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headkiss · 8 months ago

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fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

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

word count: 13.6k

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Steve.”

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

You’re not quite sure where to start.

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

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

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

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

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

We’ll, he says. A team.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But the frame-”

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

“Steve-”

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

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

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

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

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

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

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” Steve asks.

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

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

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

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

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

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

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

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

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

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

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

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s not my-”

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

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

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

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not stealing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll miss it, you think.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s what I thought.”

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

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

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

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

Steve’s never nervous around you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?” he asks.

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

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

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

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

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

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

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

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

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

“I guess I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm,” he hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck just happened?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

You are worth the risk to him.

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

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

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

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

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

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

“You won’t. Not ever.”

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

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

“So what happens now?” You ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝜗𝜚

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

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digi-diareis · 23 days ago

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Teen MC snapping at Caleb

Context: Yk how when you're teenagers, guys think the only way to flirt with the person they like is by teasing them? Well, imagine if Caleb had an era like this until it went too far and mc finally snapped at him.

Beware: this is gonna be SO BAD. im not a writer at all and english isn't my first language either. its just that i've had this scenario in my head for a few days now and i needed it out of my system. Also, I decided to use they/them pronouns for mc. So its more inclusive that way and also bcs even I personally don't always refer to my mc as she/her. So yeah, for the bitches, bros and non binary hoes.

Imagine this, Caleb and you bantering like usual on your way home but you're having an off day which makes it easier for you to get pissed off and fed up with all the teasing. Unfortunately, Caleb doesn't notice this and keeps teasing you until you just snap.

So mc, exasperated, scoffs at him and turns around to leave with their arms folded across their chest and eyebrows scrunched so hard they almost look like a unibrow.

"I'm done talking you. Go find someone else to pick on, Caleb. I'm not in the mood."

Sensing the sudden shift of mood, Caleb is speechless for a bit and left floundering, looking for the right words to say. He thought this was just your usual banter so why were you suddenly taking the jokes seriously? Hell, he can't let you stay in a bad mood for the entire day because that means he's getting the silent treatment and he'd rather die (well not really but he almost feels like it) than have you completely ignore his entire existence. Again.

He approaches you slowly, using a gentle voice to not alarm you the same way one would with a hissing kitten.

"Pipsqueak? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry... Tell me what it was and I promise I won't say it again. Don't be mad anymore, we don't want you to develop any more wrinkles, do we?"

And oh, the way you stiffened up, very much reminiscent of a stray cat on full alarm against anybody trying to steal its food. Caleb gulps, knowing somewhere along the lines, he triggered a tripwire and a bomb's about to blow.

"Uhm! You know what, nevermind me! How about we go buy your favorite snack? Oh, what a coincidence your favorite stall is right around the corner-"

You turn around with a glare that makes him immediately shut up, looking like you're about to rip him a new one.

"WRINKLES?! First, you make fun of my height. Calling me pipsqueak around everyone and never shutting your damn mouth about how not a day has passed where I was taller than you. Then you start being weirdly aggressive towards my other guy friends, which by the way, what the fuck? Now most of them won't even talk to me anymore! What is your problem?! And now, you're calling me OLD and UGLY?!"

"I-I never said -"

"Shut your damn mouth and listen to me, Caleb! You have been getting on my nerves lately! I've been trying to convince myself that this is all just friendly banter but sometimes, you go too far that I don't even know if I can still laugh it off! We used to be best friends but now, its so easy for you to make fun of me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this but oh my god, if you hate me this much then just stop hanging around me!"

Mc is heaving by the end of their entire speech, extremely worked up and upset that they're red in the face. They had been bottling this up for the past few weeks so letting it out almost felt cathartic.

Caleb is stuck in place, throat dry and mouth open but words won't come out. Was that how it's been like for you? Had he taken the jokes too far recently? Maybe it was wrong to listen to the other guys in his class who said that teens tend to fall for guys who act terrible, the bad boy stereotype is popular nowadays.

He looks down, feeling guilty and pathetic that he ended up making you feel like you hated him when you were the person who embodied everything he loved. You made him feel like flying and falling, all at the same time. So how could he hurt you like this? He had to make things right before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. Its all my fault. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, even if it was a joke or not. At the end of the day, they hurt you and that's not right. Please believe me when I say that I could never hate being around you. That couldn't be more wrong, not when all I ever want to do is be by your side. So please don't tell me to stop hanging around you, just thinking about it feels like my chest is being squeezed that it hurts. I promise I won't make the same mistakes again, so please forgive me?"

He's nervous, fiddling with his hands while he looks you in the eye. He reminds you of a wet puppy under the rain, begging you to bring him home with you. You knew the moment he pulled those puppy dog eyes that you would eventually lose, you could never say no to him. Not when you were kids and not now.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and the frown gone from your face. Now you just look tired, which only makes him more worried, maybe you're tired of him? No, that can't be. What would happen to him if you decide he's not worth keeping around anymore? He just might stop functioning all together.

You turn your back and start walking home, he feels his heart drop thinking this is it. You're leaving him behind– that is until you turn your head to the side, side eyeing him with a blush on your face.

"What're you standing there for, I thought you were going to buy me my favorite snack? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not forgiving you just yet. Not until I've had my fill."

After that day, Caleb completely changes. Or maybe its more accurate to say he reverted back to how he used to be when you guys were kids. Doting, attentive and extremely supportive. He still banters with you from time to time but he never goes out of his way to start one. Although, there is one thing that doesn't change and that's how over protective he still is, he's still acting like a guard dog and being threatening towards all the guys in your class but at this point, you're just happy to have your best friend back again.

And just like that, Caleb's popularity spikes in your class because suddenly, every girl wants a guy who comes at their beck and call and attends to their needs. No more bad boy persona for them, they just want someone who worships the ground they walk on the same way Caleb does for you.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb #l&ds imagine #love & deepspace #love & deepsace x reader #i #caleb x mc #caleb x you #they/them mc

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leclerc-hs · 1 year ago

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broken lamps - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: anon request 'Charles flying to see his lover in another country but getting so needy he ends up fucking her in the hallway of her apartment on the floor.' Warnings: smut, 18+, spitting, unprotected sex Word Count: 1,239 Author's Note: please comment any thoughts!!! I love hearing feedback. I had fun writing this!! Hopefully it's up to your standards. I'm still new at this whole writing thing. BUT ANYWAYS CHARLES P2!!! BITTERSWEET END TO THE SEASON. CAN'T BELIEVE ITS OVER. TIME TO TOSS THE SF-23 IN THE TRASH!!!!!! French edits made by @shewantsvengeance!!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

CHARLES WAS NOT a particularly needy person. In fact, one would say that he tended to be self-sufficient and independent. But when he was needy, he was needy. And quite demanding too.

He wasn’t supposed to be home for another two days, but he couldn’t bear the idea of having to wait longer.

For three long weeks, the absence of your touch weighed heavily on him. Your inability to attend the races due to work in the past few weeks had taken a toll, unraveled his composure and pushed him to the brink of madness.

Which is how he found himself standing in front of your door in the middle of the night, urgently pounding his knuckles into it. A suitcase at his side, and his hair disheveled. He was already hard. He hasn’t even seen you yet, and he could already feel the blood rushing to his cock.

You could barely unlock the door before feeling him push it open and slamming it shut, leaving his suitcase abandoned in the hallway of the apartment building – long forgotten in the heat of the moment.

He was so needy. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t even wait to go down the hallway to the bedroom.

His lips immediately pressing into yours as he pulled you into him.

“Bébé, I need to feel you,” He groaned in between kisses, pushing you up on top of the table in the entry way of your apartment. His hands exploring every inch they could find, kissing and biting into your skin with intense desire. He repeatedly brushed himself up against your lace covered core, letting you feel just how hard he was. How much he wanted you. How much he needed you.

It was almost too easy. You were only in a silk robe, with lace underwear and a thin tank top.

“Charles,” you moaned, feeling the pads of his fingers slip past the lace to rub your clit in soft circles. You gazed up at him as he hastily pulled down your spaghetti strap tank top, allowing your breasts to spill over the fabric. His other hand immediately pinching your nipple in between his thumb and forefinger.

The attack of his hands on your nipples and your clit was enough to send you over the edge quickly. He knew your body like the back of his hand. Like it was his. Because it is.

“So fucking hot,” Charles groaned as he watched the lace of your lace underwear dampen from your orgasm. “Missed you so much baby,” he leans over to press his lips to yours amidst your moans.

Your hands roamed his body, which was still mostly clothed, aside from his sweats half shoved down. Too impatient to fully get undressed. You glanced down at his cock; it was smooth, and you could see the precum dripping from it. Poor baby, you thought.

“I need you,” you squeezed his biceps as Charles stood up straighter and looked down at you.

His gaze darkened, and you could feel it penetrating your soul. It carried a possessive intensity. His left hand firmly gripped your hip, anchoring you to the small entryway table. He stood between your legs, leaving them spread completely.

“Gonna take all of me like a good girl, right?” He mocked as he aligned himself with your entrance. He didn’t push in right away, just held it there as he stared down at you pressed against the table. Like you were his own personal feast.

You couldn’t find the words. All you could do was nod your head eagerly.

“Look at you,” his fingers rolled one of your nipples between them slowly, “my sweet little girl just waiting to be fucked hard until you cum all over my cock.”

“Please,” you begged. You were not against begging. Especially if it meant you could finally feel him. You couldn’t slip out another beg before he pushed himself right into you. The burning stretch eliciting moans from both of you.

“Merde,” he hissed. The squeeze of you on his cock was heavenly. “So warm, ma chérie” He was ravaging you now. There was something different with Charles tonight, not by much – but a slight difference. He was more urgent and eager than normal. Like you would disappear into thin air if he didn’t grip your hips so tightly.

His gaze never faltered from yours as his hips rocked into yours aggressively. The room was full of breathy moans and the entry level table banging into the wall along with each thrust of Charles hips into you.

The force of his hips sent the small white lamp tumbling to the floor, shattering it no doubt. Neither of you bothered to glance at it. Too unraveled in each other. It was as if you didn’t even hear the lamp break.

One of your hands grasped your knee closer to your chest, while the other gripped onto Charles bicep of the arm that pressed into your neck. His hand squeezing your neck ever so slightly with just the right amount of pressure.

“Charles, I’m going to,” you didn’t even finish your sentence before he cut you off.

“Yeah? Again? That quick?” He was so fucking cocky. “Open up for me, baby.”

You didn’t even have to question what he meant. Instantly opening your mouth, he spit a string of his saliva into your mouth. His eyes burning into your soul. You felt your pussy clench around his cock at the feeling of his saliva hit your tongue.

“Fuck. Your tight pussy can barely fit me, huh?” It was so tight. Charles could feel himself shuttering at the feeling. “Need to stretch you out. Three weeks was too long?” His hips were faltering with each thrust as he felt himself edging closer to his orgasm.

A sound similar to a sob claws out your throat as his cock perfectly hits your g-spot. Over and over and over.

“Please, I need to,” you were a whimpering mess. Charles found it so endearing how hard you would try to wait for his permission.

“Not yet,” You thought you could cry on the spot. Until he yanked you off the table and onto the floor. You now straddling him.

“Rub that pretty pussy all over me baby,” He was leaned up on his two arms, looking at you with an eyebrow cocked and smirk. “Get yourself there.”

You felt yourself immediately working yourself over his cock. His eyes were all over the place. Looking at your face, the bounce of your breasts, and the way he disappears into you. The position driving him much deeper than before and the feeling of your clit brushing against him was too much.

It was like he knew. Knew all the signs that you were there. “Oui, mon amour,” he replied, “let me feel you.”

It was only a few more strokes before you felt yourself cumming all over Charles. The sound of your moans getting choked up as you pulled Charles up closer and pulled his lips to yours.

He quickly rolled over you, pulling out and releasing all over your tank top, some hitting your breasts.

You were exhausted, a limp pile of bones, as you felt him collapse down onto you. Not even caring that his cum was all over you both now. He just wanted to be close to you.

You were smiling hard up at him. Soft laughs were now leaving your mouth, “Guess I should buy a new lamp.”

He scooped you up and carried you to the bed. The bed he couldn’t make it to earlier.

“Unless you want another lamp to break, let’s not bother.”

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc smut #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc

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quarterlifekitty · 3 months ago

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Desperate times

Based on the results of this post and poll

cw: dark content. Kidnapping, threats, drugging, noncon, restraint, the whole shebang.

❌ Gaz is starting to feel a little disheartened, babe. You don’t seem as committed to making this work as he is… But that’s okay. He told you he loved you, and love means always being willing to put in the effort, yeah? So if the public approaches aren’t working, maybe you need something more private. It’s easy to get one of his mates to follow you around bars, wait for the perfect moment, and slip something in your drink. It’s easy to know when on the walk home there won’t be any witnesses. The hard part is going to be training you out of hissing and spitting when he gives you sweet words and gentle touches. That’s no way for a bird to treat her man, not when he’s gone through so much for her.

❌Soap is starting to feel a little… restless. This was fun at first, this game of trying to win you back, of cornering you like he was some kind of creep, but now? He just wants his bonnie. He needs you, and he knows you’ll never be as happy with anyone else as you are with him. He starts right from when you wake up after that night of reigniting your passions. You’re saying things you don’t mean, things you’ll regret— and he’s never been able to keep his cool when you get emotional. So if he wraps his hands around your throat and squeezes until you still, he can’t be the only one to blame. Now, he’ll be the first to admit that his worship of your body last night was just a wee bit lackluster… he was too excited for the main event. When you wake up, tied to his bed and gagged, he won’t be making the same mistake. In fact, best start on it now.

⭕️ Ghost doesn’t keep it casual. He doesn’t take baby steps. Just as soon as you return one of his calls, you can barely say hello before he says “I’m comin’ over, dovie.” You’ve never seen him smile like he did on that day before, and quite frankly, you never want to see it again. He looks sick. Drunk on just his proximity to you. He attacks you with his mouth once you answer the door, grunting between heaving breaths that he knew, knew you’d come around, knew you were a good girl, knew you’d never wanna force him to do something he didn’t want to do. He takes you on a few surfaces before he can finally pull his mind together enough to take you to a real bed. Tells you he’s gonna put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly so this can’t happen again, because honestly? He doesn’t wanna tell you what will happen if it does.

❌Nikolai thought it was cute at first, seeing you try to play at being the big, strong, independent girl. But while his love for you is endless, his patience isn’t. The longer he lets this go on, the more training you’ll need when you come back. So he decides to do the merciful thing, and take you home. It’s a shame you didn’t behave— he would’ve let you sit in the passenger seat with his hand on your thigh the way you used to love. Instead he had to drag you into the back, chemicals soaked in the cloth he put over your mouth and nose. It doesn’t do well for a princess to be out of her tower. No, it isn’t good for anyone, least of all the princess. You don’t realize the dragon is collared and chained to you, that’s okay— he’ll just have to put you in a collar and chains of your own while you get used to things again. Maybe you’d be a little happier with your life inside if you had something little and sweet to take care of, like he does? He could get you that, malýshka. You don’t even need to ask.

I was thinking of making this the last in the series, but maybe we can push it further?

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familyvideostevie · 5 months ago

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all of it still matters

joel miller x fem!reader | 2.4k

you get sick and, much to joel's chagrin, refuse to take it easy.

jackson!joel, fem!reader, fluff, fainting, ellie and her dog that i invented for some reason, kind of plotless but who cares! it's all about love in the end, anyway.

a/n: welcome back to our lovebirds from just and just as. be gentle, please. it's been a while.

The sky is a brilliant orange. Golden hour, they used to call it.

It's probably a little too cold to be sitting on the front porch but you can't help it on an evening like this. You tug a fraying flannel of Joel's tighter around your shoulders. It's worn at the elbows and he reminds you that he'll fix it if you release it from your clutches but somehow that never happens. The journal he made you is open on your lap, almost full. You've taken care to write down not only your memories but the stories he and Tommy tell about their lives before, the day-to-day of Jackson, the jokes Ellie is particularly proud of. She recently recounted a birthday trip to a museum, laughing as she told you about pushing Joel into the water.

You take a sip of your pine tea. It's chilly through the whole day, now, and soon the morning frost will be snow. Winter was hard for a long, long time, but now it's comfortable. It means lights up in town, children throwing snowballs, community meals and dances. It means warm nights under your blankets with the furnace of a man you sleep next to, soft salve on chapped hands, a slowing down of the Infected sightings.

And it means Joel chopping wood. He should be doing it in the back yard -- usually does -- but this evening he's finishing up the trunk pieces Jesse left by the steps. A big tree had gone down at the edge of the town clearing and everyone got a few pieces once they'd split it up. Joel will no doubt give Ellie at least half of what he cuts.

The benefit of him doing it out front is you get to watch. His back is to you, but you can see the way his sleeves are rolled up, the damp hair curling over the collar. The exhale when he brings the axe down, the flex of his shoulder blades when he tugs it free of the stump. You could watch him do anything.

As if hearing your train of thought, Joel wedges the axe in the chopping block and turns to face you. He runs a hand through his hair, silver strands catching the orange light, and huffs.

"Enjoyin' yourself?" he says.

You grin at him. "I'd say so."

Two things happen at once. A headache blooms without warning at your temple, sharp enough that you wince and press your fingertips to the skin there. Joel notices and takes a step towards you but then a dog barks and his attention is drawn down the street.

"Naledi!" Ellie yells, jogging up the street after her dog. "Come on, we've talked about this!"

Joel glances back at you but you smile at him, ignoring the blooming pain in your skull. Naledi -- named after one of those characters from Ellie's comics -- runs right up to Joel and noses at his knee until he pets her. The animal loves him. You don't blame her.

"Jesus," Ellie says once she reaches the steps up to the house, panting. "She can run." She looks at the yard and scowls. "Aw, shit, Joel. Did you finish all the wood?"

Joel, one hand scratching behind Naledi's ears, levels her with an unimpressed look.

"Ain't gonna chop itself," he drawls. "Last thing we need is you holdin' an axe."

"Rude," she gasps. "You steal my dog and make fun of me. Are you hearing this?"

Ellie looks at you in mock outrage, cheeks pink from the cold. She's not a teenager anymore, but falls back into it so easily when Joel teases her. It's a treat to witness.

"I don't know, Joel, you've seen her --" You stand in the middle of your sentence and the words stop coming because your vision swims. Black spots dance across the yard and you pitch forward to brace yourself on the railing.

"Oh, fuck," Ellie says. Joel is up the porch and next to you in a blink, arm around your waist to steady you.

"You okay?" he asks, low and serious.

The spots disappear and you take some deep breaths. "I -- stood up too fast, I think."

Joel remains in your space for a few more seconds. Naledi barks, watching the whole thing with a tilted head from the grass below.

"Ellie," Joel says. "You wanna finish up the wood? I think we're gonna go inside."

"Totally," she replies. "Yeah, uh, go lie down, or something. We've got this."

Joel ushers you into the house and sits you down in the kitchen. The sun no longer peaks over the mountains so he flicks on the overhead lights, which make you groan. He's back by your side immediately, tipping your head up with a knuckle on your chin so he can look at you.

"Think you might've caught somethin'," he says. "Bout that time of year." He presses the back of his hand to your forehead and frowns.

You circle his wrist and tug his hand down. "Just tired," you say. "The overnight patrol is catching up with me."

"Hmm." Joel leaves you be and starts to fix you something to eat. You know better than to argue and, frankly, you don't have the energy to make something yourself. He sets some buttered toast in front of you and leans on the island to watch you take a small bite.

"Something to say?" you manage through a mouthful of bread.

He shrugs. "You should go to bed early." It's barely sunset but it sounds like a good idea. "You going to be okay to work tomorrow?"

Your shift at the stables with Ellie. Pretty easy, as far as labor goes. A good night's sleep should make it bearable. "Yeah, it's just mucking stalls."

"Hmm," he says again. You know what that means -- he's thinking, he's decided, he's preparing, but he'll let you reach the same conclusion in your own time. He won't force you into anything, never does, but he most certainly has an opinion.

You change the subject. "Did you grab my journal?" Joel nods and pulls it from his back pocket to set on the table next to your toast. You take another bite to appease him.

"Almost done with that thing," he says. "Gonna need another one."

"If only I knew someone who made them," you tease. That gets a gruff laugh out of him.

"What you writin' about today?"

"You, Tommy, and motorcycles." Tommy had told you all about the famed birthday ride at the last family dinner. Everyone had heard the story but you, so their voices overlapped about a hundred times as they fought to be the one to explain.

Joel chuckles. "You ever been on one?"

You take one more bite of your toast and push the plate away. He's on it in a second, taking it over to the sink.

"No," you reply. "I don't even know the last time I saw a working one. Just stripped metal out in the wild."

"Think you'd like it," he says. "Good way to see things. Bit of an adrenaline rush."

"Yeah, because there's a shortage of that these days."

The joke falls flat and your eyelids start to droop so you don't see Joel's reaction anyway. Your head throbs.

"Bed," Joel says, softly. Hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. "C'mon."

He ushers you up, hand on your back on the staircase. He waits while you brush your teeth and helps you into an old shirt and threadbare pants with a gentle touch.

When you're settled under the covers he perches on the edge of the bed and lays his hand on your forehead once again. A frown makes its way back onto his face and he checks your cheeks, your neck.

"I'm just tired, Joel," you mumble. "It's alright."

"Hmm." He kisses the inside of your wrist lightly and stands. "Gonna go check on Ellie, alright? I'll be back soon."

You fight to keep your eyes open and fail.

You feel like shit in the morning. Your head is pounding, your body aching. But you've had worse -- you've had broken bones and bruised ribs. You've been sick, you've been tired, you've been scared. This is nothing compared to life and death. You can muck a few stalls with a headache.

Joel isn't here -- a note on the counter says he got called to fix someone's sink and that he thinks you should stay home. You ignore it and head to the stables, taking deep breaths and walking slow.

Ellie shows up not long after you arrive and finds you leaning on your pitchfork in one of the stalls. Your stomach is churning but you're upright, still.

"You look like shit," she says.

"Thanks, kid," you grumble. "Where's your dog?"

"Dina's taking her on the trails today." They've been training Naledi to smell and track Infected.

You sway a little and make some noise of assent.

"Dude, are you sure you should be here today?"

If you leave now, she'll have to do the stalls herself. "I -- let me do a few more. I'm fine. It's alright."

She gives you a look she almost certainly learned from Joel but doesn't argue.

You are fine...for a little while. Ellie seems content to let you work in silence but you feel her eyes on you as you shovel shit and old hay. Just one more, you tell yourself. Then you'll go home and lie down. One more turns into two turns into three until you're scooping a big pile of straw and the spots dance across your vision again.

"Oh," you say with a gasp, and reach out for the wall, for something, anything to lean on. But your hand finds only air and then you're tipping, tipping, and you hear Ellie's Oh shit! and then --

Nothing.

No, I caught her before her head hit the ground. Are you on your back? Wait til she wakes to move her. Sounds like Esther. God, it smells like shit in here. Someone's hand on your forehead. He's coming --

You blink a few times and the roof of the barn comes into view. A groan makes its way up your throat without permission.

"Fuck," you say. "What --"

"Jesus," Ellie exhales. She's on her knees on one side of you, tugging at her fingers. "God, why did you come to work today?"

"I--"

"Where is she?" Joel's voice echoes through the barn and you try to get up on your elbows when you see him. The sudden movement makes your head pound again and hands on your shoulders help steady you. You're blinking into Joel's face, his creased brow and frown deepening as he kneels next to you.

A warm, weathered palm cups your cheek and his gaze catalogs the scene. He does this a lot -- takes in as many details as he can and makes a quick choice on how to proceed. It's a well-honed ability, one that's kept him alive this long. It's kept you and Ellie alive, and countless others in his company, too. Knowing how bad something is, and whether or not you can fix it.

He huffs, some of the tension melting from his face. "Just tired my ass," he mutters. "How're you feelin'?"

"Guess I fainted," you say weakly.

Ellie snorts. "No shit."

"Guess so," Joel echoes. "You wanna get up?" You nod. He does most of the work, arm around your waist as you stand and sway and end up tucked into his side.

"Surprised your knees work this well," you mutter. He makes a low noise in his throat and squeezes your side but otherwise ignores you.

"Think we're gonna go home, if that's alright," he says. You realize the crowd is a little bigger than you thought. Ellie, Esther, and some of the younger boys who work the horses stand nearby. Your head pounds too much for you to be properly embarrassed. You'll have to thank Ellie later for keeping an eye on you but for now, you let Joel lead you out of the stables without waiting for a reply.

Joel walks you home slowly.

"Did someone come get you?" you murmur. He nods.

"Kid said you fainted," he says. "I see you ignored my suggestion this mornin'."

"Yeah, but if I stayed in bed you wouldn't get to be a knight in shining armor."

There is a small voice in the back of your head that reminds you how bad it can be to be sick in this world. You've all seen it -- sickness takes a few people every year, a handful in bad ones. This is probably just the flu. You know that and Joel knows that. And even that can be dangerous, but you're here with the one man in the world who could defeat pretty much anything. Joel, who will keep you safe, who will see you through it. You really, truly believe that. And you want him to believe it, too.

"How polite of you," he says.

Your boot catches on the ground and you stumble a little. Joel slows you to a stop.

"I'm fine," you remind him. "Just sick, I guess." He huffs but you start walking again. "You really looked worried back there, you know."

"Yeah, well." You reach the stairs up to your house. He tightens his hold on you, practically taking all of your weight as you go up them one at a time. "Was worried you fell into some horse shit. Smell up the whole damn house."

That gets a laugh out of you. He gets you up the porch, across the threshold.

"You gonna listen to me this time?" he asks, sitting you down on the entryway bench. "Stay home, rest up?"

"I'll think about it," you sigh. "You gonna take care of me, Dr. Miller?"

He kneels in front of you to take off your boots and smirks. How many times have you done this? Peeling off each other's boots after a long day. When one of you is sick, when one of you is hurt. Your head is pounding and you almost certainly have a fever but Joel's gentle hands and familiar smirk sets you at ease. You're going to be doing this forever.

"C'mon," he says. "You know I'll take care of you."

He tucks your boots under the bench and puts his palms on your thighs. You lean forward to kiss him and miss by a mile, lips landing at the corner of his mouth.

"My head hurts," you say against his cheek. "I love you."

Joel sighs. "I know, baby," he murmurs. "I got you."

He does.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #just and just as

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ddejavvu · 7 months ago

Note

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader giving each other a good luck kiss before a tornado chase🩵🌪️

Spotlight - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're relieved that Tyler won't be gone for days, crossing state lines to chase this twister, but that comes with a downside: it's local. That means that, though the tornado's path isn't projected near your home, you're still on high-alert as anxiety convinces you that something will change and your house will be torn down plank by plank and blown away into oblivion.

"I'll be back for dinner," Tyler vows, grinning at you with the thrill of the chase already gleaming in his eyes and smile, "You just sit pretty 'til I'm back, darlin', and we can go out tonight. Get somethin' real nice, then we can go dancin' afterwards. In our own little corner, I promise." He tugs you close, miming how things will go only hours from now, knowing your tendency to be shy in large crowds.

The roaring of tires on gravel lets you know that Tyler's crew has arrived, and you've mostly conquered your nerves surrounding them. They're lovely people, if only a little intense, but you still feel sometimes like a complete outsider. Still, you wave sweetly to them, and a chorus of greetings floats your way over the open Arkansas air.

"Alright," Tyler pats once, twice against your hip, "That's my cue. If I don't get goin' soon, Boone's gonna start throwing shit at me."

"I'll protect you," You shrug, drinking in the last of his embrace- logically, the last of it for only a few hours. Irrationally- the last of it you might ever get. You shake away a shuddery feeling in your chest as Tyler laughs at your joke, squeezing you tighter around the waist.

"That's right, you're my little protector, aren't you? 'Gonna get those big ol' muscles out and show 'em all who's boss?"

Flexing your biceps does absolutely nothing to show them off like it does when Tyler does it, and you can feel the fondness in his ear-to-ear grin.

"Alright, darlin'." He lets go of your waist and suddenly the handprints on your sides are cold, terribly so, as a mild wind blows through your front yard, "Stay safe in here, m'kay? The storm's projected to go east but you know the drill; keep weather alerts on and hole up in the cellar if anything changes. Love you," He squeezes your hand in lieu of a kiss, something you're decidedly uncomfortable with in public, but when he turns to walk away, you act on impulse and grab his wrist.

"Ty-" You gasp, almost as shocked at your actions as he is when he turns to raise a questioning brow at you.

"Hm?"

"Uh- I," You stammer, his eyes like spotlights showcasing your awkward stance before you realize that words are failing, and the only thing you can do is kiss him.

You surge forwards, tugging him along to meet you in the middle as you lean up to press your lips to his. He's surprised if the way that his eyes go wide is any indication, and you feel like you're stealing his breath when his chest tightens up. It takes him barely a second to melt into it, but it's a second that feels like an eternity as your brain and heart race in tandem.

There's cheering, whooping, shouting, and a slew of other reactions from his crew that you'll lay awake embarrassed about later tonight, but for now you kiss Tyler Owens like it's the last time you'll see him- because it might be.

The words, 'Good luck,' are whispered softly against his lips when you part from them, and his eyes are hazy before he blinks away the cloudy daze he's trapped in. He stares down at you, equal parts bewildered and head-over-heels, and his grin is less cocky, more sappy now as he watches you.

"That was one hell of a kiss," He remarks, smoothing his tongue between the seam of his lips and catching your chapstick, "I don't even think I wanna go out now. Tornado be damned, the real fun's right here."

"Go," You push against his chest, and your laughter comes easy despite having just stepped so far out of your comfort zone, "Go and be back for dinner and dancing!"

"Yes ma'am!" Tyler calls, walking backwards towards his own truck as his crew splits in half to fill both vehicles equally, "I love you!"

He says it like it's an inside joke, like it's something he's informing you of for the first time instead of something you'd just pressed against his mouth.

You grin back, lazy and sure even amongst the watchful eyes of his crew, "I love you too, Ty."

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens fanfiction #tyler owens x you #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens blurb #tyler owens drabble #glen powell x reader #twisters fanfiction #tyler owens smut

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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 4 months ago

Text

The Party Planner

Matt Rempe x Reader

Summary: Trevor, Jack, and Luke learn they probably should knock before surprising people for their birthday…

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Gonna make this a series abt her being a lowk nepo baby

Y/N’s life had always revolved around hockey. As the daughter of a star defenseman from the ’90s, her childhood was filled with rink-side memories, locker room laughs, and endless conversations about the game. Her dad had gone to university with Ellen and even played on the Mens National Team when Ellen played for the womens. With that remaining close especially when she married Jim. They all remained close with him. Because of that, Y/N grew up with the Hughes brothers—Jack, Quinn, and Luke—feeling more like family than friends.

As she got older, Y/N’s life diverged from the rink. She found fame as an actress, rising through the ranks to become a household name in Hollywood. Still, no matter how bright the spotlight got, she stayed close to her roots. Her friendships with the Hughes brothers expanded to include other NHL players like Trevor Zegras and Cole Caufield. Whether it was hanging out in the off-season or cheering them on from the stands, she was the unofficial sibling of hockey’s rising stars.

But her personal life was a little more complicated.

For the past few months, Y/N had been dating Matt Rempe, a towering enforcer with a reputation for physical play and an even bigger temper. The hockey world knew him as the guy who spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice. His aggressive playing style and frequent fights had earned him a demotion to the AHL—a fact her father and friends couldn’t overlook.

“Are you sure about him?” her dad had asked more than once, skepticism clear in his voice.

Even Jack, Luke, and Trevor had their doubts. “I mean, he’s a good guy, right?” Jack had said cautiously. “But, uh…maybe not your guy.”

Yeah, like someone who doesn’t punch people for fun,” Trevor added.

Y/N brushed off their concerns. They didn’t know Matt like she did. Sure, he had a reputation, but beneath the rough exterior was a man who was kind, funny, and fiercely protective. He treated her like gold, and that was all that mattered. Winning over her friends and family would take time, but she was willing to wait.

As her birthday approached, Y/N opted for a quiet celebration. Between work and travel, she wanted nothing more than a simple dinner with close friends. What she didn’t know was that Luke, Jack, and Trevor had cooked up a plan to surprise her.

Trevor stood in the aisle of a party supply store, holding up a pack of balloons. “I’m telling you, this is the move. We sneak into her place, decorate, and when she gets home—bam! Surprise party.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “How do we know she’s not there?”

“She told me she was filming or something,” Jack said, tossing a bag of confetti into the cart. “We’ll be in and out. Easy.”

An hour later, armed with decorations and a cake, the trio let themselves into Y/N’s apartment. Trevor insisted on carrying the cake, while Jack and Luke carried the rest.

“She’s gonna love this,” Trevor said, plopping the cake box onto the kitchen counter.

Jack grinned. “Yeah, if we don’t screw it up.”

The three quickly got to work. Jack wrestled with an oversized banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, trying to hang it over the living room window. Trevor blew up balloons, complaining about the lack of a helium tank, while Luke meticulously set up confetti-filled balloons around the coffee table.

“This is looking pretty good,” Luke said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

“Where do you want the cake?” Trevor asked, balancing it precariously on one hand.

“Counter,” Jack mumbled, still wrestling with the banner. “Let’s finish before she gets home.”

“She’s not home,” Trevor said confidently, grabbing a balloon to blow up.

But he was wrong.

Y/N was home, and she wasn’t alone.

In her bedroom, she and Matt had spent the morning together, enjoying a rare, quiet day off. They’d slept in, laughed over shared jokes, and gotten caught up in each other in a way that made the rest of the world fade into the background.

Matt leaned back against the headboard, a lazy grin on his face. “So, part one of your birthday present?”

“Can it be presented with people around? Or is this a private one” Y/N replied, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“Definitely just us, might give your dad a heartattack” Matt teased, pulling her closer. “Come here”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. They leaned in for another kiss creating explicit faint sounds of muffled noises through the apartment.

Out in the living room, Trevor froze mid-step. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

Jack, teetering on a chair, glanced over his shoulder. “Hear what?”

Trevor held up a hand, signaling for silence. All three of them stilled, ears straining. From down the hallway came the faint sound of moans—deep and unmistakably male and female.

Luke’s face turned bright red. “Oh my.”

“No way,” Trevor whispered, a grin spreading across his face.

Jack hopped down from the chair, his expression one of sheer panic. “It’s not what you think. Maybe she left the TV on.”

Another sound—this time softer, followed by an unmistakable thud—left no room for doubt.

“Oh, this is gold,” Trevor whispered, clutching the edge of the couch for support.

Luke groaned, burying his face in his hands. “We have to leave. Right now.”

“Agreed,” Jack said, already gathering their decorations. “Pack it up. Let’s go.”

Trevor, however, lingered. “Guys. We could just—”

“Nope,” Jack snapped, grabbing Trevor by the arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

As they scrambled for the door, another sound—one that they really didn’t want to identify—echoed from the bedroom.

“Call Quinn,” Luke muttered as they fled into the hallway. “Call Quinn right now.”

Quinn answered on the second ring. “What’s up?”

Trevor’s voice came through in a near-shout. “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

“What did you do now?” Quinn asked, sounding suspicious.

“We didn’t do anything!” Trevor insisted. “But we went to surprise Y/N for her birthday, and, uh…”

Jack snatched the phone. “We heard them! Her and Matt. Going at it like rabbits.”

“What?!” Quinn sounded half-amused, half-horrified.

Luke’s groan was audible in the background. “It was so bad. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

Trevor took the phone back, grinning. “Quinn, I’m telling you. I’m traumatized, but it was also hilarious.”

“You guys are idiots,” Quinn said, though there was laughter in his voice. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything.”

“We ran out of there so fast, they probably didn’t even know we were there,” Trevor assured him.

“Good,” Quinn said. “Because if Y/N finds out, she’s going to kill you.”

Later that day, Cole joined the group call, his laugh echoing through the line as they recounted the story.

“She’s going to find out eventually,” Cole said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “You guys are the worst.”

Jack groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Meanwhile, back in her apartment, Y/N had no idea what had just transpired—or the chaos that her well-meaning friends had unleashed.

Weeks after her birthday, Y/N found herself seated in a sleek studio alongside Jack, Trevor and Jamie Drysdale, appearing on Instagram live. The atmosphere was casual and lighthearted, the kind of energy Trevor thrived on—and the kind that made Y/N suspicious of what he might say.

Jamie leaned forward with a grin. “So, Y/N, how was your birthday? Heard stuff happened but I’ve been so busy can’t believe I missed it.”

Y/N smiled warmly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was great, honestly. Very low-key. Just how I like it.”

Trevor, sitting to her left, suddenly perked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Not that low-key,” he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jack immediately groaned and slumped in his chair. “Trevor, no.”

“What?” Trevor said innocently, spreading his hands. “It’s a funny story!”

Jamie’s grin widened. “Oh, I need to hear this. What happened?”

Y/N shot Trevor a warning glance, but he was already leaning into the phone, fully committed to his role as the ultimate pot-stirrer.

“So,” Trevor began dramatically, “we thought it would be a good idea to surprise Y/N for her birthday. You know, being the amazing friends we are. Balloons, banners, cake—the works. We figured we’d sneak into her apartment and have it all ready for when she got back.”

Y/N shook her head, already sensing where this was going. “Trevor…”

Trevor ignored her. “The thing is, we didn’t realize she was home—and, uh, she wasn’t alone.”

Jamie burst out laughing. “You’re kidding!”

“Oh, yeah,” Trevor continued, grinning ear to ear. “We’re mid-decorating—Luke’s got balloons, Jack’s fighting with a banner—and then we hear…” He paused for dramatic effect, lowering his voice. “Let’s just say we heard things.”

The studio erupted in laughter. Jack buried his face in his hands, muttering, “I told him not to tell this story.”

Trevor was on a roll now. “We froze, completely starstruck. Like, ‘Is that Matt?’ And sure enough…” He trailed off, smirking at Y/N.

Y/N, her face a mix of embarrassment and exasperation, finally spoke up. “Are you serious right now?” She turned to Jamie. “This is Trevor’s favorite pastime—making up ridiculous stories to embarrass me.”

Trevor looked affronted. “Making up? Oh, no, this is 100% real. Ask Luke!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, it’s not true. Matt and I would never—” She gestured sarcastically and vaguely, clearly trying to keep the conversation from getting too graphic. “This is pure fabrication.”

Jamie leaned in, still laughing. “So you’re saying you weren’t home?”

“I was home,” Y/N admitted, her voice calm but firm. “But Trevor has a very active imagination. Matt and I were for sure watching a movie in the bedroom.”

Jack, seeing an opportunity to back her up, jumped in. “Yeah, I mean…we didn’t actually see anything. We just heard…stuff. Could’ve been the TV.”

Trevor groaned. “Don’t cover for her! You know what we heard.”

Y/N crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, please, Trevor. You probably heard muffled sounds and immediately jumped to conclusions. Matt and I were watching a crime thriller.”

Trevor shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

Jamie laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “This might be my favorite story of all time.”

Y/N sighed, half-laughing despite herself. “I can’t believe I’m defending my perfectly pg 13 relationship on live.”

“You’re welcome,” Trevor said smugly.

Jack chimed in, trying to steer the conversation away from further disaster. “Honestly, the best part is how fast we ran out of there. Luke didn’t even look back. We just left everything—balloons, streamers, the whole setup. It’s probably still there.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “You guys are unbelievable.”

Jamie grinned. “Well, whether it’s true or not, it sounds like Y/N’s birthday was very memorable.”

Trevor gave a mock toast to the phone. “To Y/N and Matt—congrats on keeping things…entertaining.”

Y/N gave him a playful shove, laughing despite her embarrassment. “Next time, maybe knock before you decide to play party planner.”

As the live wrapped, Y/N couldn’t help but shake her head. She might never live this down, but at least life with these guys was never boring.

#matt rempe #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe imagines #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #connor bedard x reader #connor bedard #new york rangers #nhl x reader #new jersey devils

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lila-lou · 5 months ago

Text

✨Pumpkin Spice Latte✨

Summary: After a rough hunt leaves Dean bruised and exhausted, the last thing he’s up for is a Halloween party.

-Halloween-Special-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Age Gap, Language, Fluff, Dean being in pain

Word Count: 6041

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💛

Dean wrinkled his nose, glaring at the cup you'd just shoved into his hand. "What the hell is this? It smells like shit!", he grumbled, giving the cup a suspicious look. He was already settled in the driver’s seat, clearly not thrilled with whatever concoction you'd handed him.

You chuckled, tossing your handbag into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat. "Relax, Dean", you said, grinning as you leaned over and snatched the cup back from him. "It's a pumpkin spice latte—the best thing on earth".

He raised an eyebrow at you, clearly unconvinced. "Pumpkin what? Since when do pumpkins belong in coffee?".

You just laughed, taking a sip and savoring the sweet, spiced warmth. "Since forever, you just haven't lived until you’ve tried it".

Dean gave a low grunt, his eyes flicking from the road to the cup in your hand, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure, whatever makes you happy". He muttered something about it being "a waste of perfectly good coffee" under his breath, but there was a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he started the Impala.

You watched Dean out of the corner of your eye as he focused on the wet road ahead. The rain tapped rhythmically against the windshield, blurring the autumn scenery. The streets were lined with wet, brown leaves, clinging to the pavement from the downpour. It was October 31st, Halloween, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of what was coming tonight.

"So", you began, teasingly dragging out the word as you took another sip of your pumpkin spice latte, "you really going to keep sulking about the party, or are you going to try and enjoy yourself tonight?".

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his eyes on the road, the Impala’s wipers swishing back and forth as they cleared the rain. "I told you, I’m too old for that crap", he grumbled. "Costumes and fake blood? I’m living that nightmare every day. Don’t need to do it for fun".

You couldn't help but laugh softly, turning to fully face him. "Oh, come on, Dean. You're not that old". You leaned closer, resting your elbow on the console, grinning mischievously. "Besides, you promised you'd come. You can handle one night of normal fun, right? Maybe even dance a little".

He gave you a sidelong glance, his lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a heavy sigh. "Normal fun? Is that what we're calling this?".His voice was thick with sarcasm, but you noticed the faintest hint of a smile creeping up as he continued. "I swear, if anyone tries to put me in some ridiculous costume—".

"Relax, grumpy", you interrupted, laughing again. "I already picked out something easy for you. You just have to show up and look hot, which, lucky for you, you do naturally".

Dean scoffed but finally turned to give you a quick look, his green eyes flashing with amusement. "Yeah, well, you’re lucky I’m putting up with this at all. Only reason I’m going is ‘cause you’re twenty-five and apparently this kind of stuff is still a thing for you".

You reached over, resting your hand on his knee. "And that’s why you’re the best. But seriously, it won’t be that bad. Just a few hours, a few drinks, and then you can come back to being your broody, old self". You winked, knowing how to push his buttons just enough to get that reaction out of him.

Dean groaned dramatically, shaking his head as the Impala cruised down the slick streets. "I don’t know what I got myself into with you, sweetheart".

You grinned, settling back into your seat, the warmth of the car contrasting with the cold, rainy night outside. "You’re gonna have fun, Winchester. You just wait".

Dean pulled the Impala smoothly to a stop in front of your apartment complex, the rumble of the engine quieting as he turned off the ignition. The rain had softened to a steady drizzle, but the streets were still slick, shimmering under the streetlights. You glanced over at him with a small smile, grateful he’d driven you home instead of making some excuse to drop you off and head back to whatever hunt he had lined up next.

Every now and then, you managed to convince him to stay at your place, craving at least a few hours of something that felt like a normal relationship. Over time, Dean had slowly gotten used to the idea, and now your apartment was almost as much his as it was yours. He had a drawer in your bedroom, his favorite flannel hung in your closet, and you were pretty sure he had stashed at least two knives and a flask of holy water somewhere between your kitchen and your living room.

As the two of you stepped out into the cool evening air, you reached into the backseat to grab your handbag, then made your way towards the stairs. Dean followed behind, the sound of his boots heavy on the rain-slicked steps. You felt his presence just behind you, a constant, reassuring force in your life that somehow made everything feel safer, even when you both knew it never really was.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, you turned to him with a smirk and held out your pumpkin spice latte again. “Hold this”, you teased, already anticipating his eye roll.

Dean stared at the cup like it personally offended him but took it from your hands with a reluctant sigh. “You really gonna make me carry this thing again?”, he muttered, though the playful glint in his eyes told you he didn’t mind as much as he let on.

You shrugged, turning back to unlock the front door. “Hey, consider it training. Maybe someday you’ll be converted to the greatness of pumpkin spice”.

“Not a chance in hell”, Dean grumbled behind you, though his tone was lighter now, more relaxed.

You unlocked the front door to the building, the soft click barely audible over the rain still pattering outside. Dean followed you inside, as you climbed the short flight to your apartment on the first floor. The air in the hallway was thick with the scent of old wood and rain-soaked leaves, familiar and comforting in a strange way. Dean, though, had that ever-present edge about him, his eyes darting briefly to every shadow, every dark corner, even in this quiet space. It was his nature to be alert, always ready for whatever might come.

You reached your apartment door and dug the keys out of your bag, glancing at him as you slid the key into the lock. “You know, you could relax, Dean. I promise there’s nothing lurking in the hallway tonight”.

Dean huffed softly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, right. You never know. Last thing I need is to get jumped by a demon on a coffee run”. He handed you the cup again, shaking his head. “Here, take your damn pumpkin milk. Thing’s probably cursed”.

You chuckled, taking the cup back as you pushed open the door and stepped inside, the warmth of the apartment immediately wrapping around you. “No demons tonight”, you promised, stepping out of your shoes by the door. “Just you, me, and some quality time before we have to deal with the craziness later”.

Dean followed you inside, his usual routine kicking in. He tossed his keys on the small table near the entrance, his eyes sweeping the room in his typical hunter way, as if something might have changed in the time you’d been gone. It hadn’t, of course—everything was just as it always was, cozy and familiar.

You placed your latte on the kitchen counter, watching him as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. Despite the tough exterior, there was a comfort Dean found here, whether he’d admit it or not. He didn’t need to be on high alert every second he was with you, and in moments like this, you could see the faintest bit of ease slip into his posture.

“Feels good to be back here”, you said softly, moving to stand beside him. “Even if you don’t like to admit it”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a slight grin. “I don’t dislike it”. He glanced around as if contemplating his next words. “You got room for all my crap here now anyway. Might as well use it”.

You smiled, standing on your toes to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “That’s a start”.

You watched Dean with a quiet smile as he settled in, kicking off his boots and grabbing a beer from your fridge without so much as a word. It had taken time for him to feel at home here, but now, it was second nature. You knew he would never fully leave the bunker or Sammy—that was his world, his responsibility. But nights like this, when you could have him here, even for a little while, it was all you asked for.

Slipping off your coat, you draped it over the chair by the kitchen and made your way towards the double glass doors that led out to the small balcony. The rain was heavier now, coming down in sheets and turning the streetlights outside into glowing halos in the mist. You stood there for a moment, listening to the familiar hum of the rain as it splashed against the balcony, the rhythmic sound somehow making everything feel even cozier inside.

Turning back, you caught sight of Dean on the couch, already making himself comfortable. He had plopped down heavily, his beer in one hand as he took a long drink. His flannel had ridden up slightly in the process, exposing a strip of skin along his stomach, the curve of muscle there a casual reminder of just how strong he really was. He glanced over at you, catching you staring, and raised an eyebrow.

“What?”, he asked, his eyebrow raised in that typical, playful way, though you could see the weariness just beneath the surface.

He had only been back for a day after spending over two grueling weeks on the East Coast with Sam and Cas, hunting down a particularly nasty group of demons. It was a brutal case, by the sound of it—full of close calls, too many injuries, and not enough rest.

You could still see the faint marks of it on him now. Scratches over his arms, a bruise along his jawline that hadn’t quite faded yet, and the way he moved, just a little too carefully, told you his ribs were still aching. But Dean being Dean, he’d never admit to being in pain. Too proud. Too stubborn. It was like he wore his injuries like another layer of armor, determined not to show weakness, even when he was home with you.

But despite all that, despite the rough edges and the exhaustion he carried like a weight on his shoulders, you had missed him more than you could put into words. And now, just seeing him here, sprawled out on your couch, looking so effortlessly Dean with that lazy grin and the hint of his v-line peeking out from beneath his flannel, you felt a surge of warmth run through you. It pooled low in your belly, a slow heat building at the simple sight of him, all muscle and raw presence, even in his most relaxed state.

Heat rising to your cheeks as you tore your gaze away from his exposed skin, trying not to let it show just how much you had missed everything about him. But Dean, of course, noticed.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?”, he asked, his voice rough, but teasing, as he took another slow sip of his beer. His eyes were on you now, sharp despite the tiredness behind them, and you could feel that familiar pull between the two of you, like an unspoken challenge.

You shook your head slightly, trying to play it cool, though you could feel the heat still simmering beneath your skin. “Just… glad you’re home”, you said softly, your voice carrying more weight than you intended. You met his gaze again, knowing full well he could see right through you, but in moments like this, you didn’t care.

Dean set his beer down on the table, leaning back into the couch, his eyes still locked on you. “Yeah?”, he asked, his voice a little softer now. “I missed you, too”. There was no teasing in his tone this time, just honesty, plain and simple, and it hit you in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

You crossed the room and sat beside him, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours, even though he was still being careful not to show just how sore he really was. You reached out, your hand resting gently on his side, just above where you knew his broken rib was, and he flinched, just a little. “Dean…”, you started, your voice quiet as you brushed your thumb over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the tension in his muscles.

“I told you I’m fine”, he muttered, that stubborn edge creeping back into his voice as he glanced away. But you could feel how tightly he was wound, the pain he was hiding, and it tugged at your heart.

You gave him a look, one that you knew would cut through his defenses. “You don’t always have to be fine, you know”.

Dean sighed, his shoulders dropping just a little as he looked back at you. His expression softened, and for a moment, the tough hunter exterior slipped away. “Yeah, well… old habits”, he murmured, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.

Without saying anything, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, careful not to aggravate any of his bruises, and you felt him relax, just a little, under your touch. “Just… let me take care of you tonight”, you whispered against his skin, your lips brushing the edge of his stubble. “You’ve been through enough”.

Dean closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as if he was finally letting himself take in the comfort you were offering. His arm came around you, pulling you in closer, and you could feel the tension melting from his body, even if just for a moment.

“Alright”, he murmured, his voice low and rough, “but don’t go thinking this makes me soft”.

You chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to his jaw, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Winchester”.

Dean let out a low hum, his fingers brushing through your hair as he held you close, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like the world outside had finally quieted.

You grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on, letting the soft murmur of the background noise fill the room. A movie, maybe something familiar, began playing as you stood up, casting one last glance at Dean, who was already half-lost in the feel of the couch beneath him, his eyes lazily following you as you made your way toward the bedroom.

The door was open, giving Dean a clear view from where he sat, and you could feel his eyes on you as you reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head. The soft fabric fell to the floor, and you couldn’t help but smirk to yourself as you stripped down to your underwear. You knew Dean was watching, his gaze heating up the space between you, and despite the comfort of the moment, the tension between you remained undeniable, lingering in the air like a spark waiting to catch fire.

You moved to your drawer, rummaging through for something cozy to slip into, all while feeling Dean’s eyes still fixed on you.

You smiled to yourself as your fingers brushed against one of Dean’s flannels, the fabric soft and worn from years of use. It had practically become yours by now, a constant fixture in your drawer because, if you were being honest, you loved wearing his clothes just as much as he loved seeing you in them. There was something comforting about it—the way it smelled faintly of him, how the sleeves were just a bit too long on you. It was like wrapping yourself in his presence, even when he wasn’t around.

You slipped it on, the familiar fabric brushing against your skin, warm and soft, the scent of Dean still lingering faintly on it. As you buttoned it up, you could feel the way his gaze lingered on you from the other room, a quiet intensity that sent a thrill through you.

Turning slightly, you caught a glimpse of him from the doorway. Dean had shifted on the couch, his body tense in that subtle way he tried to hide, the beer now forgotten on the table beside him. His green eyes were locked on you, darker now, his focus entirely on the way the flannel draped over your frame. You knew what he was thinking without him having to say a word.

The way the flannel clung to you, oversized but unmistakably his, seemed to ignite something in him. It made it clear that, despite everything—the danger, the hunts, the weeks spent apart—you were his. And you knew it, too. The way his eyes darkened when you wore his clothes, that quiet possessiveness that was always just under the surface, was something you both understood without words.

You stepped out of the bedroom and crossed the room, feeling the warmth in his gaze follow you. When you got close enough, Dean reached out, his hand catching yours, gently tugging you toward him.

You obliged without hesitation, letting Dean pull you down onto his lap. His hands immediately settled on your hips, his grip firm but gentle, the warmth of his touch spreading through the thin fabric of the flannel. You could feel the solidness of him beneath you, the tension in his muscles slowly unraveling as you leaned into him.

Dean’s green eyes were locked on yours, dark and intense, filled with that familiar mix of desire and something deeper—something that told you just how much he had missed you, how much you meant to him. His thumb brushed lightly against your waist, tracing lazy circles over the flannel, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You have any idea what you do to me?”, he muttered, his voice low, rough, barely above a whisper. His hands tightened slightly on your hips as he pulled you just a little closer.

You bit your lip, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you shifted in his lap, the movement making him let out a low groan from deep in his chest. “Maybe”, you teased, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “But I like hearing you say it”.

Dean chuckled softly, though it was thick with that familiar edge of want. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him, his lips grazing your neck as he spoke, his voice a soft rumble against your skin. “You’re driving me crazy”.

You shivered at the feel of his breath on your neck, your fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt. “Good”, you whispered, leaning down to brush your lips against his in a teasing, feather-light kiss.

Dean’s grip tightened at your waist, and before you could pull away, he captured your lips with his, the kiss deepening instantly. It was full of everything that had been building between you—the weeks of being apart, the constant danger, the unspoken need for each other that seemed to intensify every time you were together. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you close as his lips moved against yours, slow and intense, like he was savoring every second.

You melted into him, your body fitting perfectly against his, the familiar scent of leather, rain, and Dean filling your senses. His other hand roamed over your back, his touch both gentle and possessive, like he needed the physical reassurance that you were here, with him, right now.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in shallow bursts, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. His eyes were still dark, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, but there was a softness in his expression now, a quiet intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”, you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “You’re stuck with me”.

Dean’s eyes softened at your words, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as he smiled, that rare, genuine smile that he only ever gave you. “I’m counting on it”, he murmured, his voice rough but full of warmth.

You shifted slightly in his lap, and there was no mistaking the growing tension between you as you felt his arousal pressing against you, straining against his jeans. Heat pooled low in your belly, and you bit your lip, your mind already drifting toward the thought of pushing things further.

But then your eyes flicked down to his side, where you knew his injured rib was hidden beneath his shirt, still healing from the hunt. You could almost feel the dull ache he must’ve been pushing through, despite how well he masked it with his usual bravado.

Your fingers brushed lightly over his chest, just above where the injury sat, and you glanced up at him, concern softening the heat that had been building. “You think a little… fun is going to hurt too much?”, you murmured softly, your voice full of both tease and care, your gaze flicking back to the spot where his broken rib was.

Dean let out a soft, low chuckle, his hands still resting firmly on your hips as he shook his head slightly. “Trust me, sweetheart”, he said, his voice rough, but there was a playful gleam in his eyes. “It’ll hurt more if we don’t”. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before trailing his lips along your jawline, his breath warm against your skin.

You let out a quiet sigh, your body instinctively responding to his touch, but still, you couldn’t help the slight worry that lingered in the back of your mind. You didn’t want to push him, not when he was still healing, even if he was far too stubborn to admit when he needed rest.

“Dean”, you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still lightly tracing over the spot where his rib was. “I don’t want to hurt you. You should be resting”.

Dean’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin as he held your gaze, his expression softening just a little. “I’m fine”, he murmured, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “Yeah, it aches, but nothing I can’t handle”. He smirked then, a glint of mischief returning to his eyes as he pulled you closer. “Besides, there are worse ways to deal with pain”.

You couldn’t help but smile at that, your heart fluttering at the familiar mix of playfulness and affection in his words. But still, you gave him a look, making sure he knew you weren’t entirely convinced.

He sighed softly, his hand sliding down to your waist again, his touch warm and steady. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll stop”, he promised, his eyes serious now. “But right now… I want you”.

Those last words sent a shiver through you, and the heat that had been simmering between you flared back to life. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, lingering kiss, your hands sliding up to cup his face as you deepened the kiss, pouring all your pent-up desire and affection into the moment.

Dean groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you even closer, the tension between you palpable now.

You shifted back slightly, settling more comfortably on his thighs to give yourself enough room to work. The tension between you two was electric, and you could feel Dean’s gaze fixed on you, his eyes dark and filled with anticipation as you reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft click of the metal filled the quiet room, followed by the slow, deliberate sound of his zipper being undone.

Dean’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling beneath you as you teased him, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of his jeans as you worked. His hands stayed on your hips, his grip tightening just slightly, as if he was barely holding himself back from taking control. But he let you set the pace, his patience a quiet reminder of how much he trusted you, how much he wanted you.

As you continued to ease his jeans and boxers down, Dean shifted his hips upward slightly, making it easier for you to pull the fabric down and free his hard length.

You took a moment to fully appreciate the sight of him, his arousal prominent and hard, the anticipation clear in the way his body tensed beneath you. You could feel the way his breathing grew more ragged, the muscles in his thighs tightening with the effort of holding himself in check.

You bit your lip, savoring the charged moment between you. With careful, deliberate movements, you took his length in your hand, feeling the heat and firmness of him. Dean’s breath hitched as you wrapped your fingers around him, his gaze locked on you, dark with desire.

As you shifted slightly, positioning yourself to align with him, Dean’s hands moved instinctively to guide you. His touch was gentle but firm, his fingers brushing aside the fabric of your underwear to help you line up perfectly.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you carefully began to sink onto him. The sensation was intense, and even after being together for over three years, his size still took a moment to adjust to, and his reaction to your tightness was immediate. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, his grip on your hips tightening as he watched you with a mix of awe and desire.

“Damn, you’re tight”, he murmured, his voice rough with the effort of holding back. He tried to keep his tone light, teasing, but there was a clear edge of need in his words. “You trying to kill me here?”.

You smiled mischievously, a playful glint in your eye. “Maybe just trying to remind you of how good you’ve got it”, you teased, intentionally clenching around him with a slow, deliberate movement.

Dean’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a groan escaping his lips as he fought to maintain control. “Damn it”, he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl.

As you sank down completely, the full intensity of the connection took your breath away, every nerve alive with sensation. You steadied yourself by placing your hands on Dean's broad shoulders, the strength in them reassuring under your touch.

Dean's eyes opened again, locking onto yours with that fiery intensity that always managed to send shivers down your spine. "You sure you can handle this?", he teased, his voice a low rumble mixed with genuine concern for your comfort.

"I think the question is, can you handle it?", you retorted with a playful smirk, shifting slightly to adjust to the depth. The movement elicited a sharp inhale from Dean, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

You began to move, finding a steady pace, each movement synchronized to maximize the deep, intense connection. Dean watched you intently, his gaze never wavering, completely captivated by every expression that flickered across your face.

The room was filled with the sound of your synchronized breathing and the subtle shift of fabric as you moved together. Each of Dean's responses drove you further, his body reacting instinctively to yours, his touches and movements growing more confident and assertive.

"You feel amazing", Dean groaned, his head tipping back slightly as he absorbed every sensation. His words were laced with both pleasure and a bit of awe, as if even after years, the depth of your intimacy could still surprise him.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear, whispering softly, "Just keep up with me". The challenge was gentle but clear, and you could feel Dean's resolve firming. He shifted his grip, finding a new angle that drew a deep moan from your lips, clearly pleased with your reaction.

The pace quickened naturally, driven by mutual need and the profound connection you shared. Dean's hands explored your back, tracing lines of fire with every touch, his fingers pressing into your skin in encouragement and desire.

The world outside faded completely, leaving only the two of you lost in the rhythm and rush of overwhelming sensation. Every movement, every touch, was a reaffirmation of the deep, enduring bond between you, pushing each other towards a peak that was both intense and incredibly intimate.

As Dean hit all the right spots, the pleasure built rapidly within you. Each movement seemed to push you closer to the edge, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. Your moans grew louder, each sound a testament to how well he knew your body and how perfectly he fit inside you.

“Dean”, you gasped, your voice strained with pleasure as your back arched, your head falling back. The sensation of him inside you was electrifying, the friction and depth making it impossible to hold back. You clenched around him, the tightness pushing him closer to his own release.

Dean responded with a low, guttural groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he felt you tighten around him. His own pleasure built rapidly, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven bursts. The way you were moving, the way you were squeezing him, was almost too much to handle.

The pressure within you reached a peak, and with a final, intense clench, you felt the waves of your climax crashing over you. Your body trembled, your moans a mix of ecstasy and relief as you finally let go, the pleasure overwhelming.

The sensation of your climax triggered Dean’s release as well. He let out a throaty groan, his body tensing as he came, the force of it pushing him into a shuddering, intense orgasm.

But as Dean’s body tensed with the force of his release, he let out a strained gasp, a sharp pain flaring in his injured rib. The sudden jolt of discomfort cut through the haze of pleasure, causing him to stiffen and wince.

“Shit”, he muttered, his voice tight with both pleasure and pain. He tried to mask it, but the strain was evident in the way he clenched his jaw and the slight grimace that crossed his face.

You immediately noticed the shift, your pleasure quickly giving way to concern. You could feel his discomfort and moved carefully, your hands reaching up to cradle his face. “You´re okay?”, you asked, your voice soft with worry. “Does it hurt?”.

He took a moment to catch his breath, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of lingering desire and discomfort. “Just a little”, he admitted, trying to brush off the pain. “Didn’t expect it to flare up like that, though”.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea”, you mumbled softly, your voice filled with concern as you carefully shifted off of him, moving slowly to avoid causing him any more discomfort. Dean let out a small, half-hearted chuckle, his hand brushing over his rib as he tried to steady his breathing.

“Yeah, probably should’ve taken it easy”, he admitted, his voice still rough but laced with a bit of humor. He gave you a reassuring look, but you could see the lingering tension in his eyes.

As you sat up, you quickly pulled your panties back into place, trying to prevent the inevitable mess of your combined release. You caught Dean watching you with a faint smirk, despite the pain, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“You’re still smirking even when you’re in pain?”, you teased lightly, reaching for a nearby throw blanket to cover him up. “You really are something else, Winchester”.

Dean shrugged, wincing slightly at the motion. “What can I say? You have that effect on me”.

While Dean carefully tugged himself back into his jeans, you slipped off to the bathroom, moving quickly to clean yourself up. As you splashed water on your face, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, your thoughts racing. Despite his humor, the tension in Dean’s expression had been clear—his rib was still bothering him more than he was letting on.

By the time you returned, Dean was sprawled back on the couch, the blanket draped loosely over him. His eyes were half-lidded, the weariness from both the hunt and the earlier moment of intensity catching up to him. You stood in the doorway for a moment, biting your lip as you took him in.

"Maybe we should stay in", you suggested softly, stepping toward him. "Forget the party".

Dean looked up at you, his expression softening as he registered your words. He gave a slight shake of his head, attempting to brush it off, but you could see the exhaustion creeping up on him. "I’m fine", he muttered, trying to sit up a little straighter. "I can handle it".

You crossed the room and sat down next to him, gently placing a hand on his arm. "Dean, you’re not fooling anyone", you said softly, your tone filled with concern. "You need to rest. That rib isn’t going to heal if you keep pushing yourself".

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew you were right, but the stubbornness in him didn’t want to admit it. "I just didn’t want to ruin your plans", he admitted quietly, glancing up at you. "You were excited about the party".

You smiled gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "The party doesn’t matter", you whispered against his skin. "What matters is you. I’d rather spend the night here with you, making sure you’re okay".

Dean’s eyes softened at that, the fight leaving him as he finally relaxed against the couch. "You really don’t mind?", he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

You shook your head, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Not at all", you replied, your voice filled with warmth. "Besides, staying in with you sounds a lot better than any party".

Dean smiled, the tension in his body easing as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. "Alright", he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "I guess we’re staying in, then".

You snuggled into his side, the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing calming your own racing heart. The rain outside continued to fall in a soft, soothing patter, and in the quiet comfort of the moment, you both knew you had made the right choice.

Tonight would be just for the two of you, no parties, no distractions—just the peace of being together.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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pastryfication · 7 months ago

Note

could you write something about oscar and his broken rib? maybe how you imagine how it happend, him going to the hospital to check it out, y/n taking care of him and being worried, him insisting to race,…

hope that helps with inspiration. you don‘t have to write everything from above just what you like

fortune in misfortune | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x gf!reader. note: i still can’t believe that he raced (AND WON???) with a broken rib so this was definitely fun to write. thank you for requesting it!! <3

you’re sitting on the couch, legs draped over oscar’s lap, when you notice him wince. it’s subtle, just a tiny flinch, but you catch it. you pull your eyes away from the movie and look at him, raising an eyebrow. "what’s wrong?"

oscar tries to shrug it off, offering a half-hearted smile. “nothing, just a little sore from training.”

you narrow your eyes, not convinced. “you sure? you don’t look fine.”

he chuckles, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “i’m okay, really. maybe i pulled something, but it’s nothing serious.”

you let it go for now, but the nagging feeling in your gut doesn’t disappear. he’s been home for a few days between races, and you’ve noticed he’s been moving a bit more carefully than usual. you figure he’s just being cautious—he’s got a big race in hungary coming up and doesn’t want to risk anything.

a couple of days later, you’re in the kitchen making breakfast when you hear a crash. rushing to the living room, you find oscar on the floor, holding his side and gritting his teeth.

“oscar!” you exclaim, dropping to your knees beside him. “what happened?”

he tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a groan. “tripped over my own feet… and then, well, the coffee table.”

your heart races as you help him up, his face pale with pain. “we’re going to the hospital.”

he starts to protest, but one look at your determined expression and he knows better than to argue. “okay, okay. but it’s probably just a bruise.”

you drive him to the hospital, anxiety bubbling in your chest. oscar tries to lighten the mood, cracking jokes and insisting that he’s fine, but you can see the discomfort etched on his face.

in the examination room, the doctor checks him over, sending him for an x-ray. you sit beside him, holding his hand, trying to mask your worry with a smile.

when the doctor returns, he frowns at the x-ray images. “well, there’s nothing obvious here, but given your symptoms, i’d like to do an ultrasound to be sure.”

oscar nods, though you can see a flicker of concern in his eyes. you squeeze his hand tighter.

a little while later, the ultrasound reveals what the x-ray didn’t—he’s got a small, hairline fracture in one of his ribs. the doctor explains it’s not too serious but could cause pain, especially with the physical demands of racing.

you feel a wave of relief mixed with fresh worry. “so what now? should he be resting? can he still race?” your questions tumble out faster than you can control them.

oscar gives you a reassuring smile, despite the obvious discomfort. “it’s just a small fracture. i’ll take it easy.”

the doctor advises some rest and pain management but doesn’t explicitly forbid racing. oscar seems almost relieved, but you’re still not convinced. “oscar, i don’t know… this sounds serious.”

“hey,” he says softly, turning to face you fully. “i’ll be careful. if it gets worse, i’ll pull out, okay? but right now, i’m feeling alright. it’s just a bit of pain.”

you know how stubborn he can be, and how much racing means to him. you want to make him stay home, keep him safe, but you also know he wouldn’t be happy with that.

over the next few days, you fuss over him—probably more than necessary, but you can’t help it. you make sure he’s comfortable, keep an eye on him whenever he moves, and remind him to take his pain meds. oscar endures it with a smile, teasing you gently about being so worried.

“you’re gonna wrap me in bubble wrap next,” he jokes one morning as you hand him a glass of water with his painkillers.

“don’t tempt me,” you reply, only half-joking. but you know you can’t keep him from going to hungary. it’s what he loves, and you can see the determination in his eyes.

the day before he’s supposed to leave, you sit together in bed, your head resting on his shoulder. “just promise me you’ll be careful.”

he kisses the top of your head, his voice soft. “i promise. and if it gets too much, i’ll stop. but i’ve got this, love. don’t worry too much.”

you nod, trying to believe it, but the worry still lingers in your chest. you just want him to be okay.

the next morning, you drive him to the airport, your hand gripping his a little tighter than usual. “text me as soon as you land, and call me if you need anything.”

oscar smiles, leaning in for a kiss. “i will. and i’ll be back before you know it.”

as you watch him walk into the terminal, you can’t shake the feeling of anxiety. but you trust him. he’ll be careful. he’s oscar, after all—strong, determined, and maybe just a little bit clumsy. and you’ll be here, waiting for him, ready to take care of him when he gets back.

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magnagaruzenmon · 1 month ago

Text

Hybrid Theory III/0

New Neighbors

Tags: threesome, hybrid,

A little birthday gift for our collab writer who loves Sakura and Mina

Koby had just finished his morning workout when he heard the commotion outside his apartment. He grabbed a towel, slinging it over his shoulder as he opened his door to investigate.

Two girls stood in the hallway, surrounded by boxes, a few suitcases, and what looked like a partially unwrapped gaming chair. One of them—a petite woman with dark cat ears poking through her hair—was attempting to balance a heavy-looking box on one knee while typing something on her phone. The other—a woman about the same height with strikingly pale feathers dusting her arms—sighed, adjusting her grip on a large suitcase.

Koby leaned against his doorframe, raising a brow. “Moving in or staging a takeover?”

The cat hybrid’s ears twitched as she looked up. “Oh, hey. You live next door?”

“Yeah,” Koby said, crossing his arms. “You two need help, or are you just gonna wrestle that box all day?”

The owl hybrid sighed in relief. “That would actually be amazing,” she said. “I’m Mina, and this is Sakura. We just moved in, and, well… we underestimated how much stuff we have.”

Sakura flashed a grin. “More like she underestimated how many Lego she owns.”

Mina shot her a look before turning back to Koby. “Excuse me Mrs game addict. Anyway, if you’re free, we could use an extra pair of hands.”

Koby glanced at the mess of boxes, then back at the two. “Yeah, alright. But you owe me dinner.”

Sakura smirked. “That a move, neighbor?”

He chuckled. “Nah, just a fair trade.”

Mina shook her head with a small smile. “Deal.”

Just Being Nice… Right?

Koby smiled before rolling up his sleeves, helping the girls move the rest of their stuff in. He was surprised by how nerdy they were. It all started when Sakura noticed his Tifa shirt and practically gasped.

“Oh, are you a gamer?” she asked, her cat-like eyes sparkling with interest.

Koby nodded, and before he could say anything else, Sakura’s entire face lit up like a kid in a candy store. “No way! Okay, what’s your take on FF7 Remake? And don’t tell me you’re one of those people who hates it because they changed stuff.”

Koby blinked, thrown off by her enthusiasm. “I mean… it’s great. The combat system’s fun, and I actually like the changes.”

Sakura beamed, stepping closer. “Finally, someone with taste!” She playfully nudged his arm, lingering a little longer than necessary. “You’re gonna love having us as neighbors, Koby.”

Before Sakura could start a full-on discussion about the entire Final Fantasy franchise, Mina, ever the composed one, put a hand on her shoulder. “Later,” she said with an amused smile. “We need to finish unpacking before you start interrogating him.”

Koby chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted another heavy box. As he worked, he found himself liking them more and more. They were easy to talk to, charming in different ways—Mina had this quiet, refined grace, while Sakura was all energy and playful mischief. They made the normally dull task of moving strangely enjoyable.

Still, despite their friendliness, Koby reminded himself to stay cool. He’d given up on dating for a while now—ever since Jeewon, the sweet cow hybrid he’d been talking to, told him she had fallen for a wildebeest hybrid named Isaac. It wasn’t like she had rejected him in a harsh way—she was lovely about it, actually—but Koby had just gotten tired of gearing up for romance only to have it fizzle out. He figured life as a lone wolf… or, well, lone stag-alligator-African hound wasn’t so bad.

But his body? His instincts? Those weren’t as easily convinced.

Every time Mina bent down to pick something up, Koby had to look away and take a deep breath, forcing himself to think about anything but how smooth her movements were, how her thighs looked in those leggings, how her soft feathers framed her body just right—stop.

And then there was Sakura, who stretched way too often for Koby’s sanity. Every time she raised her arms, exposing that toned midriff, he felt his pulse quicken. She was teasing him, right? No, no, they’re just friendly girls. Stop overthinking it.

Despite trying to stay composed, Koby couldn’t help but feel their presence in a way that made his instincts stir. It wasn’t just their looks—it was their personalities, their casual touches, the way they included him so naturally, as if he had already been part of their world.

As they wrapped up, Sakura leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Koby with a smirk. “You know, you’re kinda great to have around. Maybe we should ‘accidentally’ break some furniture just so you have to come help us again.”

Mina, sitting on one of the now-unpacked chairs, took a sip of water and gave him a teasing glance. “Or we could just invite him over instead of causing unnecessary damage.”

Koby laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “You two are… something else.”

“Is that a good something else?” Sakura purred, stepping just a little closer.

Koby’s brain short-circuited for half a second before he coughed and looked away. “I—uh, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Mina exchanged a knowing glance with Sakura, a small, satisfied smirk on her lips.

By the time they finished, Koby felt like he was on the verge of going into rut just from spending an hour with them. But, like a good neighbor, he held firm.

Barely.

After they finished moving the last box into place, Sakura flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Finally! Time to eat.”

Mina, ever the practical one, was already scrolling through her phone. “I’ll order something for all of us. Koby, you like Korean food, right?”

Koby blinked. “Huh? Oh, uh—yeah, of course.”

“Great,” Mina said smoothly, already tapping away. “I’ll get samgyeopsal, some kimchi stew, and a few extra sides. That should be good.”

“You guys don’t have to do that,” Koby said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sakura grinned. “Oh, but we want to. Think of it as payment for your hard work.” She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm as she added, “Besides, we like spoiling people we like.”

Koby felt his throat go dry. He wasn’t sure how to take that comment—was she just being nice, or was that flirting? It had to be just her personality… right? Mina was the more reserved one, and even she had been oddly attentive toward him all evening.

Realizing he needed a moment to collect himself before he said or did something dumb, he quickly stood. “I, uh—I should shower. Worked up a sweat moving all that stuff.”

“Take your time,” Mina said with a knowing smile.

As Koby disappeared into his apartment, Sakura stretched out across the couch, staring at the ceiling with a pleased hum. “He’s so into us.”

Mina chuckled, sipping her water. “Obviously.”

Sakura rolled onto her side, tail flicking lazily. “You think he even realizes it yet?”

Mina smirked. “Not a chance. He’s overthinking everything.”

Sakura laughed. “Poor guy. We’re probably driving him insane.”

Mina leaned back in her seat. “He’s sweet, though. Strong, helpful… and did you see the way he was checking us out when he thought we wouldn’t notice?”

Sakura purred. “Oh, I noticed. And I liked it.” She twirled a strand of her hair, then gave Mina a curious glance. “So, what do you think?”

Mina arched a brow. “About?”

“Sharing,” Sakura said bluntly, her smirk widening. “You know, if it comes to that.”

Mina exhaled, considering. “It’s… not the worst idea.”

Sakura grinned. “You mean it’s a great idea.”

Mina rolled her eyes but didn’t disagree.

Meanwhile, in his own apartment, Koby stood under the steaming shower, hands braced against the tiled wall as the water cascaded down his back.

He was screwed.

Not just because of how insanely gorgeous both Mina and Sakura were, but because of how easily they’d slipped past his defenses. He liked them. A lot. And they were so casual about being close to him—teasing him, touching him, joking like they’d known each other for years.

But were they flirting?

Were they just being friendly?

Was he reading way too much into everything?

Koby let out a groan, running a hand down his face.

This was gonna be a problem.

After showering Koby heads back to Mina and Sakura’s apartment. He arrived to see them already eating dinner. Koby happily joined them and sat in the open chair.

Koby sat across from Mina and Sakura at the small dining table in their new apartment, picking at the takeout they had ordered. The place still had that just moved in feel—boxes stacked in corners, some furniture not quite in place—but the atmosphere was warm. Maybe too warm, Koby thought, shifting slightly as he tried to focus on his food instead of the two stunning hybrids sitting across from him.

Mina, elegant as ever, ate with quiet grace, while Sakura had already stolen half of Koby’s fries when he wasn’t looking. They made an interesting pair—one reserved, one mischievous—but both were too good at getting under his skin in the best possible way.

As Koby reached for his drink, Mina’s sharp silver eyes flickered toward his forearms. He paused mid-sip, following her gaze. He realized too late that the sleeves of his hoodie had slipped up, revealing faint, almost iridescent scales running along the underside of his arms. Mina, ever composed, simply tilted her head, but there was something calculating behind her expression.

“Your antlers are interesting,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “But I have to ask about… the scales?”

Koby stiffened. He had been through this conversation before—usually with people gawking at him like a science experiment gone wrong. But Mina’s tone was different. Curious, not judgmental. He exhaled and set his drink down.

“I was part of the Ginis experiments,” he admitted, keeping his voice even.

Mina’s gaze didn’t waver. “Which ones?”

Koby blinked, surprised at the direct question. Most people either stammered awkwardly or asked what the hell does that mean? He hesitated before answering, “The trybrid ones.”

For the first time, Mina’s lips quirked into something almost resembling a smirk. “Huh,” she mused. “I researched those a while back.”

Across the table, Sakura choked on her drink, quickly covering her mouth as she turned to Mina with a knowing look. She mouthed, You’re such a tease.

Koby caught the exchange but didn’t quite understand its full meaning. What did she mean, researched? And why was Sakura looking at her like that? His heart was already working overtime just being near these two, and now Mina was watching him like a predator sizing up her next meal.

“You must be… interesting, then,” Mina continued, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze never leaving his. There was something too intentional about her voice, the way it dipped slightly in amusement, the way her piercing eyes seemed to pick him apart.

Koby swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up his neck. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. Don’t—

Sakura, barely holding back laughter, nudged him with her foot under the table. “Careful, Koby. Mina’s got a thing for unique hybrids.”

Mina just sipped her drink, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

Oh, I’m so screwed.

Koby pushed back his chair abruptly, clearing his throat. “I, uh, gotta hit the bathroom real quick.”

The moment he was out of sight, he leaned over the sink, gripping the edges as he took a deep breath. His reflection stared back at him, flushed and flustered.

“Pull yourself together, man,” he muttered. “They’re just being nice. That’s all.”

But deep down, something primal in him wasn’t so sure.

Koby practically fled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him a little too quickly. Mina and Sakura watched him go, the sound of the faucet running soon following.

Sakura immediately turned to Mina, a sly grin stretching across her face. “You are such a tease,” she whispered, leaning in.

Mina took another sip of her drink, her expression unreadable. “I was just making conversation.”

Sakura snorted. “Please. ‘Oh, I researched trybrids a while back~’” she mimicked in an exaggerated version of Mina’s smooth, sultry tone. “You might as well have said, ‘I think you’re fascinating and I’d love to see how you—’”

Mina gave her a slow, unbothered blink. “Finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure your alarm mysteriously fails to go off next time we have morning schedules.”

Sakura just laughed, stealing another one of Koby’s fries. “Come on, though. You totally enjoyed watching him squirm.”

Mina didn’t answer right away, instead idly tracing the rim of her glass. “He’s… interesting,” she admitted finally. “And he clearly doesn’t know how to handle being pursued.”

Sakura wiggled her brows. “So you are interested.”

Mina glanced toward the hallway, where the faint sound of water still ran. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But I also like seeing how long he can last before he realizes what’s happening.”

Sakura leaned back in her chair, smirking. “I give him another week, tops.”

Mina hummed in thought, tapping a manicured nail against the glass. “You’re underestimating him.”

Sakura grinned, tail flicking playfully behind her. “Wanna bet?”

Mina merely smirked, taking another slow sip of her drink.

In the bathroom, Koby splashed cold water on his face, staring hard at his reflection. They’re just being nice. They’re just being nice. They’re just—

His gut told him otherwise.

Sakura grinned, flicking her tail. “I give him another week, tops.”

Mina tapped her nails against her glass, considering. “You’re underestimating him.”

Sakura snorted. “Please. He’s practically short-circuiting every time you so much as look at him.”

Mina tilted her head slightly, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “That’s because he’s waiting for a clear sign.”

Sakura blinked, her ears perking up. “Oh?”

Mina leaned in just slightly, her lips curling at the corners. “If he won’t take the hint… maybe we should just give him one.”

Sakura’s eyes widened before she broke into a slow, mischievous grin. “Now that sounds fun.”

The two exchanged a glance, silent agreement passing between them just as the bathroom door creaked open.

Koby stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck, still visibly flustered but trying to play it cool. “Uh… sorry about that. Just needed a second.” He is surprised when he notices the girls are not at the table. He looks around and finds them relatively easily.

he finds the duo sitting on their couch in their lingerie. Koby blinks repeatedly staring at the duo as they look at him expectantly. Mina purses her lips giving him her best “fuck me” eyes

“Is this a clear enough sign for you?” Koby felt his instincts take over as he lifted his shirt over his head.

Mina smiled at him, a little too sweet. “Oh, don’t worry, Koby.” She rested her chin on her hand, eyes gleaming. “We’ll take good care of you.”

Sakura hid her grin behind her glass, while Koby stood there, blinking like a deer in headlights.

He was so screwed.

He approached Sakura first who’s wide eyes and seductive look pushed him to her first. She smiled as she eyed him possesively.

Koby kissed Sakura as her arms wrapped around him uncontrollably she clawed into his back. Koby groaned and glared at Sakura. Sakura was lost in the moment saying “you are mine,” repeatedly. Koby turned to face Mina who merely smiled before bringing him in for a kiss, but then he felt Mina’s gaze and presence . It was soft at first until it quickly became overwhelming. His heart rate tripled silencing the Deer and bringing out the hound and the gator. He turned to Mina who was fully nude. Her milky white skin shined in the evening light. She smiled before beckoning him to her. Sakura pouted as Mina pounced (metaphorically) on Koby. She sank her talons into him as she cooed into his ears.

“Make me yours,” she encouraged and the predator listened he brought Mina in for an intense kiss that left them both breathless. Mina whined with pleasure as she wrapped her delicious pale creamy thighs around his waist as she followed suit with her arms. She brought Koby in close and lightly nipped him.

Koby enjoyed the love bite but found it strange because avian hybrids typically don’t mark. He couldn’t think on it too deeply as Sakura whispered in his ear. “Stuff her slutty pussy with your cock,” Koby’s mind blanked as he gave into his urges. Without warning he slammed his cock into Mina. She groaned as his cock kissed her excited womb. Mina could barely breathe as Koby fucked the air out her little body. Sakura watched as her roommate lost her mind only focused Koby fucking her into oblivion.

Mina’s breath hitched as Koby bottomed out again.

“You’re so big inside of me,” Mina moaned as Koby kept railing her Sakura tired of waiting began to play with herself watching the two while spouting words of encouragement to Koby and Mina

“You two are so hot when you fuck,” she moaned as she gave into her own pleasure. Mina moaned intoxicated by the euphoria before she came. Her walls clenched Koby as her breath ran even more ragged as she took him in and out of her.

When she calmed down finally she looked at Kolby. She still saw the lust in his eyes then turned to Sakura who was moaning how close she was. She leaned into Koby and whispered “fucking finish her.” Koby groans as his cock hardens harder at the thought, before walking over to Sakura who’s a hopeless moaning mess. Her eyes are shut so she’s surprised when she’s railed by Koby’s cock. Overstimulated Sakura cums all over Koby in that instant. Mina watches with predatory lust and appreciation.

“You know what Kura? I think we can share him.” Mina says sensually

#k pop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice smut #twice mina #twice Mina smut #sakura miyawaki smut #le sserafim smut #le sserafim #le sserafim sakura

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