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#saiyanprincessswanie #missy writes #weekend loving #andy barber #andy barber x female reader #andy barber x fem!reader #andy barber x f!reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber x fanfiction

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mj2606k · 1 year ago

Text

Cockwarming

Kinkmas Day 1

Pairing: So’lek x fem!Sarentu!reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI 🔞, P in V, raw sex, semi!dirty talk, praise, cockwarming, (technically) breeding

A/N: I decided at literally last minute that I wanted to join in on Kinkmas, so this might seem a bit rushed. Hope y’all still enjoy it though! :)

Summary: So’lek took the Sarentu he had grow closest to on an overnight trip to observe a nearby RDA site, but they get stuck in a cave during a heavy storm. They build a small fire but they’re both still freezing, so they come up with another way to keep each other warm.

So’lek grunts in annoyance as he climbs further up the steep hill, rain pelting him in the face and nearly making him lose his hold on the outcropping rock he had been holding onto. He regains his hold quickly before glancing behind himself at the other Na'vi with him — one of the female Sarentu. She was the one that escaped alone when he was helping Alma rescue her and the other remaining members of her clan from TAP.

She’s right behind him as they climb the rock, and only a few minutes later So’lek reaches the top of the hill and the foot of the cave, reaching down to grab the Sarentu’s hand before lifting her up into the cave beside him. They both just rest there for a moment, catching their breaths as they watch the middle of the storm finally reach them, the rain pouring down outside the cave nearly enough to form a small waterfall.

After a few moments the girl Na’vi stands and heads deeper into the cave, finding a few dry branches and setting them up to make a fire. So’lek does his best to scout the area around their cave without getting himself drenched by the rain, then he makes his way over to her just as she lights the fire.

She adds a few more sticks and small branches to the fire before carefully stripping off most of her coverings, leaving herself only in her tewng, chest covering, and her chest plate. So’lek watches her silently, his eyes trailing over her body here and there, pausing over the small bruises on her hips and the occasional bite spread out over her inner thighs from one of their most recent endeavors.

Hours later the pair are huddled together as far back in the cave as they can get, the Sarentu visibly shivering even as So’lek adds more wood to the small fire. He’s more discreet about his lack of warmth, but he’s quick to huddle back up behind her once he’s finished adding the remainder of the wood to the fire. So’lek takes a moment to consider his options before leaning in and wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his forehead against the back of her neck as he gently pulls her closer in an attempt to share their body heat with one another. The Sarentu smiles as he leans in close, resting one of her hands over his even as she continues to shiver, her teeth chattering quietly.

Both of them try desperately to sleep but even as So’lek begins warming slightly, the girl’s chattering teeth and insistent backing up to get closer to him does nothing but keep him awake. This goes on for another ten minutes before So’lek thinks of something new to try and begins softly pressing kisses to the back of her neck, his tail curling gently around her’s when she gasps softly.

Only minutes later the Sarentu had given him verbal consent and now So'lek had pulled her tewng to the side, lazily thrusting two of his own fingers inside her, groaning softly at the quiet moans she let out as he stretched her gently. As if she wasn't already practically putty beneath his hands, he was also finding amusement in whispering little comments, whether he meant for her to hear them or not she wasn't sure. "Nìtxan 'ekxin...tswìk oe nemfa nìtxan nìltsan. (So tight...sucking me in so well.)" So'lek murmured right beside her ear, chuckling softly as her cunt fluttered around his digits.

The Sarentu whimpered needily, bucking her hips against his hand before grinding her hips back against him through his tewng, “Please, So’lek.. Oe nìtxan mek, kin nga mìfa. (I’m so empty, need you inside.)” So’lek coos softly, nuzzling his cheek against her shoulder as he gently pulls his fingers from her before moving his own tewng to the side. He used her juices on his fingers as lube as he stroked his cock once, twice, before lining it up to her entrance and slowly pushing into her.

It seemed that they both held their breaths until he was fully bottomed out inside her, a soft whimper falling from her lips as So’lek muffled a groan against her shoulder. He allowed her a few moments to adjust before he began slowly pulling out until only the tip remained, then slowly but deeply thrusting back in, repeating his movements until little moans were spilling from her on each thrust in.

As he steadily rocked against her, soft groans and quiet curses continuously slipped out of So’lek’s mouth, little murmurs of “O-oh, fuck-” or comments muffled against her shoulder that make her stomach flutter and her cunt clench around So’lek’s cock. “Tsä’ pxaw oe.. nafì’u sìltsan ‘evenge. (Gushing around me..such a good girl.)” the words were whispered right against her ear and her inner walls gave another flutter around him, a choked moan falling from her lips as his tip grazed her g-spot, “Nga kop txukx… (You're too deep…)” So’lek groaned again before pressing a soft kiss against her shoulder in response to her words and her tone.

She could tell when So’lek was close to his release by how his cock twitched inside her, how he wet a few fingers on his free hand before reaching around and beginning to rub quick steady circles against her clit to mask the way his thrusts were starting to get sloppy and uncoordinated. “Lu nga tstu si? (Are you close?)” he asked her, his voice pitching up slightly at the end as he swallowed down a soft whimper at the way her walls were beginning to milk him, bringing him dangerously close to the edge that he was desperate to push her over before him.

The Sarentu was about to answer him when she suddenly felt his tip brush against her cervix. A loud gasp left her mouth before her inner walls spasmed around him, properly milking him as her arousal squirted out and partially soaking both their thighs. So’lek let out a quiet broken moan, thrusting hard into her a few more times before pushing as deep in as he could go and stilling, panting quietly as Sarentu shivered slightly from the feeling of his cum painting her walls white.

A few more minutes passed as they both just relaxed, panting quietly until So’lek gently adjusted their position, returning to properly spooning her while letting her warm his cock, both of them purring softly while he pressed light kisses up her jaw, his hips lazily grinding against her. “Lu nga sang set? (Are you warm yet?)” So’lek broke the silence after a while and the Sarentu couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that left her until they were both laughing quietly, the loud but calming sound of the rain outside the cave eventually sending them both to sleep.

#mj2606k #mj2606kwrites #avatar #avatar writer #na’vi avatar #avatar12daysofkinkmas #avatar12daysofkinkmas2023 #avatar kinkmas #so’lek frontiers of pandora #so’lek smut #so’lek #avatar frontiers of pandora

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ki-yomii · 1 year ago

Text

beg | myg

➥ pairing | min yoongi x f!reader

➥ word count | 1.2k

➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, mild degradation, mild praise kink, established relationship, rough oral (m receiving), throatfucking, teasing, pet names, throat bulge, studio sex, wet & messy, reader wears a necklace with yoongi's initial

➥ summary | requested from this - "Oh no, not until you beg." & "Relax your throat." With Min Yoongi :3

➥ notes | for anon~ hope you enjoy 🧡 un-edited, I’ll come back to fix things when it’s not 2 AM lol

masterlist | ask box | AO3

The low hum of the A/C unit overhead and the whir of the computer fan kicking on is almost enough to drown out the wet gags and gargled breathing but only just.

Not that it really matters - the hours had long since crept past midnight, and Yoongi was meticulous when it came to the design of his studio.

Key pad, double doored, soundproofed to hell and back; the whole shebang.

Millions of won poured into the construction of the four walls that made up his altar, his church. Furthermore, not only did others give a wide berth when he's on-site at HYBE, but even fewer have the special privilege of being granted access to his private sanctum.

You're one of the lucky ones.

Mind, it took several (long) months of veiled suggestions and cajoling to get you to where you are now, but it was worth it in the end.

Watching a man so thoroughly married to his work set aside his convictions to give attention to your relationship doesn't sit right with you. Plus, it wasn’t sustainable in the long run - even though you appreciate the effort.

No, this arrangement is much better - the best of both worlds.

Not only do you get to spend time with him, he gets to share what he loves. A win-win for everyone involved, but especially for you when Yoongi is horny and agitated.

“Mm, come on, baby,” Yoongi husks, wicking away the mascara clinging to the swell of your cheek with a rough thumb, “I know you can take me all the way. Now, stop playing, and relax your throat.”

Burning eyes fluttering open, you take in the blurry upside-down view that greets you through clumpy lashes; a sea of dark wood, the pale stretch of his legs, the pool of black basketball shorts puddled around his ankles.

Propped up as you are, head dangling over the thin leather armrest of the couch, you can't get a good angle without giving yourself a crick. Little spasms are already shooting through your neck, and down in between your shoulders because of the lack of proper support.

Something you'll definitely be paying for later.

But you're not about to stop Yoongi.

Not when he has you laid out on your back with his cock in your mouth, both of you working towards stuffing it down your throat. Even if your lips are fucked raw and swollen, your chin slick with spit and pre-cum.

Your tongue stretches out to flick over the fat head of his cock when he slides free with a sticky pop. “Fuck yeah, just like that.”

You hum low in the back of your throat, threads of arousal shivering down your spine as your belly swoops at the low rumble of his voice, the delicate trace of his fingers along the sides of your neck.

He grunts when you dig the tip of your tongue into his weeping slit, lapping and swirling around the spongy crown.

“Heh, you’re such a filthy bitch for me, aren’t you,” Yoongi says, his voice breathless and cracking around the edges. “Now, are you ready to be a good girl and swallow my dick?”

Inhaling deep, you let your breath shudder from you on a shaky moan that teases the insides of his thighs, the base of his cock, “Yes, please. Want it, Yoongs.”

Yoongi hums, satisfied.

“Watch those teeth,” is the only warning you get.

Then he's cradling your jaw with his thumbs and nudging his hips forward to grind against your lips. Eyes sliding shut, you drop your mouth open into a relaxed circle for Yoongi to fuck into.

The initial slide is smooth, aided by the strings of spit and pre-cum clinging to the lower half of your face. Though trouble begins the deeper Yoongi presses towards the back of your throat.

Your muscles tense as your mouth spreads wider and wider to accommodate his girth. An ache settles deep in your temples, little shocks of discomfort shooting down through the hinges of your jaw.

Tears leak past your clenched eyes, the renewed burn of mascara stinging your ducts as your sinuses clog. You whine - a raspy, muffled sound as your tongue wriggles along the underside of his shaft.

He hushes you, and anchors a hand on your shoulder as the other reaches down to twine with your fingers digging into his thigh. “Doing so good for me,” Yoongi said, “fucking perfect, baby.”

Your pussy clenches, your legs tensing against the leather. Sweat gathers behind your knees, your hips shivering with the need to twist, shift, and find a modicum of friction that’ll relieve the ache building behind your navel.

“Yeah, come on, that’s it. Just a little - shit - hah, that - oh fuck!”

His hips jerk forward as you hollow your cheeks to the best of your ability, hissing as teeth scrape along the sides of his shaft as he bullies his way deeper.

And then, with a pop richoetting down your spine, the head of his cock passes the back of your throat.

“Oh, baby,” Yoongi curses, his frame wracked with tremors.

His thighs shudder against your ears, his hips tense with anticipation as he holds himself still. Your throat rebels, rippling like a vice around his shaft, milking him for all he’s worth.

“Feel’s so - feels so good. You take me so well, knew you could. You always do.”

Gagging, your head goes light and floaty at the sudden lack of oxygen, tiny cavities peppering your vision.

Then you focus on breathing through your nose.

In - one, two, three. Out - one, two, three.

Over and over again until the mounting animal panic subsides, and you're left with tingling limbs and a throbbing cunt.

Yoongi groans, “Fuck, that’s so hot.”

Thumbs bracketing the sides of your neck stroke over the visible bulge of his shaft straining against the chain of your necklace, the delicate ‘Y’ charm branding your skin.

It'll leave a welt everyone can see. A little mark to stake his claim. To remember him by when you're separated.

The thought gets you hotter than you care to admit.

“Can see myself in your throat, baby.”

At the praise, liquid fire pulses through your veins, and warmth blooms in your belly. Settling between your hips until your clit twitches.

Slick soaks through the seat of your panties, and you feel all at once so full, and so, so empty.

The scent of his skin - clean and clear. The musk of his cologne - earthy and masculine. The salt of him heavy on your tongue, his cock throbbing in time with his thundering heartbeat as you swallow around him reflexively.

It's enough to send you reeling with the desperation, the desire to feel him cum down your throat, to taste his pleasure.

Half feral, you try bobbing your head, fingers hooking around Yoongi’s hips to drag him into the cradle of your face deeper, faster, harder.

Only to be met with resistance as he refuses to move, to give in to the frantic movements.

Standing stock still, he lets you tug and whine and writhe until your efforts fizzle to nothing.

And only then does he respond, bending over your body to slide a hand between your thighs.

You jerk, hiccup at the feeling of his fingers inching past the soaked hem of your panties. Brushing over the silken folds of your cunt, teasing, testing the slick arousal with his knuckles.

“Oh no, baby,” Yoongi says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest into yours, “You gotta beg me first.”

#min yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi #yoongi #bts yoongi #bts min yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi imagine #yoongi fic

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smuttyaf · 1 year ago

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The Camster Couple

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰.

wc: 5k

spanking, choking, degradation and rough sex.

It all started on the blue app with the lowercase ‘t’ in the middle. Posting seductive selfies to revealing videos, you built quite the following from these appearances.

Admirers began requesting specific posts to ache their thirst. First it was particular lingerie sets, then prolonged videos touching yourself, soon it escalated into you role playing for the naughty viewers. Reciting everything the strangers would describe on how they’d like to use and abuse you.

But even after fulfilling all those demands, still came the bombarding questions of wanting more.

The requests to become a cam girl started to pour in. The constant debate down your feed about which website you should join. Maybe Chaturbate or Cherry.tv? No… Those weren’t good enough, but you still had time to ponder the idea.

Doing live shows had its advantages and drawbacks. For one, you’re getting paid to touch yourself, your revealing photos and videos will finally have a price on them. But, that doesn’t overshadow the dispute that your face could possibly be shown for everyone to see. You were fearful that maybe co-workers, friends, or even family might find out. However, the conflicting contrast that made you excited was the option to receive gifts. Followers had the ability of viewing your wishlist on certain cam-sites. It gave them the option to go beyond just tipping the model, but appreciating her even more… honestly that feature alone made you like the idea of doing it. But, the one major obstacle that really hinders your decision is your boyfriend; the one who doesn’t know about your second life.

That’s why you find yourself here right now, lounging together in your bedroom with your teeth grinding in your ear. Your eyes flick towards him when running your finger on the notepad; clicking on the search bar, you immediately type in the link to your blog. The familiar desktop background appears making you scroll through a few post till you turn your laptop towards Harry.

“Look at this.” His attention turns towards you placing it on his thighs.

You gaze at him while his fingers press down on the arrow key to move the screen further. “What do you think?” You ask. Warmth spreading throughout your cheeks as you let your hand rest along your stomach fiddling nervously with your tank top.

“I think you want me in trouble,” Harry smirks. He goes to pass the laptop back however you halt his movements.

With nervous smile adorning your lips, his expression transitions into one of confusing eyes, questioning your behaviour.

“I think you need to look closer.” You insist, finger dragging down the notepad. He scoffs, sight trailing back to the pictures on the fuzzy screen.

Harry doesn’t even listen at first, letting himself look over your unopened tabs that range from PrettyLittleThing to Xvideos. The glimpse of porn sites didn’t faze him, what does are the tabs that read “Most profitable webcams sites?” and “Best webcam site survey.” Bushy brows lock together, his attention going back to the revealing pictures of… hold on, that looks like your lingerie set… and that beauty mark right there belongs too.

His head snaps, mouth opening slightly with chest beginning to rise with nerves. He wants to be upset, wants to shut the laptop and demand answers but the growing bulge in his pants directs him otherwise, because as much as he should be angry right now that his girlfriend of eight months was taking provocative pictures of herself to upload on the internet, he was aroused.

“Since when?” Harry mutters, swallowing hesitantly. His gaze going between you and the picture of your chest displayed on the screen.

The look on his face is giving you anxiety. Heart pounding in its cage. You’re back to biting down on your bottom lip, diverting your attention to the highlighted keys.

“It’s been two years…” You mumble, finding the bottom of your laptop more interesting in this moment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrug your shoulders. You didn’t have a reason, you never thought your pictures would blow up and gain so much traction And you never thought you would get bombarding comments about wanting to see more of yourself. You groan, taking your finger away from the machine and running them through your hair, dramatically slouching your body into the bed frame.

“If you want to break up with me I totally understand.” You say, words muffled from your face burying into your crewneck. That makes a hearty laugh leave the brunette, the feeling of his hands gliding up your thigh stirs your head to peek up.

“Baby relax,” He reassures. Blinking at him you nestle deeper into his touch, shifting your body into him as the redness in your face begins to subside.

“You’re not mad?” You question, fiddling with your bottom lip. The thundering in your ear quiets down as you don’t see the angry face of your boyfriend appear. He lets out another light laugh, shaking his head and looking at you in a way that makes you sigh with utter relief.

“I —I’m definitely surprised… and a little upset… I mean you’re my girlfriend and you’ve been posting these but…” He looks between you and the laptop, his lips squeezing into his cheeks before breaking out into a sneaky grin. “You’re so sexy baby, I really can’t be mad.” He reveals, finger pinching your thigh.

The answer causes you to lean forward, arms linking around his shoulders as you press heartfelt kisses across his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry! I know, I know, I should’ve told you but… I was too scared and I’ve been doing this before I met you and… I just didn’t know what you would say,” You rant between kisses, his lips curling into amusement. The warmth of his hands run over your spine comforting you.

“Baby. Relax.” Harry replies, the tone of his voice settling your excited nerves. You quiet down, placing one last kiss on his cheek before looking up at him with shy eyes. “I’m not mad, just wish you told me earlier.” You nod at him pleasantly with smile set on your features.

Your breath draws in slowly with the quiet hum of the laptop sounding in the space. And just like before when you were nervous telling him about your promiscuous account online, you’re back to the bubbling feeling having to tell him the new escapade on your schedule. Clearing your throat, you raise up, licking over your bottom lip and locking your gaze with his.

“I do have one more thing though…”

Harry shakes his head playfully, smirk tugging along his features as he rubs your covered flesh in his palms.

“You want to be a cam girl?” He interjects. Stomach quivers with eyes fluttering in shock, you question were exactly he even got that idea or was it obvious. “It’s in your tabs babe.” Harry continues. Your cheeks go back to burning in embarrassment as you nod your head.

“Yes I want to do that but also…” His brows rise, surprised there is more to the story. “I want to do it with you.”

His features soon resemble yours with burning skin and body shifting under your weight. To your amazement he leans in, lips pressing against yours in a teasing kiss. The racing in your heart relaxes. You really had the best boyfriend in the world.

With the fondness of his lips against yours you pull away, cheerful smile shining as you hum with happiness.

“So… yes?”

Plaid pink skirt with embroidered bralette reflects across the screen as comments fill the message board.

You giggle at the viewers appreciating your half naked appearance. Thanking the many who are tuning in for your first show.

The sound of the sink cutting off in your adjoined bathroom rings through the space, it only makes you smirk at the events about to happen.

“I did say I have a surprise for my opening night.” Black letters roll in questioning the news. “I thought I would do it with a special someone.”

Harry’s footsteps sound through the room when he moves his way towards the bed. His hands going to your calves hanging off the frame and playfully tugging you down. It causes a smile to spread on your lips as you kick him away.

“Let’s start shall we.”

You adjust the frame of your laptop so it can hide Harry’s face as he slips in behind you. His fingers gracefully falling on your hip as you adjust to make space for him on the bed.

“I think they’re jealous.” Harry says, head leaning in to look at the comments reacting to him.

You watch his expression change as his eyes rake over the messages; jaw clenching with lips pressed tight together. You can tell he wasn’t pleased with whatever people were saying.

“I have to agree I’m mad too,” He responds to someone. Your face twists in confusion. “She’s been a bad little girl, hasn’t she?” His hand on your hip massages your skin roughly as you register his words.

“Not only deceiving you all, but me as well. So naughty not telling her boyfriend about what she does online.”

Biting down on your bottom lip you turn towards the screen with glint of happiness in your eyes. You know what mood Harry is in.

“She deserves a punishment, doesn’t she?” The hand on your hip leisurely glides into your scalp and grips it in his palm. Your head jerks back while his gaze is still caught on the computer; not even paying attention to what he’s doing.

“I think they’re starting to like me now.” Harry smirks, his other hand going to your breast and gripping it roughly.

The devious tone in his voice makes you whimper, eyes peering up at the ceiling as you let him grope your skin. Fingers transition from kneading it in his palms to twisting your nipples through the thin material.

“Yes, she’s been a very bad girl.” His digits pull away to slap your breast making you cry out. The sound you elect causing him to pull your head back once again, his body shifting from behind to gaze over your expression.

“Such a liar.” He says, eyes peering down as you look at him with pleasure written all over your face.

“You like being a liar, don’t you.” His hand meeting your skin again to pierce another smack against your tits. “Speak!” He orders, adding another blow.

“Yes sir.” You mutter, looking into his forest eyes and biting down on your bottom lip as he places one final slap to your skin.

“Tell me what you are.” Harry says, jerking your head, it makes you flutter your lashes up at him.

You’re too caught up between his freshly washed hair falling over his forehead and chest displaying his tattoos, that you don’t recall him demanding you to answer him again. His biceps flex when he lands another blow against your skin to knock you out of your daze.

“I’m a bad girl.” You tremble. His lips turn into a devilish grin. Hands roaming over your reddening skin.

“Mhm…” Harry hums with eyes searching your overwhelming appearance. “Across my legs.”

He relaxes his hold on your hair, letting you rise up on the bed to comfortably lay across his thighs. Your backside perched itself in the air. The ends of your skirt revealing your bare heat as his hand that once laid marks across your skin rubs against the material of your clothing.

“They’re calling you a dumb slut,” His hands go under your skirt to feel over your ass roughly. “I think I agree.” He smacks the flesh making you chew down on your bottom lip.

“Do you think you’re a dumb slut?” Harry taunts with another mark against your ass.

The atmosphere is influenced with pure lust from each swift, assertive motion of his palm lying roughly into your skin. Harry’s not even waiting for you to answer, he’s just placing blow after blow amongst your cheeks in pure arousal. The sheets underneath his hold ruffles against your body with each thrust.

You bite down harder into your bottom lip, fingers curling into the duvet as your eyes roll in hunger at the furious slaps causing hues of red blossoming under your skin.

“Dumb slut doesn’t know how to answer,” Harry cracks another heavy smack against your ass. High pitch whimper breaks through your lips when you jump at the action.

“Baby,” You cry but that only beckons another sharp slap.

“What’s my name?”

“S —Sir. I’m sorry sir.” You apologize for the mistake as his thundering smacks blaze across your skin.

“Dumb little fuck toy,” One hand leaves your cheeks and trails back into your hair. He’s tugging the strands so you can turn towards the laptop completely.

Catching sight of yourself in the camera your face is blazed red, lips bitten with tears brimming your eyes from the pain and pleasure coursing through your veins. The viewers are seeing you at your most vulnerable. Being taunted with bruises and degrading words, just for you to apologize to the one haunting your skin with waves of pain.

“Say it, say “I’m a dumb little fuck toy”,” Harry gloats. You can see in the view of the laptop his smirk as it’s the only feature that reveals his face. The palm of his hand makes another moan slip out of your mouth as it welcomes itself against your flesh.

He loves watching you wither and moan. He loves seeing your skin flourish with hues of pink from his finger prints leaving their marks, knowing that they will be there for days. He loves that with each smack of his hand you were getting off to it. He loves that if he were to move his position even lower he’ll feel your wet pussy ready for anything he has in store.

“I’m a dumb little fuck toy sir.” You whine, voice muffled from your face press into the sheets.

“Mhm…” Harry hums again, another painful slap burning your skin. “My dumb little fuck toy.” Smoothing his hand over your scorching flesh.

His grip on your hair jerks your head back, painful cry leaving your mouth as the straining sensation in your scalp makes your arms bend to pick your body off his thighs. He draws your head back even further, your legs flexing to move your position to now face him. The hand leaving heavy slaps against your ass sends one roughly across your face.

His jaw is still tense with eyes dilated in dominance. Your legs are now completely aching for his touch to spread over your pussy, just craving attention.

“Don’t you love being my fuck toy?”

You moan at the words, blinking up at him and nodding your head. “Yes sir.” You whimper, sucking on your bottom lip as he looks over your disheveled appearance.

Harry taps your face gently, lips flattening together as the hold he has on your hair pressures your face to meet his. Your tongues immediately exchange fluid as they dance against each other in passionate harmony, the feeling of his muscle running against yours has you moaning into the kiss.

The rough exchange of spit oozes between lips as you push yourself deeper into his embrace. His fingers curling into your hair welcoming your adventurous tongue as it glides against the wet expanse of his.

“I love being your fuck toy,” You mumble, pulling away and leaving string of saliva linked between you. His eyes glisten at your confession. It makes Harry smirk at you, his tongue escaping his mouth to sever the translucent connection.

The hand in your hair is breaking the sight between you both. His grip shoves your head directly into his lap, your nose digging into his crotch as his other hand goes back to rubbing your bruised skin.

“I think it’s time to put you to work.” Harry declares, his hold making you roam your face along his erection. Your breath rushing over his clothed shaft as he buries you into his lap.

The notifications of tips rings through the space. Audience entertained that you’re being degraded for their enjoyment. The thought alone arouses you, it made you moan against his cock. Followers and onlookers getting off to Harry completely doing anything that he wants to your body. Accepting the demeaning words that fuels your greed for pleasure, and letting him place as many smacks against your skin.

“Take my cock out.” He instructs, his grip relaxing as he lets you rise up to reach into his boxers.

Your hands glide over his member gracefully, fingers roaming over the thick expanse as your eyes look at him with pure adoration. Angry veins ranging in size roam under the stretched skin of him that has your mind completely hypnotized.

“Look at you,” Harry exaggerates with amusement. He gently slaps your cheeks in light taps, those motions making you smile with moan slipping out.

“Enjoying yourself like the slut you are,” He comments. His grip forcing the space between you and his dick to bring attention to pleasing him.

With fingers still lace in your hair, they effortlessly follow your movements when your head leans forward to pepper wet kisses along his shaft. Plump bitten lips smearing saliva messily over his erection, as they roam all along his length, tongue stretching around the girth.

Your hand goes to cup his balls, letting your mouth pick up motion with each descend down him. Tongue feeling over every inch, swallowing him down coating the expense of him in thick fluid from every stroke.

Your eyes flutter from the familiar feeling of him dragging down your throat. The way he fits so nicely like he was made to be there, it only makes you moan around him in pleasure. You love the way he stretches your throat blissfully, moving gracefully with the added slick. The sensation of him expending the flesh around him has your pussy throbbing for any form of treatment.

The quiver between your legs only increases when the grip Harry has in your hair is roughly forcing you back down his cock. Hips drawing slowly out of your mouth to push back in as he begins to fuck your throat. His nails curl into your scalp when he shoves your head all the way down to the point your nose is brushing against his groin, just letting you take his swift thrusts. His deep voice dripping in honey when satisfying groans pass through his lips.

“Take my dick like the good slut you are.”

Wet, obscure noise sounding throughout the atmosphere as he assaults your throat. His rough hands collecting your hair swiftly as he continues to drag your head up and down his cock. The aggressive lunges he makes with his own hips to meet your mouth causes your chest to burn for air.

Your palms tear away from his balls and run across his upper thighs, eyes barely open from the lack of oxygen running through your system. Your mind goes completely numb to the control he has over your movements.

And just as your nose brushes against his skin once more, he relaxes his grip in your locks, letting his fingers gently bring your head up. Heavy ragged breaths draw from your lips as your lungs ache in pain.

It’s only when you feel one of Harry’s hand leave from your hair to run across your face, that you feel wetness roam amongst your cheeks.

His other hand glides down your backside. Feeling over the bruised skin and slipping it between your legs to run his fingers down your folds. A hesitant breath escapes you with eyes blinking slowly at his dick glistening in your fluid.

“Always so wet for me, huh?” Index finger craving your clit around in circles.

You hum while nodding your head; your mind is in another dimension right now, you’re not even sure if you’re able to form coherent words. Your brain is in a cloudy daze, dancing between the raging sensations flowing through you.

It’s a mix between thrill and greed. You want more of Harry shoving himself down your throat till the point you pass out, you want him to push your face deeper down his cock and have your nails curling into his skin from the lack of oxygen. You want him to ruin you.

“So wet and ready to be used.” Harry states. Another finger occupying his movements, only causing your head to lean forward, broken whimper trailing out of your lips at the added pleasure you’ve been craving. “Be a good little slut for me. Won’t you baby.”

You nod your head, lashes fluttering against the hollows of your eyes while you lean forward and press lazy kisses along his dick. Harry motions continue to rub your clit around his two fingers, spreading your nectar along your folds with swiftness that you can’t help the moan that breaks through your lips.

“Say you’re gonna be a good slut for me.” His fingers continuing their fierce movements.

“I —I’m,” Voice coming out broken and damaged. Harry smirks at that. “I’m gonna be a good slut for you sir.” You manage to say, lips still roaming amongst his length.

“That’s my girl.”

His fingers leave your clit to dip between your folds and spread you open. Lengthy digits thrusting into your pussy slow. He feels the way your velvet walls sink around him, the sweet fluid that you’ve been producing since he’s been lying his hands on you, gliding down every inch of his skin as lets his fingers explore you.

You moan at the feeling of Harry slipping into your pussy provoking more filthy whimpers of pleasure, while your mouth drags down the expense of him.

You’re so turned on from the sensations coursing through you, you don’t even hear the constant pings of tips and comments coming through the chatroom. Viewers appreciate your tousled appearance and beg for more entertainment. They want more exposure of your skin being shown. They want more deafening slaps and disgraceful words, they want to see you wrecked.

Your lips wrap around Harry in a frenzy state, sucking him down your throat just the way you know he likes; tongue lying on the underside and feeling over every prominent blood vessel that blooms along his shaft, throat welcoming the thickness that buries itself deep in your throat till your nose is brushing up against his groin just like before.

As you continue to let pleasure course through you and roam down the span of him, Harry continues playing with your pussy. Lunging his fingers hungrily with your slick cascading down his fingers all the way to his knuckles, fucking his digits into your soiled box that you choke around him, only straining the burn in your throat.

“That’s my good slut.” Harry groans, his fingers curling into your heat as your eyes flutter. “Taking good care of my dick.” He continues to boast.

You hum from the gratitude, relishing in the compliment that’s given, you nod around him in acknowledgment with fingers curving gently into his skin while he continues his tantalizing motions.

“Wanna be an even better slut for me?” He questions. Your mouth drapes up the expense of him, saliva dripping from your lips as you turn to look up at him with swollen eyes and burning cheeks.

“Yes sir.” Nodding while blinking up at him. You’re sure the mascara that coated your lashes is all over your cheeks and streaked along the hollow of your eyes. You’re sure that Harry loves the damage he’s done to you.

“Gonna take my dick like the good girl you are? Huh? Don’t you want to be a good girl?” You moan at the words while nodding your head again at him. Whatever he wanted to do, you allowed. In the mind space your in, he could do no wrong.

“Yes sir.”

You let him push you off his lap and find his place behind you, handling you roughly as his hands leave your hair to position you better in the frame of your laptop. His fingers undo your bralette before pushing your back deeper into the duvet. His hands gliding down the smooth expense before tugging your skirt higher on your hips.

“Such a pretty pussy.” You hear behind you. Cock dragging down your aching heat.

“Please sir, I wanna feel you.” You moan, voice strained and raspy. Harry laughs behind you. Deep chuckle as if he’s amused by your comment. “Please sir, haven’t I’ve been good?” You beg, ass pressing deeper into his cock, that it only allows a smack to go across your cheeks.

“I don’t know, have you?” Pressing his cock between your folds to slide in effortlessly. Your walls expand around him, damaged voice moaning out swears from him filling you up completely as his hips meet your backside.

“Why did you lie to me?” Harry taunts, drawing back till his head is breached between your hole until he thrusts back in aggressively.

“Why did you lie to them?” He continues, his hand leaving your covered hips and bringing your wrist to hold behind your back.

You can only moan at the drastic strikes of his cock in you. He’s barreling down your walls aggressively that you’ve grown completely numb to the pleasure, just letting him manhandle you to the point you’re not even control of your emotions, he’s the one controlling them.

“Answer me!” He demands, his chest leaning in to grab your hair in his hands and twist your head to look directly into the camera.

“Tell them, tell me, why’d you lie.” Your eyes float over the colourful screen with black words darting up and down. There’s tears brimming your eyes at his thickness abusing your hole so roughly.

“I don’t know sir.” You whine, your free hand not in Harry’s grasp is curling into the duvet as he pounds away at your cervix.

“You don’t know?” He questions, continuing to bruise your pussy restlessly. You shake your head in his hold while whimpering at the pleasure. “You want me to give you the answer, will that make it easy for you? Hm?” He’s diving down your walls with such violation your mind is in a different place.

“Yes sir, tell me.” You moan into the sheets, the soft light from the laptop is blurry under your gaze.

“Because you’re a dirty slut. Say it, say “I lied because I’m a dirty slut.”” Nodding your head into the sheets you feel lonesome tears begin to run down your face as you let him degrade you for everyone and him to enjoy.

“I lied because I’m a dirty slut.” Crying into the sheets as he continues to stroke your walls dangerously.

“That’s right.” Harry husks, the grip he has in your hair releasing as it runs across your face wiping your tears. “But you’re my dirty slut. My dirty fuck toy.”

Shallow breaths draw in from your clit throbbing in arousal, your pussy continues to accept his thrusts that glide with ease from your nectar, walls enveloping him comfortably as he strides in with rough urgency.

He looks over your features; mascara smeared all over your cheeks, eyes trained dazzlingly at the screen beside you, chest heaving with ease as your backside sounds in the room with the fluid between your legs joining. He loves that he can push you to your limits and you still find pleasure in his devious ways. He loves that you accept his intensity with your own greed for wanting more.

“My pretty fuck toy. Only I can make you feel like this.” His hand coming between your thighs to toy with your clit. Heavy breath releasing from your chest as you dip your head in acknowledgment.

“Making you this needy over my cock. I know you love it.” You whine at the comment, knuckles going white against the bedsheets.

“Yes, fuck, sir, I love it.” Whimpering with gaze completely blurring with tears accepting his intense thrusts.

“My pretty slut.” Harry’s fingers rub your bundle of nerves in rough circles as he continues to drive your nerves up the wall.

The ringing from the laptop doesn’t overshadow the ones in your ears. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with it digging into the sheets. Your thighs quiver against his barreling ones, warm waves of euphoria coat your body in pure ecstasy from your climax overthrowing you.

Harry is grunting behind you, his movements never slowing just continuing their hungry paste. His hand that was wiping away your tears goes to land smacks against your backside to add to your electrifying orgasm coursing through you.

“Want me to make you even prettier? Want me to make you beautiful?” He insinuates, palm leaving another mark against your skin as he fucks you into the mattress.

The addicting sensation clouds over you from being completely disoriented at the assault between your legs. Brain in fuzzy whirlwinds of pleasure at the aftermath of your climax.

“Yes sir.” Whining with every jolt of your body.

“Gonna make you the prettiest toy.”

His hips lunge into you once more, thickness dragging down your walls enticingly before they pull out, his creamy seed runs down your folds in long spurts as he tugs himself off in front of your pussy.

Disappointing cry trails out of your mouth at the disappearance of his cock leaving your heat, but you can feel his cum running down your lips, and you can feel his hands roaming amongst your ass cheeks again.

“Look at you,” Harry smiles breathlessly, his grip over you making your backside face the laptop and display your ruined hole to the viewers.

“Look at how pretty you are.” His hands spreading your cheeks to showcase your pussy dripping in his cum.

There wasn’t much you could even do in the moment, continuing to let him present you as his fuck toy to your followers. The action had you actually smiling smugly into the sheets.

“My pretty girl.” Harry is leaving his place to lean over and press kisses along the side of your face.

And that is how your night ends, with the notifications blaring in the background with tips of your viewers thanking you for your first show.

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ihavethedreamies · 8 months ago

Text

Stupid | Wooyoung [NSFW]

Jung Wooyoung - ATEEZ)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~10.2k

Pairing: Wooyoung x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Actual Plot, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Comfort

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: Hm, just thought I would do this since I made something similar for San.

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

The only sound you can hear is your own aggressive keypresses. You’d paused your music to go to the bathroom and hadn’t bothered hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blur and refocus, and you blink, trying to force your eyes to not blur again. Sighing, you push back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you get back up. It’s really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts are racing; and the thoughts have nothing to do with your job. The last thing you need the day before a project is due is to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thump on the wood floor of your hallway as you go down it. Your sister’s door is propped open, so you quietly open the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls casts a faint flow over the room. She’s starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Hugging, you step out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen... Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exit the hallway and go into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment includes the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room is in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sits across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you know it’s just full of boxes of old things. Someday you’ll have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio as an office or something, but…

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shuts, and your eyes focus in the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture is of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covers the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yank the photography from the magnet clip and slap the picture on the counter. The pitcher follows and as you grab a glass, you pluck the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grab the photo. Holding it up, you realize it’ll make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood on to see better, but you continue in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halt. The line splits the man’s pants from the shoulder of the little girl’s white sundress; she’s no more than four… She’s sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It’s weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handled scissors clatter onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drink the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it’s gone like it’s some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanks into the sink, and you leave the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reenter, you yank the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and go back to your computer. Your chair lets out a puff of air when you plop down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flip your phone over, so the screen faces up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble shows itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you open your message app and sniff at the message in annoyance.

🦊WooWoo🦊: did you get it done?

He’d sent it nearly an hour prior. You glare at your computer screen, then to the second monitor, the program running over and over, glitching at the same time stamp each time.

☀️: not even close 🦊: why are you up young lady ☀️: why are you?

He doesn’t reply right away so you look back at your computer, clicking your tongue. Hitting save and closing the window, you instead open up a new email and send one to your coworker that it might not get there by tomorrow night but that you’ll try. It’s not a hard deadline anyway. You work for an Indie label, not some AAA, so that gives you some flexibility. Closing the window, you stare at your background for a good few minutes, waiting for Wooyoung to reply. The picture used to make you smile, but it hurts your heart. San’s cute dimple smile, and his arm around you makes you wince. Wooyoung’s on your other side, his cheek pressed into the side of your head as he hugs you. You’re leaning into San, trying to escape the other man’s embrace, at least that was your excuse… The picture is getting close to five years old.

🦊: games 🦊: why are you up ☀️: working. thinking 🦊: about? ☀️: how shit I feel 🦊: you sick??

You roll your eyes; he isn’t super intuitive sometimes. It’s almost 2:30 in the morning though.

☀️: no. how shitty my life is now compared to back then…

Once again, he takes a bit to reply, and you almost get up to use the restroom before going to bed. Your phone then buzzes on the desk, the noise even louder going through the wood, and you grab it quickly, answering the call.

“Your life isn’t shitty (Y/N). I’m here, huh?” His giggle is forced. You just huff, getting out of your desk chair to move to your bed.

“Livin’ the dream.”

“What’s it this time? Your…da- uh, male-life-giver?” His little catch at least makes the corner of your mouth crook up.

“Yeah.”

“How’s (S/N)?”

“Good, I guess. She…she was a bit too young to really remember either of them.”

“Even if she doesn’t, it can’t be easy with…how it all played out.” He’s trying to be careful with what he says, but you’re already in a bad mood.

“Our dad cheating, leaving us for his second family and then my mother…” You thought tears would come to your eyes, but maybe you’re too tired.

“Where do you think she went?” Your best friend’s voice is soft.

“No clue. Neither did Gramma, or the cops. She could be in Timbuk-fucking-tu for all I know.”

“Do you want to go out tomorrow with me and San? Or do you have to work?” Before you can answer, your phone buzzes, and you pull it away from your ear. Opening the email from your coworker, you sigh in relief. Perfect timing.

“Not anymore. The character models are getting scrapped and redone so that means my code has to be scrapped. Might be why I can’t get it to move right.”

“What about (S/N)?”

“She’s thirteen not three. I’ll have her sleep over at a friend’s maybe…”

“Great! Get some sleep, sunshine. Meet us at 9!” He hands up and you flop back onto your mattress, feeling disappointed for some reason. Finally working up the energy to get off the bed, you go back to your computer and shut it down, staring at San’s smiling face a little too long, before letting it actually turn off.

~TωT~

“Good morning, little lady.” You leave the hallway, sandals in your hand. Your sister sends you a tired look over her cereal, waving lazily.

“G’mornin’.”

“Do any of your friends get to have sleep overs on school nights?” Her eyes open a bit wider then, then squint as she thinks.

“Uh…probably. Going out with-“ she gives a flirty pose, batting her eyelashes, “Sannie?” the drops the act.

“Wooyoung’s going too.”

“Oh. You ever gonna tell him?”

“Tell San I like him? I don’t know…”

“San? Oh, yeah, right… Why not?” You don’t answer right away, pouring a glass of juice.

“You’re gonna turn into an orange.” Your sister rolls her eyes, and you pour just a bit more before putting the pitcher back down.

“I just… I don’t think I stand a chance.”

“What?! Why?!” Your sister acts like you’ve personally offended her. Even before your whole messed up parental situation, you two never bickered or anything. Probably because you’re nearly thirteen years older than her.

“I’m not his type. He probably sees me as a sister. Also, he looks like that,” You motion down at your white tank and a think blue plaid shirt over, and worn denim capris, “and I’m…”

“You better compliment yourself.” Your sister glares at you, making you sigh.

“He likes the girls in skirts with makeup and their nails done. The ones that giggle at everything he says and touch his bicep ‘accidentally’…” You drift off, getting mad at the mental pictures.

“Then do all that.” (S/N) shrugs, getting up to put her cereal bowl in the sink.

“Counter.” You correct and she rolls her eyes, taking the bowl out and moving it to the counter.

“(S/N), I don’t even own a tube of mascara.” You sigh, then proceed to down your orange juice again like it’s a stiff drink. Your throat burns and your stomach stings somewhat… maybe you do drink too much.

“Use mine.”

“What?” You turn fast to look at her and her eyes widen in panic.

“I only have mascara, I promise!” She lifts her hands in surrender, and you breathe out your nose hard. She’s only a year off being allowed make up, you at least want to maintain the rules your mother put on you with your sister. Even if a lot of them never had to truly be enacted on you.

“Look, I’m just going to go hang out with them and pretend one of my best friends isn’t sex on legs.”

“I’m pretty sure they both are, but okay…” (S/N) mutters under her breath as she passes you to go get her backpack and you pretend to not hear her.

~θɞθ~

“Bye, sis!” (S/N) gets out of the car and heads into her middle school. She’s one of the few who doesn’t mind being seen dropped off right in front of the school, but laid-back older sisters are much, much coolers than any parent.

“Just text me who you can stay with!” You call to her, and she turns around with a shocked face.

“Right! What about my bag? My locker’s not big enough!” She realizes, coming back to your rolled down window, leaning into it.

“I’ll bring it by after you club meeting is done.”

“Really?! Can you bring WooSan?”

“Don’t call them that!” You scold, but laugh nonetheless, “Sure.”

“Bye, sis!” She takes off again, meeting her similarly uniformed friends by the entrance. You’re blessed that the school was willing to take her in for free more-or-less on a scholarship. Your mother had wanted both of you to go to the same school, but it’s private, and you’re in no way capable of paying. If you were, you wouldn’t be driving a whine red 2002 Hyundai Sonata with suede upholstery. Pulling out of the drop-off line, you continue down the road till you meet the traffic light. It sits at the edge of the academy’s campus and the park where you’re meeting the guys is just past the light. As you wait for the light to turn, you tap your fingers on the steering wheel along to the music playing from your radio. The light takes even longer because the crossing guard is leading a group of elementary schoolers across. You’re watching them pass in their cute little uniforms when you’re startled by a knock on your window. You flinch, looking to see what looks to be a high school boy on the other side. You roll the slightly tinted glass down just enough that you’d be able to hear him. He flashes a smoldering smile, and you blatantly sneer.

“What, kid?”

“You obviously don’t go to school here, you from the public school?” How dumb is this kid? You haven’t been in high school for seven years. You have a college degree and everything. Most might take it as a compliment to be seen as looking young enough to be a teenager, but…

“Get lost, squirt.” You scoff, looking away but not bothering to roll the window back up. You’re a bit curious what his reaction will be.

“I might look young, but I’m a senior this year, princess.” He’s clearly a little put off by your flat dismissal, trying to keep a flirty tone.

“Fuck off, kid. She’s our princess.” A familiar voice hits your ears, and you sigh in relief, watching Wooyoung essentially hip bump the kid so hard he falls back onto the sidewalk. Your heart skips as you huff a laugh, watching San come up as well and unlock the doors so the two guys can climb in, right as the light turns green. San barely shuts the back door before you take off, leaving the teenager’s friends laughing at this sorry state. Crossing the median, you pull into the parking lot of the park and slump back into your set.

“Got your favorite~” San leans forward, toned arm hovering over the center console, holding a bag with one finger.

“Sweet!” You swipe it from him and Wooyoung gets out, running around to your side where the window is still rolled down.

“Hey, pretty lady, want to go make out behind the bleachers?” He leans against the side of your car just like the cocky teen had and you can’t help but laugh.

“Uh, no.” You wonder if he catches your glance in your rearview mirror to watch San get out of the car, holding the drink holder of ice coffees as well. You can’t meet his gaze though, and surprisingly, he doesn’t respond, just stands up and starts to follow San down the path.

“Hey, wait up!” You get out quickly, nearly forgetting your phone and to lock the car as you dash after them. Finally getting half-way around the pond that’s trying to be a lake, you sit on a picnic bench of the wooden shelter right on the edge of the water. Some ducks quack as they lazily swim closer, hoping for a snack. As you take a long sip of your ice coffee, you watch San get up and go closer to the ducks, a little bit of his croissant left. Your eyes can’t help but travel over the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. His arms are on display since he’s in a sleeveless hoodie, and you smile at him as the ducks happily eat the bread.

“That’s bad for them, y’know?” Wooyoung calls and the other man tosses him a bored look over his shoulder, then goes back to the birds. Because you’re too busy eying over your friend, you don’t notice Wooyoung watching you. He lifts half of his nose in a sneer, glaring at his friend who’s taking up all of your attention. Wooyoung wants to blame it on that San’s started working out since you’d all started being friends, but he’s not sure that’s it.

“Just fucking tell him.” He whispers harshly to you and his sudden mutter makes you choke. San immediately turns around, and you wave him off, but he still goes to your side, patting your back some to help.

“You okay?” He kneels next to you, and you nod, flashing a small smile, trying not to get red. Not like you can control it… Just then, something green flies through the air, flying past San’s head as he stands, and he’s toppled over by a mass of blonde fur.

“Jeremy, get off of him!” A young woman scolds the golden retriever as it refuses to get off of San, sniffing him and licking his face. Why am I jealous of a dog? You sigh, slumping back against the wood railing of the shelter.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Wooyoung’s next whisper is much softer, he sounds very tired.

“And get rejected? Ruin our friendship? No.” You whisper back, still watching the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. The dog is a fat mood, refusing to get off of San…

“I’m so sorry!” The woman finally manages to pull the dog off of the man and he gets up laughing. She immediately blushes, finally able to see San past all of the fluff. Looking away and down the path to where the green flying disk still lies you get up to retrieve is, since the dog failed its job.

“Here.” You force a smile as you hand it back to her and she snaps out of her daze to take it from you, immediately looking back to San. Luckily, she leaves not too longer after and you’re able to continue the day with the two guys.

~υ-υ~

A week passes, and you still haven’t been able to work because the rest of the team can’t get their act together and finish their parts. So, you’d been left to your thoughts which is never good. You sit on the couch, boredly and only partially watching the TV. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your hands lazily tap a rhythm on the worn faux leather of the couch. Tilting your head, it rests on the back of the couch, and you stare at the ceiling of your loft apartment, the large ventilation pipes curving around the support columns high above your head. When the doorbell rings you almost don’t recognize it, thinking it might have been on the show. It happens again and you know it’s yours because the TV now displays a commercial for some kind of sports drink. Getting up with a groan, you trudge over to the door, a young woman stands on the other side, and her face makes you nervous. She looks…

“Hi. Are you (Y/N)?” She smiles gently and you nod.

“I’m Jena Hwang. Can…can I come in?” When she says her last name, your heart falls. You know immediately who she is.

“Sure.” Your tone is flat, but since she doesn’t know you, it seems she doesn’t notice. You motion her in and toward the couch and you glance around your place. It isn’t messy, but it isn’t nice either. She’s in a sundress that’s at least $300, and she has a giant rock on her finger. You grimace as she sits on your very well-worn couch and you sit down as well, facing her by sitting sideways. She puts her designer bag down, linking her fingers and resting her hands on her knee, legs crossed.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but… I’m assuming you know Daniel Hwang?” You never wanted to hear that name again.

“Uh, yeah.” You shuffle on the couch, the faux leather creaking under you.

“I’m his daughter. I have to admit I was being a little…stalky?” She cringes at herself, smiling sheepishly.

“Dad is…well, he doesn’t have much longer.” When you don’t really react, she continues. On the inside, you’re just aren’t sure how to react.

“They don’t know if he drank too much when he was younger or what, but his liver is failing. He’s been on a transplant list, but they can’t find anyone compatible.” She better not have come to get you to give him half of your fucking liver-

“Anyway, I was looking over his will-“

“Where’s your mom?”

“Huh?”

“How…what about your mom?”

“Oh, uh…” She looked down, a sad expression covering her face.

“When he got sick, she left him, so I’m in charge of everything.” Rolling your eyes, you huff, looking toward the kitchen, focusing on the picture on the fridge you meant to cut up.

“Uh… Right, your name is on the will.” She pulls a packet of paper from her purse, showing you where your name is highlighted. You don’t even care what he’s leaving you, so you hand it back.

“I don’t want it.”

“O-oh…if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” You raise an eyebrow, and she wilts under your glare.

“You don’t know?”

“No, sorry.” She hides bashfully behind the papers, “are we cousins or something?” You just stare at her in shock.

“No offense, but it’s a bit weird to have a niece in your will when you have four kids?”

“Look, if you want my part, have it.”

“No! That’s not… Actually, the reason I’m really here is-“ She pulls something else out of her bag and you recognize it.

“Dad kept saying the name Naomi.” You stand up at this and she flinches. You pace a bit, hands going to your head, fingers digging into your scalp. Breathing out slowly, you turn back to her.

“Sorry…keep going, I’m just…struggling with this.” She seems a bit unwilling to continue without asking anything, but she does so as you sit back down. Your ire is evident, you’re sure.

“Um…well, I can’t figure out who she is, so I looked in his yearbook. He’s…” She flips to the middle of the book, “with a girl named Naomi.” She shows you the page, but you already know it. High School Sweethearts reads in the flowery script over the picture of your parents.

“But when I looked her up, I can’t find anything.” Of course not. You never could either.

“So, I used Google’s new AI search with this picture, and I found a woman…” You hadn’t gone that far, still not really trusting any kind of program claiming to be AI. She pulls out another paper from her bag and shows it to you. It’s an article about some town’s mayor on the other side of the country, and the caption lists the woman next to him as his wife. It’s your mother… But her name is wrong.

“It says her name is Carry, but that looks like the same woman, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Maybe they’re sisters? Twins even? I know it’s a long shot, but do you have her contact information? Even if they broke up soon after high school, maybe she’d be willing to see him since he’s dying…” As soon as you see her face on the paper, your anger leaves, and you’re holding back tears.

“I don’t…but-“ you take a shuddering breath, “uh, I don’t think she’ll go see him.”

“Really?” She deflates a bit, and you look down at your lap, picking at your torn jeans.

“Uh. No. She’s…Okay, I’m in the will because I’m…your sister. Those are my parents. She’s my mother.” This information floors her, her jaw literally dropping. Sniffing hard, you hate crying, let alone in front of essentially a stranger.

“How old are you?” Your question snaps her back, making her flinch.

“T-twenty.” Of course.

“Dad…He uh, left us and mom for…you guys. The mom fucking snapped or broke or whatever and left us too.” You look at the printed off article, at your mother’s smiling face next to some man you’ve never seen or heard of before. This shocks her even further. You give her the article back and stand, moving to the door.

“Uh, take me out of the will or whatever and just leave us alone please. Thank you.” You open your front door, not able to look at her.

“U-us?”

“Ah… (S/N). My thirteen-year-old sister.” This must really make this Jena girl realize why you’re acting the way you are. It isn’t that your father left your mother then fathered her, he had both families at the same time.

“M-my brother is twelve…” Reality is hitting her.

“Great. That sucks for everyone, please leave.” You motion with your arm for her to get out and as soon as she shuffled out into the hallway, you let the door fall closed. Your shoulder hits the wall, and you slump to the floor, hot tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your chest heaves as you sob, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Fuck!” You scream, grabbing a cheap ceramic bowl you use for change and chuck it across the room. It hits the column behind your TV and shatters, coins clattering onto the floor in its trail. You bury your face in your hands, breathing harshly, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. It buzzes again a few minutes later, then again. Again.

“Damnit.” You get up, storming over to your phone, looking at it. It’s the group chat, Wooyoung and San are talking about doing something the next day, some kind of lawn game competition at the community college. When they see you’re reading the messages but not replying, your phone rings with a call from Wooyoung.

“I know that we’re not in college anymore, but we can get away-“ You’d stopped crying more or less, but hearing his voice brings tears back to your eyes and you fight a sob.

“Are you crying? What happened?”

“U-um…” You swallow hard, a lump rising in your throat along with the tears.

“I’ll be there in five…six minutes!” He hangs up and you let the device fall onto the couch. Your shoulders fall as you stand in the middle of the main room of your place, glaring at the coffee table’s scratched surface. A tear falls onto the plywood, then another. Snapping out of your daze when hard knocks pound on the door, you only get hallway to the door before he opens it, finding it unlocked.

“(Y/N)?” Seeing the concerned look of your best friend makes you feel safe and so your self-erected walls fall. He shuts the door as he moves forward, catching you in his arms as you shrivel to the floor. Wooyoung holds you tighter as you cry, desperate sobs and whimpers muffled as you press your face into his chest. Your tears darken the red fabric of his sweatshirt, and he adjusts your position, so you sit on the floor, legs over one of his, cheek pressed to his collarbone. A tear of his own falls and mixes with yours on your jaw, but you don’t notice it. He doesn’t know what happened that wrecked you so badly, but he can’t stand hearing and seeing you so upset. He even hates it if you cry at a movie.

“What happened, sunshine?” His embrace loosens so you can sit up straighter, tears still falling, but you aren’t actively sobbing. Wooyoung cups your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear from your eye. You have to take several deep breaths through the story, but you manage to tell him what happened.

“M-my mother’s alive, Wooyoung.” Your voice has quieted so much at the end, but he still hears the pain.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, come here.” He stands, helping you get up and he leads you over to the couch. He grabs your phone, and you rest back on the couch as he easily puts in your pin code without having to ask what it is. You listen half-heartedly as he calls your sister, most likely just getting out of class, about to go to her art club meeting.

“Again? Is this going to be weekly? I think I can stay with Amanda, maybe Emily…” You hear (S/N) sigh, “what about my stuff?”

“Can’t you manage with borrowing?” Wooyoung casts you a glance, your forearm over your eyes.

“I guess. What’s wrong with (Y/N)?”

“She’s just really struggling with something.”

“What?”

“Adult stuff.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, uh-huh.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, little lady.”

“You better take good care of her Mr. Jung.”

“I will Miss Hwang.” He hangs up and puts your phone back down. You feel the couch shift when he stands up, then feel his body heat as he kneels on the floor next to you. Wooyoung gently removes your arm from your face, and you turn to look at him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He sighs, hand going to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red skin of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

“C-can you call San? And we can watch a movie? Get Indian food?” You aren’t sure how to read Wooyoung’s expression. He seems to be thinking, but then he forces a smile and nods.

“Sure, princess.” Wooyoung stands and presses a long kiss to your forehead, and you blame your turbulent emotions on your racing heart.

~σ-σ~

About two weeks later, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the number you’ve plugged into your phone. You haven’t pressed call yet, the non-local area code of the number glaring at you. It’s a long shot, but you hope calling the mayor’s office might get you somewhere. You’ve been stalling for a long time, his office will only be open for another hour thanks to the time difference. Your sister is getting annoyed with you having her stay the night at a friend’s place, but luckily, she has a slumber party she’d been invited to. The sun is starting to set, and you finally work up the courage to hit call, then turn it onto speaker, at 5:57. It’s probably around 3 there…

“Mayor Elledge’s office, this is Peg.”

“Hi, uh, Peg. I’m… I’m trying to get in contact with Carry Elledge, but I’m not sure how to get ahold of her…” The silence scares you, worried that the woman might be too suspicious to help you.

“May I ask who you are?”

“I’m…a relative. It’s about…my father’s will.” Please work…

“I see… I can get you her cellphone number.” The secretary relents and you sigh in relief, thanking her several times. Typing the number she give you into your notes app, you politely end the conversation and go to call the other number while you still have the courage to do so.

Ring… Ring… Ring-

“Hello, this is Carry?” It’s your mom, no doubt. Tears well in your eyes and you swallow, voice coming out softer than normal to keep from crying.

“M-mom? It’s me. It’s (Y/N).” More silence.

“I think you might have the wrong number, dear.” You feel your face fall, your brow furrowing, your lip trembling.

“This isn’t Naomi Hwang?”

“No, dear, sorry.” There isn’t any kind of recognition in her voice, but it’s hers.

“O-oh…okay, sorry.” The call ends and you press your lips hard together, jaw clenching. What the hell happened? You sit trying to wrap your head around everything, about thirty minutes passing, and your phone stars to ring. It’s a different number, but it’s the same area code as the other two.

“H-hello?”

“Are you the young woman looking for Naomi Hwang?” A man speaks, and you wonder if it’s the mayor guy.

“Yessir.”

“You must be (Y/N).”

“What the hell happened to my mother?” Your tone doesn’t have nearly as much malice as you wanted. Even if this guy did nothing wrong, you hate him. He sighs. He explains that he found her near death in an alleyway. She was malnourished and dehydrated. He got her to the hospital, she had been in a medically induced coma for a few days, and when she woke up…she didn’t remember anything.

“So, she has no idea about her past life?”

“No, miss.”

“Thank you for…not letting her die.”

“I’m sorry to not be of more help Miss (Y/N). Though, I don’t think it’s good for her to be reminded of her past life. I called because she is…having a panic attack. Maybe it was your voice, some part of her recognized it maybe? It’s clear she’s traumatized from her past. I think it’s best if you leave her be.” You don’t want to. You want to get in your car, grab your sister, and drive for the three or four days you need, and get your mother. But… she isn’t your mother anymore, even if she does remember you, it’s clear her brain is hiding you and your sister.

“I…Okay. If you want to know, Daniel Hwang is dying.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate you wanting to reach out, but I’d like you to lose our numbers.”

“Yessir.” He hangs up. Your body must’ve ran out of tears along with your energy because you just slump back into the couch. Something rises in your then, something bold. Grabbing your bag, phone and keys, you leave your place, heading for Wooyoung and San’s.

~₸v₸~

As you ride the elevator to the third floor, you’re shaking. Whether it’s nerves or pure exhaustion you aren’t sure. Going down the hall, you hear voices further down and you finally see the owners as you turn the corner. San’s standing at this apartment door, some bleach blonde girl wedged between him and the door. You aren’t sure how to feel, your emotions are too turbulent. Somehow, it feels like your heart finally completely shatters, but you’re also relieved, but the latter makes you mad. You turn and flee before you can see his lips actually meet hers.

~ę×ę~

“(Y/N)?” You hear your name through the door, then Wooyoung’s rapid knocks. You’re slumped against the island counter, hands stinging and bleeding, shards of glass and ceramic scattered around the room. Tissue paper and packing peanuts are strewn about the main room of the apartment as well, old papers and books torn and discarded. Splinters of wood from broken frames and dismembered toys litter the floor as well, and you run your thumb over a glass paper weight shaped like a cat.

“(Y/N)?!” Wooyoung jiggles the door handle harder, but it’s locked. A red smear follows your thumb on the glass cat, the cuts on your palms still oozing blood.

“Damnit, (Y/N) Hwang! Open the fucking door, I know you’re in there.” He’s panicking, you can hear it in his voice.

“Fuck off.” You sigh, throwing the glass piece as hard as you can, and it hits the far wall. The ear chips of and breaks, the finish over the brick wall flaking off, then it clatters to the floor.

“(Y/N), please princess, let me in.” You hear a thump, presumably his forehead hitting the door. You lick your lips, the salt of your tears hitting along with the iron tang of blood. You aren’t sure if it’s from where you’d bitten your lip or the cut on the tip of your nose.

“(Y/N)… Please, I need to see you, sweet girl. Please let me know if you’re okay.” You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late, only the light of the storage room flowing into the room from the door. Your phone had been going off, and you hated the final message you saw on it, so you chucked it across the room as well, breaking it instantly. The place is a mess, and you’re grateful your sister isn’t home to see your breakdown.

“Go away, Wooyoung.” Your voice is hoarse after your crying, but the door is thin, and you know he hears.

“Not a fucking chance, (Y/N).”

“Just…just let me be alone.”

“No! Open the door, damn it!”

“Go home.”

“Shit. (Y/N) open the freaking door or I’m coming up the fire escape!” You know he means it. You get up, not bothering to be careful of what you step on, only wincing slightly as a speck of glass wedges in your foot, joining other scrapes and cuts already present. Shakily, you undo the door chain, and he must hear you turn the deadbolt and unlock the doorknob, because he opens the door before you can. He gasps, looking at your face, pale but red from smeared blood of the small cuts on your face. He looks at your hands too, and the bloody footprints on the floor…

“Oh, my god, (Y/N).” Wooyoung shuts the door, dropping his backpack and cupping your face with his hands. They’re cold from being out in the early autumn night and you don’t even react when he does so. Wooyoung lifts your head so you can look at him and his brow furrows in despair at the blank look in your eyes. Finally, he looks around the room in the low light, shocked at the carnage.

“I called her.” You manage to get out and he looks back at you, confused.

“Mom. I looked up the mayor guy’s office number and called. She didn’t… She didn’t know who I was. Her husband called and told me she had some kind of amnesia after he found her. Then he told me never to try again. So, I…” you lick your lips, “then I…I decided and went to your place. San was taking some blonde bitch into the apartment.” Your breath shudders and his shoulders slump.

“(Y/N)-“

“I…I went to the store, but they were out of Cayman Jacks. The Indian place down the street closed early. The pizza place was out of white sauce… I grabbed some random food from the convenience store and then when I got home… I got a text from that Jena girl, my half-sister,” you spit, “dad’s dead.”

“(Y/N), sunshine, you must… What can I do?” He steps closer, one hand leaving your face to grab your hand. You flinch at the sting, and he holds your hand up to see the cuts in the skin. It looks like you have a few splinters as well.

“Help me clean this mess?”

“I’ll just do it, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

He picks a few splinters out of your hands and feet, then sends you off to shower. Wooyoung vows to work on the mess more later, maybe even get Seonghwa’s help, but he deals with the dangerous stuff first. He’s shoved and/or swept all the debris into a big pile in the ravaged storage room, leaving the mess for another time. After carefully picking up all the sharp shards and splintered wood, he vacuums to make sure everything is picked up. He glances up when you shuffle out of the hallway, a towel draped over your wet hair, a soft light-weight grey sweater draped over your torso, and a darker grey pair of shorts nearly hidden by the shirt. Your head is bowed, hands and feet red and he shuffles over to lead you to the couch.

“Did you use soap?”

“Mm… Conditioner stung.” You sit, and he pulls your hands into his lap so he can look them over.

“I’ll help you with these.” He lets your hands go and then his own go to the towel on your head, gently rubbing it over your hair, then scrunching the strands with the fabric to get more of the water out. Gently he lays it around your neck and shoulders, so the still damp strands don’t drip on your shirt. When Wooyoung returns with your first aid box from the bathroom, you’re still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at a spot on the couch. Sighing, he goes back to you and neither of you say anything as he smears ointment on the cuts. He goes ahead and just wraps some bandages around your right hand since it’s so cut up, but puts band aids on the other. Wooyoung does the same with your feet, and you don’t even flinch even though you’re usually ticklish there. As he finishes some other little tidying things, you run your finger over the chipped nails of your opposite hand, the polish flaking and cracked as well even though (S/N) only painted them two days prior.

“(Y/N), look at me.” He prompts and when you don’t, he gently lifts your head with his finger under your chin.

“I’m so sorry, princess, that your…about your mom. And your father. But with San-“

“It was a stupid thought. I don’t know why I got the courage to go.” You try to look away, but he forces you back to look at him, thumbs stroking your cleaned face. The little cuts have already pretty much closed, and he leans forward and presses a small kiss on the scratch on the tip of your nose.

“It’s not stupid, (Y/N). Neither are you; he is.” You huff a wry laugh, but he shakes his head.

“No, he is. He’s a fucking idiot. You wanna know why?”

“Yeah, why?” You pull both of your legs up under you, leaning with you side into the back of the couch, head resting on the back cushion.

“Any man who doesn’t fall in love with you after knowing you is an idiot. I think I’m the only smart person there is.” Wooyoung shakes his head, throwing the band-aid wrappers onto the coffee tables. It takes your tired brain a bit to process what he’s said, but you still barely have the energy to snap your head up to look at him.

“What?”

“You’re looked at him like he’s hung the damn moon for like two years, but you’re still like a sister to him or something. Fucking stupid.”

“You…fell in love with me?”

“Yes! And you’re an idiot for not noticing. That’s why I’m the only smart one.” He stands up to actually throw the wrappers away, using the task to flee since he’s flushed from his confession. He stands looking down into the nearly full trash for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do next. Before he can turn back to you, he feels your arms wrap around his middle from behind, your cheek pressing to his back. He isn’t very tall, one of the shortest in your friend group, but you’re small compared to even him. Normally your hugs have a great deal of strength in them, like you do as a whole, but he can feel your arms shaking around him.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot, Wooyoung.” Your voice is quiet, he feels it vibrate through him more than actually hearing it with his ears. He sighs.

“It’s…it’s fine. You can’t help how you feel any more than I can.” He lays his hand over your arm, gently prying you off of him, but pulling you back into him once he turns around. As he rests back against the island, you go with him, letting him hold you close. His fingers run through the drying strands of your hair, and you shuffle even closer when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I…My brain is too frazzled to give you a response right now, Woo. I…I want to tell you-“

“It’s fine, (Y/N). I’m not expecting anything back…”

“No, it’s… I can’t put emotions together right now, but I might like you back, but it could just be my subconscious looking for comfort.”

“Can I help? We can talk it out? What do you want me to do?”

“What do I want…?”

“Anything.” You pull back to look at him, looking over his face. He’s so freaking pretty, his longer black hair is pulled half-up, a few strands framing his face. The ends of the little strands brush over the beauty mark under his eye and your eyes flit to the small one he has on his lip. You bet most people don’t even know it’s there… Bringing your left hand up, your sleeve falls so it’s no longer hanging by your fingers, and your index finger runs over the small dot. You flinch when he quickly grabs your wrist, a little tighter than it maybe should be. He realizes this and loosens, sliding his thumb up to your palm.

“(Y/N). Be careful, sweetheart.” With his grip on your wrist, he pulls you closer.

“Anytime you’re close to me, I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I want to pin you to the nearest surface and…” He licks his lips, brow furrowing, “don’t let me do something you’ll regret because you’re weak now.” You grimace, looking down, stepping back from him.

“D-don’t…” Your breath shudders and he can tell you’re starting to cry again.

“Hey, hey.” He pulls you back in for a hug, “I will hold you as long as you want. I can lie on the couch, and you can lie on me. We can sleep there. We’ll watch that movie you like so much that your sister hates…” You sniff, nodding and he kisses the crown of your head before you pull back, and he leads you to the couch. Not even ten minutes later he’s stretched across the old couch, you nestled half on top of him, half between him and the back of the couch, the intro of The Last Unicorn playing on the TV. You normally don’t use a blanket on the couch, not unless you’re upset, so it’s wrapped around you, tucked under your chin.

“How did you know to come?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you come here?”

“Oh. (S/N) was freaking out because you weren’t answer any texts or video galls, and your phone was going straight to voicemail. I texted her that you broke your phone and that she doesn’t need to come home.” Like it feels left out, his phone buzzes, and he shifts to grab it from the coffee table. You sneakily glance and see that it’s from San.

🐯: where you at??

He just puts the phone down, but it buzzes not even a minute later.

🐯: is (Y/N) ok, or do I need to send Becca home and come over?

“You better not fucking come here.” Wooyoung huffs quietly, managing to use one hand and reply.

🦊: She’s fine now. Leave us alone.

“That’s harsh.”

“He broke your heart; I should be much worse.” He clicks his tongue, picking his phone up when it buzzes again on his stomach.

🐯: wtf you good? Are you mad?

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

“He’s calling.” You mumble, looking at his screen while he looks at the TV, trying to think of what to say. He angrily slides at the answer button, having to do it a second time for it to work.

“What?!” He nearly shouts into the phone, his even-louder-than-normal voice sharp in your ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Wooyoung brushes over your hair, “What?”

“Woah, dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Woo.” You scold, and that seems to make him even more mad.

“Is she okay?!” San must’ve not heard…

“Yes, you stupid- She’s fine. What do you want?”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No, you can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Just go…hang out with or in Becca or whatever-“ You smack his chest and he yipes.

“Did you make her upset; did you guys get into a fight?”

“No-“

“I’m coming over-“

“Damnit, no!”

“I don’t see why you fucking care, Choi San.” Something snaps in you, your last vestiges of rationale fizzling out. Wooyoung chokes around a laugh, quickly putting the call on speaker.

“N-(Y/N)?” He sounds like a whimpering puppy.

“Why are you trying to stuck up for me or defend me?”

“Y-you’re…you’re like my sister-“ Your fingers dig into Wooyoung’s shirt so hard, you scratched the skin underneath some, and you sit up, grabbing the phone.

“You know why I’m not okay? Huh? I found out my mom’s alive but doesn’t remember me or my sister. My dad is dead. I couldn’t get my favorite butter chicken, and the guy I like is at his place sucking face with some chick who looks like she can’t do basic addition. So, fuck off, San.” You hang up and slide Wooyoung’s phone away, so it lands on the coffee table, sliding just a bit further past where it lands. Huffing, you lay back down onto your other friend and continue to watch the movie. You both try to focus, but after a few minutes, you both burst into laughter, and it’s a good five minutes before you can fully calm down.

“I’m so fucking tired.” You rest your hand over your eyes, wedged between Wooyoung and the couch and he turns toward you, blocking your view of the TV.

“Do you feel better though?” He brushes your hair off your face, and you nod, nestling into the crook of his neck.

“Just sleep, sweetheart.” Wooyoung presses another kiss to your forehead, and you can’t help but listen.

~ųƐų~

You wake up sore, not sure if it’s from sleeping on your shitty couch or from the destruction you had wrecked on your apartment the night before. Wooyoung is still asleep, curled around you, and still so, so pretty. You assume he thinks that if you waited, you’d realize you’re just wanting him for comfort, not because you like him back. But, after sleeping on it, you aren’t so sure. Before, you really didn’t know if you like him back or not, but as you watch him sleep (feeling a bit creepy honestly) you think about it. When you first became friends, you had a pretty big crush on him. The closer you got, the more it seemed he got on your nerves, and he was just annoying and immature. But after graduating, you got much closer; he really is your best friend. You’re genuinely closer with Wooyoung than San, but you almost always hang out as the three of you. Could you have liked both, but chose San because you didn’t want to admit you’ve liked Wooyoung the entire time you’ve known him? Did he annoy you so much because you have feelings for him like some elementary age boy who pulls a girl’s hair, and says he hates her? Gently, so as not to wake him, you cup his jaw with your hands much like he had the day prior to you.

“Be careful, sweetheart.” He echoes the same words from the day before, not even opening his eyes.

“Why?” His eyes finally open, the intensity in his gaze taking your breath away. Wooyoung scoots an inch closer, pressing you further into the back cushions, his knee wedging between your legs. You gasp when he presses closer, finally feeling him against you.

“If you let me kiss you, I won’t stop there.” His lips hover over yours, tongue flicking out and running over your bottom lip as well as his.

“Then don’t.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m sure, Wooyoung. I thought about it, and yes, I have…had a crush on San. But that’s what it is, like a school crush. You’re right that I was stupid. I don’t love you because you’re my best friend, you’re my best friend because I love you. I’m in love with you.” Normally such flowery words make you cringe, but yours are genuine. He breathes out hard with his nose, brow furrowing, eyes flitting away from yours, down to your lips.

“That was part of the reason I was so upset last night. Yes, I felt heartbroken from seeing San with that girl, but I also felt horrible, because I wasn’t nearly as upset as I thought I’d be. I was just glad it wasn’t you with some bleach blonde bitch. After I found out about my mother…I was really glad you came over and not San.” Wooyoung can’t hold a giggle back, trying to keep his face serious, but he can’t.

“And I’m glad my sister called you, that you came.” You smile purely, but his turns into a smirk, the arm not under your head curling around you. You gasp when he slides the last little bit closer, hitching your leg over his hips and grinding his hardening cock into you.

“You have ten seconds to tell me to get off, otherwise I’m fucking you stupid on this couch.” You whimper at his words, hands leaving his face and resting on his shoulders. You buck your hips, causing him to let out a soft grunt.

“Stupid, huh?” You smirk back and you squeak when he rolls on top of you, soft lips capturing your chapped ones. The kiss isn’t gentle, his tongue quickly invading your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue, his strong thigh hitching hard against your mound. Sneaky hands sneak under the waist band of your shorts, fingers pressing hard into the flesh of your ass, pulling you up against him, feeling the outline of his dick against your tummy. Wooyoung pulls back from the kiss, letting you catch your breath, a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. He kneels over you, pulling his shirt off and chucking it across the room. You whimper, your won sneaky hands stroking over the skin of his chest and abs, when did he get so built?

“Up.” He orders, and you sit up just enough for him to pull your shirt off, along with your sports bra underneath.

“Fuck~!” You twitch as those sinful lips wrap around your nipple, teeth nibbling the peak before moving to the next, then up. Finally, his trail of kisses stop at your throat, and he sucks your skin between his teeth there. It’s too high to hide, and he works the skin nearly raw, leaving a large purple welt on your jaw.

“Ah!” You jerk under him when his hand dives under your shorts and panties, two fingers swiping through the slick of your folds.

“You’re already this wet for me, sweetheart?” Wooyoung chuckles in your ear, those two fingers not hesitating to plunge into you. The sudden intrusion takes your breath away, the slight burn leaves your head swimming. He only pumps the digits maybe twice before retracting his hand, and instead shoves his fingers in his own mouth.

“Oh, fuck~” He groans, climbing off of you, then shoves you up the rest of the way on the couch, landing on it with his stomach. Your shorts and pants fly through the air, joining the rest of your clothes and he throws your legs over his shoulders. Your skin feels like it catches on fire when his tongue wastes no time in wiggling inside your cunt. It’s long and he knows how to work it, his nose brushing your clit as he drank from you like a thirsty dog.

“Woo-Wooyoung, god~!” Your breath hitches, legs twitching around his head, that deft tongue leaving your core to circle your clit, those two fingers sinking into your heat once more. He pulls back, licking his lips, spread into a sinful grin.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart~” He groans, crooking his fingers up hard, battering your weak spot.

“W-w-wait!” Your orgasm is coming on fast, and his fingers keep up their antics as he lays over you again, nose nuzzling behind your ear.

“Cum for me, princess.” He licks over the crest of your ear, and he chuckles breathily as your cunt clenches and spasms around his fingers, their wiggling spurring your orgasm along. You shudder and heave as he pulls them out, and you flinch when the slick pad of his index finger lowers, swirling over your pucker.

“Huh?” Your back arches from the odd sensation, but he doesn’t go further than a few teasing brushes.

“Maybe later, I want to taste all of you. And I want to fuck you full of my cum there too.” He sinks his teeth into your earlobe, and you turn your head to the side submissively, whimpering.

“Oh, you’re a good girl, huh?” His teeth scrape along the column of your exposed throat, your head twists more to give him better access.

“Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good on my cock, princess.” Wooyoung groans, scattering kisses over your neck, shoulders and throat as he wiggles to get his pants and boxers off. Hauling you back down the couch, he easily grabs your thighs to lead you to wrap them around his middle. You sigh, feeling the heat of his hard cock sliding through your folds, heading swimming as the fat head prods your entrances, then slides up.

“Wooyoung, please~!” You whimper, wanting him to sear through you, craving the burning sting.

“You wanna know something, sunshine?”

“What?” He chuckles at your slightly slurred speech.

“I plan on railing you so hard you don’t even remember who San is.” He hums and you can’t brace for his entrance, his fat cock filling you with a hard snap of his hips. Your back arches, breath forced out of you, chipped fingernails digging crescents into his back. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, gummy walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, somehow the pain of him gouging into you threw you over the edge so quickly it makes your clit sting too.

“God, fuck, Wooyoung!” You finally catch your breath enough to speak and he groans long and deep.

“You’re so fucking perfect, (Y/N). Oh, sweetheart, you’re made for me~!” He groans a laugh, fading into a whine as the clenches fade with your orgasm. You feel like a truck hit you, vision blurry, lower half protesting at Wooyoung’s brutal entrance, but you love it. Your hips jump again, cunt sucking him in further when he sits up more, pinning one of your knees to your shoulder, holding the other at his waist.

“Look at your cute little pussy struggling to take me, huh?” He loves the sight of your tight core weeping around his sock, slick shining along his flesh and both of your inner thighs.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart~” He giggles, and your fingers gouge lines down the skin of his back as he starts, pace immediately relentless, battering your cervix with the head of his dick. The hand at your thigh holds it to his left side, sliding down your body and gripping your ass.

“Hm, you like it, pretty girl? Like my fat cock?”

“Fuck, yes, Woo~” Your breath heaves, and you let out a delirious giggle, gasping and whining hard as his rapid pace barrels you through your third orgasm. Your cunt stings, but it’s so good. You squeal when his hand leaves your butt, only to slap the skin hard, the sting travelling up your hip and into your thigh. He feels your walls grip him harder at the spank, so he does it again, harder.

“Oh, shit-!” Your head lolls against the couch cushion, face and neck flushed, heaving for air. Your nails claw down his chest to his stomach and he licks his lips at the sting.

“(Y/N), you’re such a good girl, yeah? My good girl~”

“Y-yours~!”

“Yes, sweetheart. All mine, oh, you’re doing so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, princess. This pussy’s so good too, welcoming my cock home?”

“Yeah~!” You giggle, dumb on his cock and he hasn’t even cum once yet.

“Aw, love, can I cum inside? You on the pill, yeah? Let me paint you white, huh? Fuck you full of my cum, then flip you over and give you more?” He’s laughing every few words, sounding a bit delirious himself. He’s wanted to have you like this for so long, and he’s going to fuck you on every surface in the place if he can.

“P-please~!”

“Okay, I’m gonna then-“ Wooyoung hums, it fading into a groan, then with a few more stuttering thrusts, you feel heat blossom in your lower stomach. His cock pulses as rope after rope of hot jizz fills you, a few drops leaking from where he splits you open, leaving a mess on the couch. Your body jerks as his orgasm fades, you almost black out from your own. Your clit is throbbing, folds swollen and red, but he’s still painfully hard…

“Hold on here.” Wooyoung moves your hands to the mount of the shower head, and you wrap your fingers around the metal pipe. Your toes curl as he enters you again, hot water hitting his back and dripping off of him onto you. Drops of cum hit the shower floor along with the water and he starts to pound into you again. The water makes the slaps of the skin of his pelvis against your butt and thighs all the louder, nearly muffling your soft whimpers and mewls. Your ass is red, covered in hand-shaped welts, thighs littered with hickeys and kiss-marks. His back, chest, and stomach are covered in scratches, a bite-mark etched into his shoulder and a single hickey clings to his jawline. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since he first got inside you, but it has to have been hours ago. You have no idea where his stamina has come from, and your once burning cunt has more or less numbed to the sting of overstimulation, tiny orgasms shattering through you without warning or reason. You feel the wets strands of his hair on your shoulders as he leans over you, hand cupping the underside of your breast, the other over your hands on the shower mount.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I love you. I love you so much.” He kisses your shoulder, avoiding a sore-looking mark he’d left.

“I-I love you t-t-too, Wooyoung-!” You heave for air as another tiny climax shivers through you.

“Breathe baby, you gotta pace yourself, I still gotta fuck you stupid~” Wooyoung giggles and you just squeak and mewl, since he already has.

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