#this mess is all your fault you idiot

[oneluckydragon]

got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

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“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…” 

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Hey man if you're going to put the duty of care completely on me I would really appreciate it if, on the few days you deign to do work on them, that you not COMPLETELY FUCK THEM UP.

[lovebugism]

Someone knocks at the door while you and rockstar!Eddie are fucking and instead of stopping he goes faster while yelling ‘In a minute’ to the person at the door

the one where your friends keep catching you and eddie having sex (rockstar!eddie universe, established relationship, implied enemies to lovers, cw for smut 18+)

Let it be known, that it would take a nearly apocalyptic nuclear war — or something rapture adjacent, at the very least — for Eddie Munson to stop fucking you. Most people have learned this the hard way. You included.

You’re a panting mess beneath his pale, tattooed form. Eddie’s body, made of milky white silk, grows slick with a fine layer of sweat as he thrusts mercilessly into you. His curls sway around your face each time his lean hips collide with your open thighs. The dull clapping sound that fills the bedroom is punctuated by Eddie’s choked-back groans and your subdued whimpers.

The two of you always make it a point to be polite about your fucking — never quite as loud as you want to be, so as to keep from traumatizing your roommates. Like respectful adults. So it’s entirely Steve’s fault when he barges in with a halfhearted knock like a total psycho.

“Hey, do you guys wanna—” The boy freezes at the sight of his best friends, in a pile beneath the covers, who before now hated each other’s guts. His face screws together like he’s tasted something sour. “Jesus Christ…”

Eddie ceases his thrusts to toss Steve a look over his freckled shoulder. He never moves off of you, effectively shielding your naked body from his view, nor does he pull his stiff cock from your pulsing confines. Much to your horror.

“What?” the wild-haired boy wonders through labored breaths, face flushed red with sex.

“I was gonna ask if you guys wanted to come to the movies with me and Robin,” Steve answers with a roll of his eyes, already on his way out. “But you’re obviously busy—”

“Wait— That new buddy cop movie?” Eddie calls to the boy’s retreating form.

“Eddie!” you hiss through your teeth, filled with panic and distant pleasure, ‘cause the idiot’s trying to have a conversation like he isn’t balls deep inside you. He flashes you a wide-eyed chocolate stare like he’s innocent. “Stop,” you mouth to him.

“Yeah. Start’s at eight.”

“Well, don’t leave us, alright?” he tells him. “We’re coming.”

“Gross,” Steve mumbles and shuts the door behind him.

Eddie turns back to you. His curly bangs are damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead in places. His glowing cheeks are tinted a faint pink color. His lips are swollen and rosy as they curl into a smirk. Sex is written all over his face, painfully so. 

“That pun wasn’t intended, by the way—” Eddie jokes before you swat at his lanky bicep. “Ow!”

—————

A year or more later, you and Corrodded Coffin are selling out venues across the country. The world is a whole lot bigger than The Hideout, apparently. ‘Cause, as it turns out, more than just a couple of drunks care about seeing your band play. 

Somewhere down the line, you and the lead guitarist of said band are more serious about each other than you ever planned to be — much to the dismay of the rest of your bandmates. Not because they hadn’t spent years waiting for you guys to get together (they most definitely had), but because it was virtually impossible to have privacy while living on a tour bus.

Despite your feeble efforts to stay as subtle as possible, it’s dreadfully apparent when you and Eddie are fucking. The door to the bunks slides slowly shut, and Jeff and Gareth wait with walkmans over their ears until it opens again. This time, they flip a coin to decide who has to interrupt.

Gareth loses (‘cause Gareth always loses) and curses under his breath while he knocks on the closed door. 

“Do you guys want food?” you hear him ask over the heavy breathing in your ear. “That fancy ramen place across the bar just offered us dinner.” 

Meanwhile, Eddie Munson is riddled with post-show adrenaline as he all but fucks you stupid. His curly hair is as wild as his glassy eyes, now smokey around the edges with smudged black liner. He keeps his chest flush to your spine as he pounds into you with a primal sort of vigor — one ringed hand curled in your hair, the other gripping the plush of your hip.

“Nah, man!” he calls back, choppy through labored breaths, ‘cause he never stops thrusting into you. You’d be worried about the quiet clapping sound of his hips against your ass if your head weren’t so fuzzy. “We’re good!”

The promise of food reminds you that you haven’t eaten since earlier that day. Suddenly, you’re overcome with unexpected hunger and looming pleasure. 

“Wait, Eds,” you pant. “Food actually sounds really good right now.”

Eddie rolls his eyes in response, even though you both know he’s gonna give you what you want either way. First, a leg-shaking orgasm that you’ll in feel in your limbs for a half hour after it’s over. Second, all the damn ramen you can eat.

“Fuck, fine— Okay, we’re coming!” Eddie shouts. “Just give us, like, ten minutes, will ya?!”

Gareth grumbles faintly from the other side of the sliding glass door. “Yes, master,” you hear him grouse as he stalks off back to the living area of the tour bus — where it’s safe. 

A laugh rumbles in Eddie’s chest as he starts fucking into you again. You bury a whine into your pillow when his balls slap your clit. He presses his mouth to your ear, and you feel his lips curling into a lopsided smile there. “You call me that, and we’ll be outta here in thirty seconds flat, sweetheart.”

[headkiss]

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 :,)

𝜗𝜚

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

[2kiran]

FRANCIS MOSSES 交易 ── `` DARK CONTENT﹕monsterfucking. top amab reader. doppelgänger francis. handjob. no protection + preparation. overstimulation. ✶ IN WHICH you unknowingly let the wrong francis inside.

the prospect of you being fired—or worse, being put in a cell—was incredibly likely. enthusiasm of the milkman’s arrival being your final entry request for the day lead to your upcoming demise.

it shouldn’t be on you, both the blame and responsibility. the given identity document had indistinguishable information, merely an artist’s mistake as you finally realize that his eyebrows were just a tad thicker. his eyes were a bit too lively for the real francis.

realization dawned on you a second too late as you feel cold, but strangely simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar hands grab you from behind. before you could reach the rotary phone to contact the D.D.D., he grabbed your wrist and spun your chair around to face him.

francis, or so you thought, had a gentle smile plastered on his face but you knew better to tell that his intentions were far from truly kind. “don’t tell me you were actually going to let them kill me,” your jaw tightened, gaze hardening into a glare. he chuckled, hands landing on the armrests, so dangerously close to yours that were balled in fists to prevent yourself from punching his face.

when you didn’t respond, he continued. leaning in as he shook his head with a scoff, “aw, c’mon. . .we both know that you’re too much of a good sweetheart, yeah? please don’t try that again.” his saccharine voice was improbable, a subtle take of a threat behind his tone.

“you’re gullible enough to think i’d do that for you.” the tension between you was palpable, a thin thread that threatened to break at the tip of his finger. his lips pouted, sadness in his untrue eyes. “me? but you’re the one who let me in here,” he laughed, tone rather arrogant, “and i should thank you for that.”

if he were the real francis, you probably would have been making out with him by now. this doppelgänger was awfully confident, you wish you could break him. see tears fall down to his round cheeks, lips trembling as pleas tumbled out of his pretty lips.

these thoughts were idiotic. but fuck, he was near enough to the milkman, the clueless neighbor who could care less about it all. “want me to spare you? or—” you cut him off, lips connecting with his. francis was surprised, but welcomed it nonetheless. his hand came up to your neck, sliding towards your hair. groaning as he gently, almost experimentally, tugged at it. tongue met tongue, a clash of saliva and mess. you bit onto his bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan.

“mmph, and here i thought you hated me.” he grinned, panting, “what gave you that idea?” you place a kiss on his chin, “because you tried to get rid of me, and the fact that. . .i’m not him.” grabbing his hips, he let out a yelp. he scrambled to hold onto your shoulders for dear life, gasping when he felt your teeth graze against his neck. “seems like i’ve struck a nerve, hu—haah, fuck!”

a lewd moan had escaped him, your teeth sinking into his flesh. it was far from gentle, biting him like you wanted to see him bleed. he was simply a doppelgänger that you stupidly let in, after all.

the pink muscle settled in your mouth lapped at the bite, cueing francis to whimper at the sensation. he moved closer on your lap, grinding against your crotch. the action could’ve been mistaken for something relating to a dog; for he seemed like a bitch in heat. quite uncharacteristic for his kind. “you’re pathetic, mosses.”

francis, beyond belief, was affected by the use of the stolen surname more than you anticipated. his hips trembled, “that’s, haah, not my fault. you made me like this. fucking a– ah! doppelgänger, really? they’d surely co– come for you next.” his cock twitched, spilling pre-cum that formed a wet patch on his boxers. you were a lowly human, another one to get rid of, so why does he feel this way?

silence was met with his words. not until you pull down his pants, taking off what was left until his lower half was bare to you. “oh yeah? you’re letting me fuck you,” your fingers wrapped around the base of his dick, giving a single stroke, “you’re not even trying to fight back against me, honey.”

he whined, beginning to selfishly rut into your palm. “what were you going to say?” francis doesn’t respond and you twist your wrist, a cry slipping from him. you asked on a whim, wishing to hear what he planned besides allowing you to carry on with your life. “i-i don’t know!” your thumb presses down on his slit, causing him to wrack his brain to remember. “ah, ah, i meant to ask if you wa- want me to kill you right he— hmmng!” his voice wobbled as if he was fearful, tears in his eyes and he’s suddenly ethereal.

“do you still want to do that? to end my life?”

“no, no, please, i didn’t mean it.”

you tease the vein that ran on his shaft, never failing to witness the face he makes when he’s within the depths of pleasure; of that high he never dared to reach. oh, if only if it was francis mosses. the real one, the one you’re so curious about, the one who your eyes like to linger on a bit too long for comfort. your pace picks up, palm slick with his pre-cum and the room’s sinful with his sobs and arousal.

francis moans under his breath, “i’m cumming-!” he warns a second too late, hips bucking as the familiar fluid splatters across your fingers. the doppelgänger was your very own legendary mona lisa with how his face is painted with all shades of red.

when you swipe your thumb over his tip, he swore he had a glimpse of the deity he didn’t have the conscience to worship.

beliefs were foolish; it was his opinion. with that, he thought you were the one insane. doppelgängers aren’t flawed with such imperfections like humans are. he didn’t need to be prepared for situations similar to this, and you used his inhumanity for your pleasure.

“ughm, agh!” you had wordlessly given your cock a few pumps, no more than that before slipping inside of his tight hole. the tiniest beginning of guilt threatened to engulf you with shame, but why should you allow it? his mere purpose and intention was to murder.

his hole spasmed around you, freely welcoming the intrusion. maybe they were quite useful after all. he whined, his insides tingling with the stretch. the doppelgänger has never felt so full, or genuinely anything, for that matter. “please—fuck, move already, damnit.” he, himself, was breathless.

how could you deny him?

your hands grasped his hips tightly, like you wanted to indent a marking into his flesh. cold emanated from your palms, contrasting to the heat licking at his cheeks. he’s lighter than you’d expect, hole gripping you as if he was a fleshlight. lifting him up, your tip was held onto. heavenly; as the way he wrapped around you was undeniably heavenly.

sensing his apparent impatience, you let him crash down on you. a broken gasp-of-a-moan occupied the air, globs of pre-cum building on his slit. “yeah, fuck me like that,” he breathed, instructions hazily clear to your sex-deprived brain. his ass slapped, slapped, slapped against you. shit, the D.D.D. surely ought to give you a punishment worse than death for this.

he clung onto you, both with his arms and entrance. you don’t think you could really get enough—as vague as this memory could get. your tip brushes against his prostate with each harsh thrust, slick sounds adding onto the cotton pressed into his little head, forming static and nothing else to focus on besides your cock pounding into him. “you’re liking this- ahngm! right? like how good i feel? haa, needed your dick in me s’ bad. . .”

he pushed his hips forward, grinding on your cock as he purposely clenched. “thaaaat’s it, sweetheart. think ‘m gonna keep you.”

yeah, let’s hope your neighbors forgive you for indulging in him.

masterlist﹒divider﹒artist kaworinx

[monstersholygrail]

Two words: Faerie lawyer

Omg it could be like that meme with the monster deals.

You had gotten into some seriously issues and you had no idea what to do. Not only was human law enforcement up your ass, but the magical law enforcement was fucking you over on their glitter-covered cocks and leaving you to clean up the mess. No aftercare in damn sight.

But the real issue was that no lawyer, human or otherwise, wanted to take your case! They were all too scared. Not of you but what the hell you got yourself into. It wasn’t your fault. You were always weak for a charismatic douchebag who promised he loved you but then framed you for a series of crimes he committed. What can you say, you have bad taste.

It wasn’t until you were guided out of your temporary cell and into a questioning room to see a lawyer with his back to you that you finally had hope threatening to sprout within you. Until the idiot turned around and you instantly pick up on his Fae ears. The moment you sit down he starts to spout out some wonderful words of grandeur, promising he can get you off and set you free. Your brows rise at his word choice.

“And what will it cost me?” You finally ask once he’s done giving his whole sales pitch (mini-canons and sparklers included). A wicked gleam passes over his features and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. What kind of shiver? You know yourself well enough to figure it out.

“Oh, nothing much. I merely want to have your firstborn child. In exchange, I will help get you off.”

His words send another shiver throughout your entire body. Meeting his intense stare you narrow your eyes, trying to figure out how you can manipulate this to your advantage. You’re in a battle of wits with a Fae and you did not consider that possibility when you wondered the other day how long you could stay awake before insanity started to set in awaiting your trial.

“Deal,” you finally say. The Faerie’s eyes sparkle with mischief. Though it falters as you mirror the expression. “So when do we get to it?”

“HMMM? Pardon me?”

“You said you wanted to have my firstborn. Well, I’m ready to begin when you are.”

The Faerie Lawyer’s cheeks flood with color. His face turning warm under your suggestive and mischievous smirk. He squirms in his suit, the blasted outfit suddenly feeling too tight and too warm to keep on for a moment longer. His eyes blaze with lust and he looks just about ready to take you on the metal table standing between you two. The one you’re conveniently chained to.

He did not consider this possibility earlier when he decided to take advantage of being selected as your court-appointed attorney. But hey, he’s not complaining now.

[gothcsz]

Hands To Myself | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~4k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You get to know the handsome stranger sitting next to you on your overnight flight to Mexico.

Tags: smut, reader is ovulating, hand job, fingering, dirty talk, lust at first sight again, sexual acts in public (on a plane), let's just pretend this is realistic okay, pwp, blowjob to completion, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: this is all @probablyreadinsmut's fault tbh. coming into my inbox with horny thoughts, knowing i have to do something about it 😩 hehe i hope you guys like this, it's nothing special... i just need this man in any way i can get him! let me know what you thinkkkkkk🖤

You knew you were fucked the second you saw him at the gate. He isn’t just attractive—he’s ridiculously attractive. The kind of hot that only exists in movies or in passing, like some guy you make eye contact with and never see again. Except this time, he wasn’t just passing through. He was standing right there.

To make matters worse, your hormones are out of control. Peak ovulation. Just being around a man has your skin buzzing, like your body is betraying you on a biological level.

So yeah, you looked. How could you not? He’s tall, has broad shoulders, leaner than what you usually go for but still built in a way that makes your brain short-circuit.

Then the universe really had to mess with you—you are assigned the seat right next to him for the overnight flight.

Your stomach drops. Suddenly, your go-to comfy travel outfit, leggings and a cardigan, feels way too basic.

“I’m at the window seat,” you say, trying to sound normal.

He looks up, meeting your gaze, and smiles—actually smiles. His brown eyes are warm and a little intrigued as he gives you a once over.

“Okay.”

Just that one word and you are already overthinking. How good his voice would sound in your ear as he’s—

No, you won’t make things harder on yourself by having intrusive sexual thoughts about some stranger. No matter how good looking he is.

You shove your carry-on into the overhead bin and awkwardly step aside so he can stand and let you in. His body brushes against yours, and you get a whiff of his cologne, something woodsy, mixed with the unmistakable scent of whiskey from the airport bar.

Okay�� so maybe you’d been watching him for longer than just at the gate. But who could blame you? The man is truly a sight to behold. It’s not like you were being a creep about it.

You mutter a soft “thanks” and sink into your seat, trying very hard to act normal while the flight attendants go through their safety spiel, though it’s hard to focus when you can feel his presence right next to you.

You need a distraction—fast. So, in a last-ditch effort to stop acting like a feral idiot, you pluck your book from your backpack and try to read.

It works, kind of. Not really.

“So, what’s waiting for you in Playa del Carmen?”

His voice, low and raspy, cuts through your attempt at reading—not that you’d absorbed a single word, still stuck on the same page since you opened it.

You glance over, and of course, he’s already looking at you. His leather jacket is gone, leaving him in a short sleeved button-down, a few undone buttons teasing the tanned skin of his neck, his thick biceps straining against the fabric.

You take too long to answer because he tilts his head slightly, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smirk. “Sorry—abrupt fuckin’ question.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You stumble over your words, mentally cringing at yourself. His brows raise slightly, amused, and you don’t miss the way his mustache tics when he presses his lips together. 

“A friend’s birthday trip. I got caught up at work, so I had to take a later flight at the last minute. What about you?”

He hums, the sound deep and thoughtful. “Work.” That’s all he offers. “Not as fun as what you’ll be getting up to, I’m sure.”

You bite your lip, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your book. “I’ve heard the beaches are beautiful. I’m excited to just lounge and take in the sun. It’s been so long since I’ve gone on a proper vacation.”

Your tongue is loose despite the way you’re vibrating under the weight of his attention.

“I know that feeling. Don’t even think my body knows what a vacation is…” He trails off, leaning back in his seat, thighs spreading in that way men do, which you usually find annoying but something about the way he does it has your pussy clenching, and you try no to let your eyes drop down to his crotch.

“How’s the book?”

You blink slowly, returning your attention to the paperback in your hand. “Got a slow start but so far it’s been alright.”

“I bet. You’ve been stuck on the same page since we took off. Must be the most riveting paragraph ever written.”

Heat creeps up your neck, and if it were anybody else, you’d be weirded out by their observation. Being hot does have its privileges. “Maybe I just like rereading. Really taking in the point the author is trying to make.”

“Uh-huh, right…” He chuckles softly and that sound triggers the desire that seeps into every pore of your skin.

The conversation continues flowing thereafter, which you definitely did not expect. His name is Javier, and he’s constantly traveling for work—though he’s vague on the details, and you’re not about to grill a stranger for his life story.

Instead, the topics meander, easy and flirtatious, both of you toeing the line between casual and something else.

You swear he’s flirting. He leans in slightly when you speak, holds your eyes captive just a beat too long, like he’s in no rush to look away.

You’re noticing everything the deeper you get into this… thing. The way lips form around each word, full and obnoxiously kissable. The way his brown eyes glint when he talks about things that should be trivial but feel interesting because he’s the one saying them. How the tendons in his forearms flex whenever he gestures, his fingers long and strong, the kind of hands that could make a woman very happy.

Your horny brain is spiraling.

“A mango marg is my go to. Preferably one of those ridiculously oversized ones with sugar on the rim.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You arch a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He scratches his jaw, flicking his tongue over his teeth. You admire how chiseled his jaw is. “Means you like to have fun. You probably get away with a lot.”

“And you think I get away with things?”

His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second. “I think you could, if you wanted to.”

You cross your legs, shifting in your seat like that’s going to help anything. It just makes it worse. Focus. He’s just a hot stranger. A hot stranger that smells like whiskey and cedarwood and keeps throwing you these amused little glances like he knows what the fuck he’s doing to you.

You should probably end this before you embarrass yourself. But instead, you just keep talking, keep flirting, and keep waiting to see just how far this can go.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Javier’s voice snaps you back to reality, and you blink, heat settling on your cheeks as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“Sorry, what?”

His lips curve slightly like he’s fighting a grin, but his eyes give him away. “You keep staring at my mouth…” He trails off, but there’s something in the way he says it. As if he’s caught you red-handed and is enjoying watching you squirm.

Your stomach clenches. Your thighs press together on instinct.

Fuck.

Panic surges through you, and suddenly, the cabin feels way too small, the air too thick. “No, uh—there’s nothing there. I just… I zone out sometimes.” You clear your throat, fingers fumbling with your seatbelt. “Would you mind letting me get to the restroom?”

You sound as pathetic as you feel, but Javier doesn’t let up. His smirk stays put, eyes flicking over your face like he’s contemplating something.

Still, he nods. “Sure.”

He stands, stepping aside, and as you squeeze past him, his hand just barely grazes your lower back. Light enough to be innocent, intentional enough to send a full-body shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, pretending not to notice—pretending not to feel the slick heat between your legs pulse at the contact—and walk as casually as possible down the aisle.

The moment you lock the restroom door behind you, you press your palms against the tiny counter, breathing hard.

Your reflection stares back at you, pupils blown, lips parted like you just stumbled out of a damn makeout session. 

You’re hot. Turned on from nothing but a little eye contact and some shameless flirting. And the worst part? It’s not going away anytime soon. Especially since you’re sitting so fucking close to him. Your body is wound tight, aching at the worst possible time.

Your panties are soaked, borderline ruined, pussy crying to get some relief, and you actually consider slipping a hand down there and rubbing one out. But you know yourself. Getting off with your fingers is a slow, frustrating process, and the last thing you need is to be locked in an airplane restroom, chasing an orgasm while Javier is sitting just outside, existing like that.

So you suck it up. Splash some cool water on your face. Take a deep breath. Get it together.

When you step back into the aisle, he’s already standing, leaning casually against the row of seats as if his demeanor and charm aren’t totally putting you under his spell. He looks even better now than he did before you left.

You give him a tight-lipped, awkward smile as you slide back into your seat. He follows, sinking into his own with a quiet grunt, the sound low and rough enough to send another spark of pleasure straight to your cunt.

“Everything good?” He asks smoothly, but there’s an undercurrent of playfulness to it, like he already knows the answer.

You force your legs to stay still, clenching your thighs subtly as you nod.

“Mhm.”

He hums. “You don’t have to lie, you know.”

Your eyes snap up to his, heartbeat hammering. “What?”

“I know when a woman’s turned on. And you haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

Your stomach drops, your whole body flooding with embarrassment. “That’s ridiculous—”

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” He shrugs. “Been thinkin’ about how good your ass looks in those leggings since I saw you back at the airport.”

Oh, you’re so fucked.

Your breath stutters, fingers gripping the armrest as if that’ll do anything to ground you. Maybe this is a dream, it has to be. No way he’s reciprocating the horny vibes you’ve been exuding because of your damn ovulation cycle. 

“Javier…” His name falls from your lips, shaky, uncertain.

His expression doesn’t change—still cool, still lazy, but there’s a darkness to it now. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything…” His knuckles graze your thigh, featherlight, making you shiver before he pulls away. “But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like I’m not attracted to you.”

You lick your lips, watching the way he follows the movement, how his hand balls into a fist against his leg. The cabin is dim now, most passengers lost in their own worlds or asleep, and the seats around you are conveniently unoccupied. The flight attendants have finished their last walkthrough, leaving you tucked away in a private little pocket of space.

Your pulse thrums, a decision forming in the haze of arousal clouding your mind. “What if…” You hesitate, but then let the thought take control, logic be damned. “What if I wanted to do something?”

Javier’s brows lift slightly, intrigue flashing across his face. The shift is instant—his relaxed posture stiffens, his jaw ticks, and his eyes dip just slightly as if assessing exactly how far you’re willing to go.

You’re barely breathing as he lifts the armrest between you, his body pressing in tight, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. You almost pass out.

“Yeah?” His voice is nothing but a whisper, matching the lust that’s thrumming in your veins. “Like what?”

The warmth of his breath has you letting out a soft, involuntary whimper.

“Anything,” you murmur, fidgeting with your fingers, the need unbearable. “I just need you to touch me.”

Javi exhales a low, quiet laugh through his nose, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. His lips ghost along the side of your jaw, teasing, taunting.

“I can do that.” His fingers then trail up your thigh agonizingly slow, stopping just at the hem of your leggings. “Just need you to keep quiet.”

You nod weakly, head tipping back against the seat as his mouth finds your neck. He starts slow, pressing soft kisses along the sensitive skin before sucking lightly, dragging his teeth over your pulse. You resist the urge to squirm as his large palm moves up your body, fingertips teasing along the curve of your breast over your top.

Your nipples tighten instantly, and when he pinches one between his fingers, both of you let out a quiet groan.

“So sensitive. You need more?”

You bite your lip, nodding desperately again. “Yes.”

His hand slips beneath your shirt and finally—rough fingertips meet your bare skin. He palms your breast, kneading, tugging at your nipple, sending sharp little sparks of pleasure straight to your pussy.

You shift, desperately trying to find any friction. Your horniness is maddening and he knows it.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, tongue flicking out to taste your skin. “So worked up already. Bet you’re soaked.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you whimper, hips rolling ever so slightly.

Javier groans at the movement, shifting even closer, his thigh pressing against yours as he works your tits over with a practiced hand.

His lips move up to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, eyes locking with his for a brief moment before you both give in—lips crashing together, mouths desperate and hungry.

He can kiss.

His tongue slides against yours, tasting and exploring. The fingers at your breast keep working, rolling your nipple between his fingers, twisting just enough to make you gasp against his lips.

“Javi…” His name is exhaled breathlessly. “More. Please.”

He tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?” Leaving your tits, he moves down between your legs and you spread your thighs, giving him enough room to begin rubbing you over your leggings.

You let out a sharp gasp, back arching slightly. The pressure has you melting, chasing the touch you so desperately need.

Javier watches you, drinking in the slight furrow of your brow, how your lips purse. “Goddamn.” He can’t help but nip at your lower lip, gripping your thigh with his other hand as he grinds a little harder against your pussy. “You soaked right through these.”

Your fingers dig into his forearm, the teasing unbearable.

“You’re so—” You shudder, exhaling shakily and he’s living for it. “You’re so fucking hot, I couldn’t help it.”

“I could probably make you come just like this, huh? Needy little thing needs her pussy played with so bad, she’s whoring herself out on a fuckin’ plane just to get an orgasm.”

Your jaw hangs open at his filthy words.

Javier is clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. His fingers keep moving, slow and firm, while your hand drifts down, pressing against the hardness straining beneath his jeans. Even through the thick denim, he’s big, and when you squeeze just slightly, his hips jerk into your palm.

He groans into the kiss you’re sharing, enjoying your touch. “This is risky, you sure?”

You nod, struggling to think through the fog of lust clouding your mind. “I don’t care.”

That’s all it takes.

He pulls back, just enough for both of you to move quickly. You shrug off your cardigan, tucking it beneath you before slipping your leggings and panties down to your mid thigh. You’re not about to put your bare ass on this plane seat.

He unbuckles his belt, freeing himself from his jeans, and holy shit.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s thick, a swollen, flushed cock with a prominent vein running down the side, curving just enough to make your walls flutter at the thought of him fucking your cunt.

Javi catches your lingering gaze and smirks. “You just gonna look, or—?”

You drag your tongue across your palm before wrapping it around his leaking cock, your touch making him shudder. Slowly, you stroke him, spreading the precum with your thumb, gliding it over the sensitive head before giving a firm squeeze, earning a growl from deep in his chest.

His fingers slip between your thighs, spreading your pussy lips open, and he wastes no time in teasing your sensitive labia, dragging his touch up and down attentively.

You moan quietly as to not get yourself caught. He groans at the feeling of you, slick and hot, his digits smearing your arousal all over your pretty pussy before pressing against your swollen clit.

“If we weren’t on this goddamn plane I’d fuck the shit out of you.”

You can’t hold back your soft whine, your head tilting back, wrist still moving, his own fingers working magic between your thighs.

“How? Please Javi tell me how you’d fuck me.”

He buries his head into your neck, licking, biting, sucking at your skin, his thick fingers now breaching the mouth of your cunt.

It’s pure bliss—the stretch so much deeper, fuller than your own fingers ever manage. His thick digits work you open, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you. The way he drags against your inner walls has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, but it’s the relentless pressure on your fleshy pearl that wrecks you, erasing every thought but him.

“I’d have you spread out, my head buried between your legs, fucking you with my tongue until you’re wet enough to take this big cock.” His hips grind into your jerking palm to emphasize his point.

You can only imagine how his wet tongue would feel up against your flesh, tasting every crevice, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you.

“Probably start over you, wanna see that pretty face while I slide inside this tight pussy baby, fuck,” he groans, fingers now knuckles deep inside your cunt and you moan, slipping into this fantasy with him, imagining how good it’d feel to have his dick stretching you out.

“Not really a missionary girl but I know you’d make me feel good, Javi.”

His thumb is slick with your sticky wetness, allowing him to swirl your clit around, massaging it and making your pussy drool even more. Your nipples are hardened and oversensitive, adding to the bliss when they brush against the fabric of your shirt with every deep inhale and exhale you take. 

Javi’s fingers begin to thrust into you more earnestly, the soft squelch of your pussy getting finger fucked thankfully drowned out by the hum of the plane. “How would you want it then? Tell me how you’d take it.”

Another bead of precum dollops from his slit and your mouth waters, picking up the pace to match the stroking of his fingers inside you.

“On top. I’d bounce on your cock until you’re filling me up. Put my tits in your face, make you suck on them.”

A thin sheen of sweat clings to your temples, the heat of his kisses still lingering on your neck making your temperature spike like a fever you don’t want to break.

Javier gets desperate, leaning in to put his lips on yours, imagining the way your pussy would feel while you rode him. You clench around his fingers, your orgasm on the brink of making a mess all over his hand.

“You’d let me come inside you?” His voice is a husky murmur, almost taunting, laden with lust as he cups your jaw with his other hand before sliding lower, wrapping firmly around your throat. Not squeezing, just holding, keeping you in place as he curls his fingers, brazen eyes boring into yours.

Your breath stutters as ecstacy coils impossibly tight. “Mhm,” you nod weakly, tears welling in your eyes from how good it all feels.

A wicked smirk spreads across his lips, his grip keeping you steady as he drags you closer. “Naughty girl,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ love that.”

His lips crash against yours again, swallowing your cries as his fingers work you harder, scissoring inside you, his fat thumb flicking your clit rapidly. 

It sends you tumbling over the edge, your entire body clenches, muscles locking as waves of pleasure ripple through you, your release coating his fingers while you moan into his mouth, trying to keep quiet, trying not to let the whole damn plane know what he’s doing to you.

Your grip on his cock tightens but you lose your rhythm as he lets you ride out your orgasm, whispering praises against your lips, not seeming bothered by the lack of attention at his shaft.

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you attempt to catch your breath, blinking away the stars clouding your vision while he pulls his fingers out, a sticky web following.

Javier lifts his fingers between you, still slick with your release, dark eyes flicking to yours as he takes in the scent of your pussy before he’s licking at them, using the hold he still has on your neck to bring you in so you’re both making out with his wet fingers between the two of you, your tongue moving sinfully, getting lost in the act.

You break away when his fingers are licked clean, attempting to catch your breath. After regaining some control, you continue to work his cock, urging him to slide into the unoccupied third seat by the aisle so you have room to take him in your mouth.

Javi blinks, caught off guard, dick twitching in your grasp as he registers what you’re suggesting.

“You sure?” His hands flex like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Yes. Don’t want to make a mess, right? Just make sure no one’s looking.” You purr, pulling your legging and underwear back up before shifting your body and bending over to lick at his tip, circling around his head before you’re taking as much as you can into your mouth.

The positioning is a little cramped and awkward, but you don’t care. He tastes so good, feels even better on your tongue. The blood is roaring in your ears, you can’t even hear any of the quieted noises you’re pulling from him but you do feel his hand landing on the back of your neck and he pushes you further down, forcing you to take almost the entirety of his cock down your throat.

You fondle his balls, sucking in your cheeks and bobbing up and down quickly. His stomach tightens and before you know it, ropes of warm and salty cum are filling your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. You moan around him, slurping him up before pulling away with a soft pop, wiping at the corners of your mouth where the fluids had smeared.

He looks just as wrecked as you had when you came, his cheeks a little pink, eyes dilated, breathing heavily. He exhales a quiet, breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair before tucking himself back into his pants, watching you with something dangerously close to admiration.

You lean in, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to his lips, returning the favor and letting him taste the last traces of himself.

“Where are you staying? This can’t be the last time I see you.”

You tell him the name of the resort, watching as that familiar cocky smirk creeps back onto his face.

“Okay,” he murmurs, mind already made up. “Can’t let you walk away after that. Pussy’s too good. Hope your friends don’t mind me stealing you for a night or two.”

He caresses your cheek and you melt into him, resting your chin on his shoulder, staring up at him with starry eyes. You already know you’re going to get the lecturing of your life once you disclose what just transpired to your homegirls.

“They will. Maybe I should extend my stay just a little longer…” Your fingers fidget with the buttons on his shirt.

“I’ll pay for it. Anything to see you again.”

Oh god, is this irresponsible of you? Probably. But you’re not thinking with your brain right now, no, you’re straight up thinking with your pussy.

“Deal.”

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7. @mandaloriankait . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @clubsoft . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz . @manuymesut . @biapascal . @angiewatson .

[lustspren]

IMPURITIES EP. 2 | Kirisute Gomen

Male reader x Sakura x Male character

word count: 8.3k words

tags: anal, face fuck, spitroast, dp

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For now, the incident in New York had remained just an anecdote; it hadn't affected your relationship with the girls, either positively or negatively. It had simply happened. Much of it was due to the fact that you were still on tour, and there was no time for trivial matters like that. «The show must go on». That's what you'd told yourself to avoid thinking about it.

Because if you were honest with yourself, every time you remembered that night, you got the urge to make it happen again. But your professionalism was stronger, as was your common sense. It wasn't you who should make that decision; it was them. And if they pretended for the moment that it hadn't happened, you would play along until they wanted it.

A week had passed since then. New York was followed by Washington, DC, and from there, the next stop was Atlanta. Your arrival had been at night. A relief for your body, as you were able to go straight to your room and sleep peacefully, with half your worries already resolved since you'd gotten ahead on your work during the trip.

But in the morning, the problems started.

You didn't know if it was the Atlanta air or something, but that morning everyone seemed to be in a bad mood. Including the girls. You weren't a person who got angry easily, but by midday, you were already feeling at your limit. The venue staff were all idiots. All of them. Not one was spared. And if that weren't enough, there were countless problems at the sound check that tested you as a manager, both your patience and your aptitude.

It didn't end there. The hotel staff were also incompetent idiots, and they also caused you more than one damn unnecessary problem. The most incredible thing was the fact that they had made a mistake in the room reservation, and it turned out Kazuha's room belonged to someone else. It was a huge fucking mess. The person, understandably, was as pissed off as you were. But when you discovered it was actually the Ritz-Carlton's fault, they were forced to solve the problem for you as quickly as possible.

The next day, thank goodness, the problems were minimal. The venue staff had taken note of every technical detail you'd pointed out and resolved them. They were still rude jerks, but at least they did their jobs well. Everything went wonderfully during the concert: impeccable sound, impeccable stage, impeccable logistics, and impeccable performances.

"Good job, yeoreobun!" you said aloud as the backup dancers and the girls left the stage after the encore, handing out bottles of cold water from a small cooler.

Everyone accepted the bottles and headed backstage after removing their in-ear microphones and the heaviest parts of their outfits. You stayed behind for a moment, talking with the production technicians and the setup staff to get everything settled before leaving the area and going backstage with the girls.

There was still a good while until your departure, since you had to wait for the entire dismantling process to be completed and for the girls to change and eat their respective snacks for that evening, as you always did after each concert. You had gone off to discuss some pending matters with the staff, and when it was getting close to time to leave, you returned to the girls.

"Hey, it's time gi..." You noticed something was off as you entered. One, two, three, four... "Uhm... where the hell is Kura?"

They looked at each other, and the common expression was one of ignorance. Of course, knowing them, you couldn't trust them. They already had a history of covering for each other. But it's likely that wasn't the case, and that she was just in the bathroom or something.

"Get your things together. I'll go get her."

The venue was a little bigger than you'd have liked for a search. It was a facility designed for theater productions, so the backstage area had multiple dressing rooms of different sizes at different heights, with the ones on the second floor being the smallest. Downstairs, there was no one, not even in the bathrooms. You hoped that with so many people circulating, someone had seen her, but apparently Sakura had inherited ancient techniques from her ninja ancestors and had used them to vanish. It was too strange, and you were panicking a little. Not too much. Just a little.

Upstairs, things weren't much different. The person you were asking was the person who had never seen a 180cm Japanese girl, blonde, beautiful, and with a body to die for. And you no longer felt panic, but despair. Everything was empty. You only had one dressing room left, and you were already feeling like throwing in the towel and calling HYBE to get a scolding.

Desperate, you placed your hand on the doorknob and opened it. It was pitch black inside; the hallway light wasn't shining in due to the arrangement of the lamps. You squinted—purely out of instinct, not because it would make a difference—and felt along the right wall for a light switch. Nothing there, so you moved to the other one. This time you had better luck. When you flipped the switch, however, you instantly regretted it.

"Oh my fucking god," you sighed.

Sakura, who had previously been hiding very still in the darkness, was pressing her hands against the right wall, her plaid shirt on the floor and her baggy jeans halfway down. Adam, one of the backup dancers for the tour, was standing behind her with his hands on her tiny waist. The compromising position they were in automatically made your blood pressure rise.

"Adam, get lost," you ordered, pointing your thumb outward. "I know the idea wasn't yours."

Adam gave Sakura a nervous glance and let go of her to walk past you and out of the dressing room.

"Are you crazy or something?" you asked as passive-aggressively as you could, while Kura pulled up her pants and grabbed her shirt from the floor. "We're in a fucking public place. Have you lost your fucking mind?"

Kura snorted and rolled her eyes.

"It was just going to be a quickie!" Kura protested with a frown, walking toward you. "No need to make a big deal out of it."

You chuckled in disbelief.

"No?" You raised your eyebrows. "What do you think would have happened if someone other than me caught you? Like, I don't know, someone on the cleaning staff. Word will spread like a freshly lit fuse. Let alone if someone on the damn staff found out!"

"I know!" She snapped, palms down. "Have you ever thought about how I've felt this whole week? With so much fucking shit going on at once. I know my body! I know I need it because I'm a human being, and I need that kind of thing!"

"Kura, it's risky!" You unintentionally raised your voice a little. The stress was taking its toll on you.

"It's the only way!" Kura raised her voice back.

"And against the damn rules!"

Kura couldn't help but laugh as if you'd told a joke. You frowned in confusion as she raised her eyebrows at you.

"Against the rules? You can't be serious."

"I'm so damn serious, Sakura."

"I don't remember hearing you talking about rules last week, manager-nim," Kura took a step toward you, standing two feet away. "When you fucked Yunjin and Chaewonie. Or did you forget my room was next to yours?"

Shit. No, you hadn't forgotten. In fact, you'd been mulling over the matter all week. Anxious about the possibility that she'd heard absolutely everything. You closed your eyes and let out a heavy exhale.

"For God's sake, tell me Eunchae didn't hear anything," you said before opening your eyes again.

"She didn't; she went to her room early. But I did hear you," Kura took another small step closer to you. Now close enough to be able to see her eyes in detail. "Please forget your position and fuck me like I'm all yours," she mimicked Chaewon, with the same moans in between. Then she laughed.

Your cheeks grew hot.

"Sakura, that was a special case," you said, trying to pull your feet out of the mud. "They broke the rules first. They offered me to keep them out of trouble in exchange for..."

"Fucking them?" Kura finished the sentence for you. "You agreed. You could have easily said no, right?"

"Well..."

Kura placed a hand over your mouth and stared at you with those big, pretty eyes.

"You have no excuse," she said, then took her hand away from your mouth. "You deliberately decided to do it. It's your fault."

"Still, it doesn't make it right," you sighed. "I don't want what just happened to happen again, because next time it won't be someone as lenient as me who catches you."

Kura was silent for a moment, as if calculating her response.

"Well, I'm sorry to say, manager-nim, I might keep doing it," she said, and looked you up and down. "Unless, of course, you help me yourself."

For God's sake, not again.

"No fucking way," you shook your head and took a step back. "I won't fall for the same game twice."

Kura closed the distance again and grabbed you by the back of your neck.

"Would you rather be caught by someone I can't bribe?" she asked, tossing both strands of hair behind her shoulders and puffing out her chest so you could notice her beautiful tits beneath her white top. "Or would you rather be the one in charge of satisfying this tight little body?"

Your eyes dropped to her tits, beautiful beneath that tight top, and then to her toned abdomen, with two small moles next to her belly button. You were going fucking crazy.

"Kura..."

"Go ahead, touch."

Kura took your hand and placed it on her tummy. Still trying to resist the temptation, you didn't move your hand, just kept your fingers still as she had you rub her abdomen. Then she had you slowly raise your hand to place it on her right breast.

"Squeeze," Kura murmured.

"Sakura..." you repeated, wanting her to see reason. But from the convinced look in her eyes, you guessed it was too late.

"Squeeze, manager-nim," she insisted.

Against your own better judgment, you did so. But you didn't regret it. Her breast felt soft beneath your fingers, and with the first squeeze, you immediately gave it a second, slightly harder one. Kura's lips curved into a slight smile, and she lowered her own hand to the bulge in your pants to give it a gentle squeeze.

"Do you like it?" Kura asked, rubbing your cock up and down with the palm of her hand. "Well, if you want to have me all to yourself... you'll have to compete with Adam to see if you can fuck me better than him."

"You're in no position to set conditions, Miyawaki," you said, and released her breast. "I could just turn around, walk away, and pretend this didn't happen."

"You could, but you're not going to," Kura countered. "You don't want to. Besides, look how hard you are."

Kura removed her hand so you could see. Your bulge was prominent and hard, easy to notice since you were wearing sweatpants that day.

"Ah fuck," you groaned, annoyed. Sakura, isn't there a better way to solve this?"

"You want to nip this problem in the bud and prevent it from happening again, don't you?"

You pursed your lips, huffed, and stared up at the ceiling. For God's sake, what had you done to deserve such an insolent group of girls? It was as if they were competing to see who could test your patience the best and fastest.

"Your room or mine?"

Kura smiled.

"Mine. I'll tell the girls I'll be sleeping so no one comes near."

"You know Zuha's room is two rooms away, right?"

"That girl will be playing games or listening to music or something. She's the one you least need to worry about."

"Whatever. Let's get out of here. They're waiting for us."

You turned around, turned off the dressing room light, and left with Kura.

The excuse Kura had given the other girls—which you confirmed they indeed knew nothing about her escapade with Adam—was that she got lost in her search for a bathroom. You weren't sure how well the lie had gone down, but no one asked too many questions about it since the venue was large enough to be believable.

You arrived back at the hotel around 10 p.m.

"Girls, please make sure you get enough sleep," you said as you entered the lobby. "The flight to Dallas is early in the morning, and I don't want to see any bags under your eyes. The good thing is that in Dallas you'll have two days off."

The girls nodded without much protest, happy to sleep early since they were visibly exhausted. They went straight up to their rooms, while you stayed behind helping the staff unload things from the vans. From there, you went up as well and took a quick shower before heading to Kura's room.

Outside, right in front of her door, you took a moment to think carefully about what you were going to do. You had allowed yourself to get carried away with Yunjin and Chaewon because specific circumstances had arisen and it was practically impossible for you to refuse the seduction of those two vipers, but now you had time to think about it.

But as you did, you couldn't stop thinking about how good Kura's breast felt under your hand, and how firm and tight her tummy was.

Fuck it. You only live once. And you were already horny.

You knocked on the door twice.

"Come in!" Kura said after a few seconds.

You opened the door, and upon entering, your mouth immediately watered. On the couch directly across from the door and by the window, Kura was lying on her side, in nothing but a pretty cream-colored bra and panty lace set. Every corner of her body was insane: wide hips, tiny waist, beautiful legs, toned tummy, and even nicer tits.

"Hello, manager-nim," Kura said in a seductive tone, leaning on her elbow with her cheek resting on her hand. "Come here. Adam should arrive any moment."

Kura sat up and waited for you to sit next to her before straddling your lap, wrapping her arms around your neck, and crashing her lips against yours, not even giving you time to say or do anything.

As your lips became entangled in a fiery exchange of saliva that didn't cause you the slightest remorse, you left your hands on her small waist and gripped your fingers there. Kura ground her hips against you, rubbing herself against your growing bulge. Her right hand moved up to the nape of your neck and stroked the hair there, then slid both hands to your shoulders. Your cock hardened beneath her, and Kura placed a hand on your chest, lowering it and inserting it inside your sweatpants and boxers, firmly grasping your cock between her fingers to rub it.

"Hmm, you're already throbbing for me, manager-nim," Kura moaned against your lips. "I'm going to undress you. Can I undress you?"

"At this point, do whatever you want, Miyawaki," you replied.

Kura slipped her hand from inside your pants and used both hands to pull your hoodie over your head and off. She then climbed off your lap as you took off your shoes, and knelt on the floor between your knees to remove both your sweatpants and boxers. Her round eyes shone like two beautiful street lights in winter as she freed your cock.

"Oh wow," Kura gasped, and planted her mouth on the back of your cock to kiss and lick all the way to the tip. "You're bigger than you look, manager-nim."

"And you're sluttier," you countered.

Kura smiled, wrapped two fingers around the base of your cock, and swirled her tongue around the tip a few times while looking into your eyes.

"You're right about that," she said. "I may be small and nerdy, but I love a good cock in my mouth and in my pussy. Especially in my pussy."

With that, Kura took you into her mouth, moaning as she took the first few inches between her lips until she reached your midsection. Then she began pumping her head at a slightly rapid pace, pulling you out of her mouth every few seconds to lick and kiss around your tip. As the seconds passed, she sped up, until she was slurping saliva from your shaft.

"Mmm, you're delicious," Kura gasped, moving her hand down your cock and spreading her saliva over it. "Would you help me with my underwear, manager-nim?"

She didn't need to say much more before you stood up, took her hands, and helped her stand up. You wrapped an arm around her waist and laid her down on the bed. You positioned yourself on top of her and intertwined her hands with yours, planting kisses on her neck. From there, you moved wet kisses down her collarbone, and when you reached her breasts, you slid your hands under her back to unclasp her bra and free her very, very pretty breasts.

Without her prompting, you took one of them to your mouth. Kura gasped and placed both hands on your head. She twisted strands of your hair around her fingers, gently tugging as you swirled your tongue around her nipple. Moving to her other breast, you took as much of it into your mouth as you could and sucked on it, licking her hard nipple with the tip of your tongue. Kura, aroused, shifted subtly beneath you, arching her back and grinding against your body.

When you left a trail of saliva on each breast, you allowed yourself to move down to her tummy. Her tight, attractive, firm tummy. Kura moaned when you pressed your lips there and showered it with kisses you were sure you enjoyed more than her. You held her by the waist, moving your kisses down to her lower abdomen and moving closer to where the skin parted with the fabric of her panties, which you grabbed by the hem and slowly pulled down her legs.

"Are you going to eat my pussy, manager-nim?" Kura asked, a finger on her lower lip. "Adam isn't here yet. This is your perfect opportunity to get a little advantage."

"Say no more then."

You took Kura's legs behind her knees and spread them side to side. In front of your face, her beautiful pussy was glistening with wetness. It looked like a real delight, and you didn't hesitate for a second to plant your mouth there and taste it.

The sweet moan Kura emitted when you began licking and kissing between her soft folds sweetened your hearing. Her pussy was delicious. Instantly addictive. You breathed deeply, letting your hunger for her take over so that she would love every second you spent eating her pussy. Within seconds, the room was filled with moans from the petite Japanese girl, who had one hand stroking your hair and the other on her own breast.

"Fuck, you're incredible, manager-nim," Kura moaned, squirming her hips as you gave her clit quick licks.

Your only response was to keep going, looking up every few seconds to watch as you made her melt with pleasure. Kura gave you a harder tug, and she arched her back as you pressed her thighs back and attacked the sensitive spots her moans indicated.

"Right there," Kura sighed, her thigh muscles tensing beneath your fingers. "Oh yes, yes!"

Kura tightened her fingers in your hair and pressed you even harder against her pussy, practically suffocating you against it. Seconds ticked by, and she began to tremble. Until with a loud moan, Kura closed her thighs on either side of your head, arched her back, and came in a series of spasms that gave you an immense satisfaction.

And just then, three knocks were heard at the door.

Kura's thighs moved away from your head, allowing you to lift it. Kura turned sideways to face the door.

"Adam?" Kura asked aloud.

"Who else could it be at this hour?" Adam replied from the other side of the door.

"Come in!"

When Adam walked in and saw the situation you were in, his face turned pale. He quickly closed the door and looked down, embarrassed not by seeing Kura naked, but by seeing you naked. You also had a sneaky suspicion he had no idea you were going to be there at that moment after catching them both early.

"Not a single fucking word of this to anyone, or I swear I'll find out," you told Adam in a perfect English that you knew he understood. "And act like a normal guy, for God's sake. I won't make fun of you if you have a micro-dick."

Adam nodded silently and finally looked up at Kura.

"You're late," Kura said, kneeling on the bed to reach the edge and pull Adam up by his shirt. "Someone already got a little ahead of you."

Kura kissed him before he could excuse himself. Adam didn't protest and wrapped his arms around her. You stayed on the sidelines for a moment, lying on your side and staring only at her back and ass. You understood that the one in charge there wasn't you, but her. So you were going to limit yourself to acting only when she ordered it, directly or indirectly.

Adam's clothes were on the floor in mere seconds. Kura rubbed his cock until it was hard, lowering her lips to his neck and then his chest. She slowly moved her knees back, bending so she could reach his lower torso until she was resting on her hands, her ass raised and her knees apart.

When Kura took Adam's cock in her mouth and shook her ass, knowing you were watching, you knew it was time to get back into the action.

You knelt behind her and placed your hands on her buttocks, squeezing them both. Then you lowered your right hand between them and rubbed her pussy slowly before inserting a finger. Kura moaned with Adam's cock in her mouth. After a few pumps, you inserted a second finger, both with the tips facing down to stimulate her pussy walls as you moved your wrist.

Kura picked up the pace, pumping her lips against Adam's cock with her hands gripping his thighs. He just kept panting, one hand on Kura's head and the other behind his back. The guy wasn't paying you the slightest bit of attention, which you certainly appreciated. The last thing you wanted was to feel uncomfortable because he couldn't just ignore you being there.

Your cock throbbed against Kura's left buttock, aching from how much you needed relief for yourself. So after a few quick pumps with your fingers, you pulled them out and positioned yourself to replace them with your cock, slowly inserting it into her extremely tight pussy. Kura stifled a moan around Adam's cock and pulled it out of her mouth to look at you over her shoulder.

"How does my pussy feel, manager-nim?" Kura asked with a moan, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes as you took every inch inside her.

"Fucking unreal," you gasped, once you were all the way inside her pussy.

Unreal was definitely the best word to describe it. It was the second time in a week that you'd been inside one of the girls you managed, and you didn't know how to feel about it. All you knew was that those three pussies felt like heaven, and their naked bodies were beautiful sculptures that invited you to admire them all night.

And fuck them all night.

With your hands on her tiny waist, you began to move slowly, watching your cock go in and out of her grippy pussy. Kura brought Adam's cock back to her mouth, now moaning around it with each gradually faster pump, growing frantic as you went harder.

"Adam, fuck my mouth," Kura asked after a gasp, jerking him off as you moved with hard thrusts.

Adam gathered Kura's hair behind her head and held it in a ponytail with his left hand. A moment later, he began pumping his hips, close to the rhythm you were setting yourself. Kura couldn't take it all in her mouth, so she was soon gagging on his cock. Despite that, Kura seemed to be enjoying every second, her head still and her pussy clenching around your cock.

Your grip on Kura's waist tightened, and your jaw tensed as you doubled your efforts. A few seconds later, her buttocks became your focal points; you squeezed both of them as you pounded her pussy as hard as you could. Kura moaned again and again, her saliva spilling down her chin and onto the sheets as Adam added fuel to the fire.

Adam now moved to grip Kura's ponytail with both hands, both very close to her scalp, thus pulling harder. On your side, you gave Kura a light spank on her left buttock, making her grunt with pleasure. Her pussy suffocated your cock exquisitely, signaling that she was close to cumming. It finally happened when, after a few more pumps and spanks, Kura squealed with Adam's cock in her mouth and thrust her hips back, her body writhing in spasms.

Kura placed a hand on Adam's lower abdomen and made him stop once her orgasm went away.

"Switch roles," she said, panting. "And put in the effort. I'm testing you with every single thing you do."

Just what you needed. Years of studying and working hard to get to where you were, only for more fucking tests. Great.

Adam pulled out of Kura's mouth, and you pulled out of her pussy. Kura then turned around and lay on her back, her head hanging off the edge of the bed. You climbed off and knelt in front of Kura's face. Meanwhile, Adam climbed onto the bed and knelt between Kura's open legs. He entered her pussy, and you entered her mouth.

Kura took as much of your cock as she could, which was roughly a few inches past the middle of your shaft. You placed your right hand on her pretty neck, slowly beginning to fuck her mouth. Adam had her held behind her knees, both pressed against her body. He wasn't as gentle as you; he was going just as hard as he had been a few seconds ago, even though Kura must still be sensitive.

A little less than a minute passed when you decided to pump as the situation demanded, causing Kura to choke on your cock. Her lips were as closed as possible around your cock, but when she felt overwhelmed, she finally opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, allowing you to use her however you wanted.

Kura, being fucked hard by Adam, tried to moan around your cock, but only gagging sounds came from her mouth. Her saliva pooled inside, soon spilling out and dripping onto her cheeks. Then you increased your speed, fucking Kura's mouth with your clenched teeth and your hands gripping her tits.

Soon, everything reached a breaking point when Kura gripped the sides of your thighs and dug her nails into them as she came again. As Adam slowed down, Kura slapped your thigh a few times, and you pulled out of her mouth. She took a sharp intake of air.

"You're not allowed to cum inside me until I say so," she said, heavily gasping. "Go on, but do it outside."

When you came back inside her mouth, Kura squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt not to cough as you gagged her with your cock. Adam resumed his thrusts, now bent forward with his fists resting on the mattress. Focused on your own pleasure, you and he fucked both holes vigorously. You were the first to feel the tingling, and you immediately pulled out of her saliva-dripping mouth to stand up and masturbate over her tits.

When you came and your semen began to fall in long strips onto Kura's tits, Adam also pulled out of Kura to stroke his cock, aiming for the Japanese woman's tight abdomen. It took seconds for Kura to become a perfect canvas for the two of you, covered in cum on both areas of her body.

The scene seemed like the perfect ending to a night for many. You might even say it was dream-like. But you knew Kura wasn't satisfied with that, and that the fun had just begun. You confirmed it when she sat up, looked at her cum-covered areas, and looked at you as if nothing had happened.

"Get some toilet paper, manager-nim," Kura ordered, pointing. "I'm not done with you two yet."

Clearly.

In a show of unconditional obedience, you immediately turned around and went to the bathroom to grab the toilet paper roll, gather some around your hand, and throw it to Adam. A minute later, Kura's previously stained body was spotless again after a little cleaning. Just in case, you left the toilet paper roll on the nightstand to the right of the bed.

Anticipating Kura's next move, you and Adam both knelt on either side of her. Kura sat back on her heels and brought both hands to your sides to cup your balls and play with them, gently squeezing and massaging them. She went first to your side and carefully brought your limp cock to her mouth, sucking it slowly with a perfect use of her tongue that made you shudder. Then, while jerking you off with her hand, she moved to Adam's cock to repeat the process.

"Sorry if you're still a little sensitive," Kura lamented after removing Adam's cock from her mouth. "But I need these cocks hard."

Masturbating you both, Kura gently pulled you together and brought your cocks as close together as possible without touching, using her tongue to swirl around your tips while massaging your balls. After a few seconds, she took you into her mouth again. Just a little while each. Until after a few delicate sucks, both cocks were covered in a thin layer of saliva and throbbing.

"Manager-nim, lie on your back," Kura said, then looked at Adam. "You'll sit over there until I say so. You can touch yourself if you want. But don't you dare cum, or I'll send you back to your room with your balls tied with nylon."

Damn. That was messed up.

Adam got out of bed and sat right on the middle seat of the couch, while you lay down with your head resting on the pillow on the right side of the bed. Kura crawled on top of you, her knees on either side of your torso, and kissed you, her tits pressed against your chest. You wrapped your arms around her small frame, one around her waist and the other across her back, feeling her slightly sweaty skin beneath your fingers. Not long after, Kura grabbed your cock and impaled herself on it with a muffled moan against your lips.

Kura began to move her hips in her own rhythm: slow, deep, twisting her hips every time she went down. It felt incredible for you, but it must have felt even better for her. Her hands cradled your face as she kissed you, and you felt her breathing become heavier against yours. You prowled her body with your hands, running them up and down the sides of her torso until you moved down to her ass and squeezed it. Only then did Kura decide to go a little faster.

The need to moan louder made Kura break the kiss and hold onto your shoulders, moving her face a few inches away from yours so she could look into your eyes. Her pretty face was blushing again. She then straightened her back slightly, lowering her hands to your chest to bounce her ass against your cock. It was a skillful control of her buttocks that you certainly didn't expect from her.

"My god, since when can you move like that?" you gasped, moving your hands to her waist. Then you moved one to her right breast.

"I may not be an excellent dancer, but I know how to use my body to my advantage," Kura replied, and moved a hand up your collarbone until you brought two fingers inside her mouth. You sucked on them without hesitation, making her lips curl into a small, satisfied smile.

With her fingers still inside your mouth, Kura planted her feet on the bed and began bouncing on your cock, hard and fast to make it enjoyable for both of you. You noticed your cock making her tight belly bulge, which drove you wild. Kura bounced faster and faster, pumping her fingers in and out of your mouth until she pulled them out, grabbed your chin, and with a hard push down, she came.

Kura collapsed against you and kissed you again, muffling her moans against your lips as she slowly moved her hips up and down. Her tight pussy, contracting around your cock, made you moan as well, in the middle of the kiss. You squeezed each of her buttocks hard, helping her move until her orgasm passed and she climbed off of you.

"Adam, come here. Manager-nim, you know where to go."

Unfortunately, you did.

Reluctantly, you stood up as Adam returned to the bed. You went to sit on the right side of the couch, watching as Adam lay on his back in the center of the bed, stacking two pillows under his head. Kura straddled him, and followed the same process as with you before impaling herself on his cock.

Before Kura came while riding you, you already felt like you weren't going to last much longer, so you decided not to play with yourself too much so you wouldn't return to your room with your balls tied with nylon, just enough to stay hard while you watched the scene unfolding a few feet away from you.

Kura didn't start slowly like she did with you, now considerably hornier than she had been a few minutes ago when she was just refueling her engine. She was going at a slightly faster pace from the start, her hands on Adam's collarbone and her face buried in his neck, peppering it with kisses and hickeys. Adam had his hands around her waist, but didn't seem about to move them anytime soon. He, much to your chagrin, was as still as a mannequin.

But that was to your advantage. If Kura found him boring, you'd end up winning the competition.

Wait a minute, what the hell were you thinking? Were you really that eager to win the pseudo-competition Kura was setting up for herself? You were supposed to be more self-conscious about it; if you won, it would mean that woman would seek you out week after week for sex. That might have seemed ideal, but it wasn't all roses. Yunjin and Chaewon were also lurking hungrily. For now, you were safe, but as soon as you had some free time without worries, you were sure those two would hunt you down like an owl hunts a rabbit in the middle of the night.

And you were thinking of putting another predator on your neck? Had you gone fucking crazy?

No. The truth was, no matter how you tried to convince yourself—with convincing and more than logical arguments—that this was a terrible idea, you were letting your heart win over your brain, because it was impossible to resist those women. No matter how you looked at it. They were always going to win.

A louder-than-usual moan brought you out of your reverie. Refocusing, you saw Kura squatting on Adam's cock. Adam had his hands under Kura's thighs, somehow encouraging her to bounce harder. That was absurd. He thought he could twist the tables to try and gain some control, but Kura was very confident in what she was doing, making sure her body language made that clear without her having to say anything.

The big fumble came, in your opinion, when Kura brought her fingers to Adam's mouth, hoping he would suck them like you. But Adam hesitated and hesitated, until Kura gave up and grabbed him by the neck. She didn't say a word, and she bounced hard just the way Adam wanted her to. They both moaned in unison, and Kura was the first to cum.

You expected her to get off Adam once she stopped shaking, but she continued bouncing on his cock.

"Let me know when you're about to cum," you heard Kura mutter.

She kept bouncing, aiming to get Adam off as soon as possible. Adam gestured not long after, giving Kura the signal. Then, she quickly got off him and then off the bed. Adam frowned in confusion.

"H-huh?" Adam propped himself up onto his elbows, watching Kura walk around the bed to join you on the couch and sit on your right.

"Masturbate and cum on your own," Kura said, not looking at him, her tone of disdain implicit. "Consider it your punishment."

"Punishment for what?!" Adam demanded to know, watching Kura press herself against the side of your body, one thigh draped over yours.

"I don't know, you tell me," Kura replied, her eyes fixed on you, spitting into her hand as she brought it to your cock and stroked it quickly. You wrapped your arm around her body and grabbed her by the waist to hold her closer to you.

"Ugh, damn!"

Adam had no choice but to take care of himself, closing his eyes so he could focus again.

Kura had her full attention on you, her eyes carefully observing every tiny twist in your movements as she moved her wrist at full speed, making you tense your glutes and curl your toes. Her hand slid easily over your sloppy shaft, with practically no friction. You turned your head to look at her, and all it took was the sight of her biting her lip to make you explode.

You bucked your hips and moaned as Kura jerked you through your orgasm. Jets of cum shot out, staining both your abdomen and her hand. Your eyes were closed, but you could hear Adam moaning from the bed, probably having cummed too.

Kura kept moving her hand, amused by your squirming. She paused for a moment, only to resume keep moving it a second later. Seeing you squirming again, she let go of your cock with a giggle and settled back on the couch to bend down and clean you with her tongue herself, under the jealous gaze of Adam, who had also made a mess of himself but was forced to clean you with toilet paper instead of the tongue of a sexy Japanese woman.

After cleaning you, Kura took you into her mouth and finished the job, giving you slow, gentle sucks to leave your cock gleaming again.

Kura sat back on her heels and leaned closer to your ear.

"You're ahead by a landslide," she whispered. "All that's missing is a mere formality to cap it off. So don't screw up."

"Having a blast, huh?" you whispered back. "I've lost count of how many times you've cum."

"It's been a while since I've had this much fun, yeah. And that's your fault. So just accept the consequences."

"My fault? I'm just following orders. If it were up to me, I'd leave you all stranded in the rain," you joked.

Kura raised her eyebrows and let out a laugh of disbelief.

"Hey! What nonsense are you talking about?!" Kura nudged you in the shoulder, making you laugh. "Do you want me to kill you?"

"You're going to kill me from stress one of these days. No need."

Kura rolled her eyes, shook her head, and stood up to face Adam, arms akimbo, her weight on her right knee.

"You can continue, right?" Kura asked. "I hope you learned your lesson."

"Sakura, I still don't know what I did to deserve punishment," he replied, sitting with his back against the headboard. "And yes. I can continue."

"Great, because I have one last little surprise for you," Kura pointed to her backpack, leaning against the side of the bed. "Open the front pocket and take out what's inside."

Adam leaned down and opened the pocket. From it, he took out a small, unopened bottle of lubricant. The shape of the bottle made it look like a perfume.

"Oh wow," Adam raised his eyebrows, reading the label on the bottle. "Uberlube silicone-based lube…" he looked at Kura. "Very naughty of you."

"Give me that."

Kura took the bottle from Adam's hands and moved her legs apart so she could lie on her back on the bed. She spread her legs, her pussy facing you, and beckoned you with her finger. You did so, kneeling to her left. Adam did the same on the opposite side.

"You're going to finger me. Both of you. At the same time," Kura said, removing the cap from the bottle and pressing the spray bottle against her palm several times until it was full of lube. No one could tell you that shit didn't look like a bottle of perfume. "You can do that, right? Or do your fingers need a break too?" She then brought the lube-filled hand to her pussy, sliding her palm down to her butthole and back up.

"No, Miyawaki, our fingers don't need a break," you retorted, taking the bottle from her.

"Great. You'll take my ass," Kura told you, then looked at Adam. "And you'll take my pussy. Be good boys, and I'll reward you before we move on to the final act."

With the bottle of lube in your hand, you grabbed Kura's leg and hooked it behind her knee to the left side of your body. Then you filled your fingers with lube, tossed the bottle to Adam, and brought them to her butthole to play with it superficially, tracing the outline and rubbing it up and down. Adam did the same with his fingers, and unlike you, he put them directly inside Kura's pussy after a few brief rubs.

Kura moaned as the first two fingers entered her, followed by one more. You slowly inserted your middle finger into her tight butthole, moving it around to stretch the hole a little before adding your ring finger. Kura held your arm with her hand, her face slowly twisting in pleasure as both pairs of fingers began to pump in and out of her.

"Oh yeah, I can already begin to imagine how that's going to feel," Kura moaned, holding you both with your trembling legs wide open.

Adam finally did something good for his own neck and poured more lube between Kura's legs, making it easier for both of you. Soon the room was filled with the wet sound of fingers going in and out of those two wet holes at full speed. Kura began to squeal like she hadn't all night, overwhelmed by the new sensation.

"Yes yes yes! Keep going, don't stop!" Kura whimpered, arching her back. When seconds later she came between violent spasms, she looked up at you with teary eyes. "MORE!"

"Jesus, girl. Are you made of steel or what?" you asked, impressed by her durability.

"I haven't had orgasms this good in YEARS, so just shut up and keep going!" Kura demanded, digging her nails into your elbow.

More scared to death than anything else, you and Adam continued pumping your wrists nonstop until Kura came again, now with a few tears running down her cheeks and her whole body shaking.

"God... god..." Kura gasped, her chest rapidly rising and falling. "Both of you, stand at the edge of the bed."

Your fingers left Kura's body, and you stood where Kura indicated. The Japanese woman then turned toward you and leaned on her elbows, extending her feet toward each cock, rubbing them up and down. You also didn't find the skill she had with her feet surprising. But damn, she did an incredible job getting you hard in a matter of seconds, caressing your balls and tips until you were throbbing.

"Reward earned," Kura said. "Now come here and use both of my holes."

Adam was quick to move to the bed with her, lying on his back and pulling her on top of him. Kura positioned herself on top of him, her knees at either side of his waist, just as Adam grabbed his cock and guided it into her pussy. You climbed onto the bed as well, kneeling over Adam's left thigh so you could get a good angle behind Kura and, after lubing up your cock, press the tip against Kura's other hole. Her ass yielded relatively easily, swallowing inch by inch of your shaft until it was completely filled.

"Oh my god," Kura lay very still, her eyes closed, both cocks buried to their full length inside her. "Don't move. It feels... oh fuck. Use me. Fuck me hard."

You and Adam got to work, both of you pumping slowly at first. Adam had her by the waist, his fingers firmly pressed there, and you had your hands on both of Kura's ass cheeks, spreading them to the sides to watch on full display as your cock slid in and out in a deliciously hypnotic way from that ass, which was even tighter than her pussy. Kura went completely wild, not knowing where to hold on. Her moans weren't that loud, but you knew it was only a matter of time before she started making a scene. No sooner said than done, Kura began to scream as you and Adam began thrusting faster and harder, instinctively covering her mouth so as not to alarm whoever passed by outside the room.

Her beautiful platinum-blonde hair soon acted as your grip point. You pulled it into a messy high ponytail, pulling her neck back to slam your pelvis against her ass. Adam wasn't far behind and wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly and pumping his hips as hard as they could in that position.

"So good, oh my god!!" Kura groaned, clawing at Adam's chest. "Mmmgh!!"

Kura came in a violent maelstrom of spasms that made every part of her slim, toned body tense. More tears fell down her cheeks, more whimpers that evoked pure pleasure. She clung to Adam's shoulders, her hips twitching as you pumped considerably slower.

"Sw... switch holes," Kura managed to say in a small voice. "Manager-nim, stand up and carry me."

You pulled out of Kura's ass and helped her off of Adam, taking her hand as she climbed off the bed with you. Kura wrapped her arms around your neck and jumped up so you carried her in the air, her legs wrapped around your torso. Adam got off the bed and stood behind her, and then he entered her ass and you entered her pussy.

Kura's head fell back and her eyes rolled back as she began to be fucked in both holes again. Her fingers clutched at your hair, and you held her behind her knees as you slammed her pussy harder and harder. A few seconds later, with Adam now also mercilessly drilling her ass, Kura dropped back to rest her back against Adam's chest, her left hand clamped around your neck and her right hand on Adam's head. She came in record time, making it difficult for you to keep her still in the air.

"Cum inside me!" Kura whimpered in the midst of her orgasm. "Fill every corner of my tight holes, please, please!"

Those magic words were like music to your ears, because you'd been longing to do so for quite some time now.

Adam was the first, cumming inside her with a primal growl that made him sound like an animal. Kura's eyelids fluttered as she felt the first load inside her, and her eyes rolled back when, a few seconds later, you exploded inside her pussy with a loud moan.

"Oh yes..." Kura sighed, her head resting on Adam's shoulder, feeling you shoot your entire load into her sweltering pussy, which throbbed around your cock. "I feel so full... so good."

You and Adam pulled out of her pussy seconds later. Both of your thick loads fell to the floor, dripping steadily until they ended up in small pools on the carpeted floor.

Kura, still panting, raised her head to look at you and then at Adam.

"I... I need to sleep. Clean me up and leave me in bed," she said, her hair messy and sticking to her face with sweat.

You stepped back and led her to the bed. Adam and you grabbed toilet paper and cleaned up your respective messes. When Kura was clean and under her blanket, you both got dressed, ready to go. Adam left first after saying goodnight, but before you could, Kura grabbed your wrist and made you lean in to whisper something in your ear.

"Needless to say, you won, manager-nim" she said. "But you better get ready, because you just earned yourself a very thirsty Yokai. God bless you."

[heartsforrain00]

When you're mad at them and they are very needy for you ! part 1

warnings: mommy kink, filming, public, edging, overstimulation, jealousy(reader), oral fixation(m receiving).

Gojo Satoru - Porn video

You were so mad at him for letting his fan-girls rub up on him and flirt with him. You hated how jealous you seemed right now, but it isn't your fault, but it also isn't Satoru's fault for being so popular. You wonder if he even tried to stop them.

He was laying on your thighs with his arms wrapped around your waist, begging for you to forgive him and that it was an honest mistake, he didn't think anyone would see him.

And that's where it all began. You told him to cover up with one of his black hoodies and all, but he denied you, and went out with you. Of course people would see him and recognize him on the spot.

He's everyone's dream man, he has the prettiest blue eyes, the silkiest white hair. Who wouldn't notice him?!

“And what did i tell you to do? Cover up! And you were like ‘oh they won’t notice me’” you mocked him, rolling your eyes.

He knew you were clearly mad at him, he needed to find a way to make you happy again, so of course he was about to give in to one of your stupid fantasies.

And that's how Satoru ended up under you, whimpering and whining as you bounced on top of him, his hands gripping your hips with a harsh grip to it. Being recorded in the process.

Satoru was whining and whimpering under you, trying to hide such moans from you knowing you would tease him about it and he'd never hear the end of it.

You hum as you prop the camera up behind you and hummed lightly as you shifted positions so you were now in 69. Satoru didn't mind this position, but he hated the fact that he couldn't see your pretty face when he ate you out.

But it's not like he can't hear your moans, though he doesn't care because your moans aren't your face. Though, he isn't complaining because he gets to have his face shoved in your pretty, wet cunt.

The camera was set on you as you jerked off Satoru, not giving him the satisfaction of your mouth just yet, you're positive he won't mind such acts and playful motions.

He did mind actually, trying to push his hips up more into your hands, wanting you to use your mouth to get him off. You saw this motion and grinned, bringing two fingers down to squeeze his balls, letting your thumb rub over his tip.

Now he was a literal moaning mess, his hands squeezing your hips more than they already were. You were really teasin' him. And let's just say he enjoyed it but never would admit it.

You heard him mumble some words but couldn't make out what they were, so you just squeezed his balls harder, and rubbing his tip, hoping to milk his cock, then he'd know how you felt during the time those idiots were flirting with him.

Maybe you'll do something else as revenge. Maybe invite his best friend - actually, that might be a good idea. You grinned as you grabbed your phone, humming as you dialed Suguru's number.

Satoru tried to sit up since he wanted to see what your cheeky ass was up to. “Angel, whatcha doing?” He questioned, gripping your hips.

“Nothingggg!” You said as you hung up the phone and turned to him. “We’re going to have a special guest, you’d like that no ?”

If only he knew what you were up to, guess he’ll have to find out soon.

Suguru Geto - Public sex

You were under Suguru’s table as he was in the process of having a meeting with a few people that were important.

And while that was happening, people were unaware of what was going on under the table.

You were giving Suguru the best head he’s ever received just because he brought you the most expensive shit you wanted and what better way than to gift him with head?

You were surprised that he was capable of keeping his sounds to himself and a straight face. Suguru was quite vocal when it came to you and your oral fixation kink.

Suguru had a hand on top of your head, guiding your movements quietly as he continued on with the meeting, sometimes stopping and taking a couple deep breaths.

“As I was saying.. I would like to address the curses that I have— fuck..” he stops as he pushes you on his cock further and just puts his other over his face. “I have taking control of all the curses that were left, no need to track anyone down anymore until later this month.”

God you were so fucking hot for sucking him off under the table, just what he needed as a stress reliever. And who better to call than his lovely fiancé ?

“sir are you alright?” A female voice whom was sitting right next to him asked visibly concerned for your fiancé. This girl hated you so much, she didn’t know how you managed to get with Suguru.

He just nods, he wasn’t able to speak he was just able to nod, the way you were sucking him off felt so good he didn’t have a single thing for his mind.

The girl places a hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes. “Are you sur—.” Suguru slaps her hand off his shoulder and dismisses the meeting. “Meeting’s over. Leave.” He demanded, using his hand to shoo them away.

They all look at him confused but obeyed and left. He pushes out his chair and looks at you, grunting as he pushed your head down further, making his cock hit the back of your throat.

You're so glad you have a gag reflex, he throws his head back as he cums down your throat, he grabbed the trashcan as you pulled yourself off his cock. “no need to swallow it my dear.” One thing about Suguru is that he'll never force you to swallow his cum.

You smile as you spit out his cum in the trashcan and grab a condom from your bag and waved it in the air before Suguru snatches it from you, he was NOT playing around, he wanted your cunt around him, raw or not.

He tears open the condom and slips it onto his dick, pulling you towards him. He pushes up your skirt and looks up at you. You knew that look it was the 'fuck you tryna get into with no underwear on?' look.

You smile as you sit down on his cock like it was a seat, you've been teasing him all day and now you're doing this? Who the hell did you think you were being able to get a cult leader so submissive like this.

What caused all of your brattiness? That stupid bitch, she was rubbing up on him and he was just letting her, and so you're fucking mad at him for doing that.

You allowed him to fuck you, but he can't do it raw, and it made him so fucking pissed that he couldn't fuck your cunt nice and raw like he normally does.

In not even a full minute the man has you bent over the table, already in your cunt ready to fuck you stupid, but you don’t let him do so.

poor suguru, was so pent up, won't you help him?

Choso Kamo - Cockring

You told Choso if he didn't stop hanging out with Yuki instead of you, something would happen, but he clearly thought you were bluffing. And you clearly were not, that's how he ended up under you with you jerking him off.

Though of course you've been edging him for about an hour since you had recently brought a little something that you wanted to try with him.

It was a cockring, that you put onto his cock since he's been ignoring you to hangout with Yuki. What did she have that you didn't? Nothing.

According to him he just wanted to learn things about human females, if that was the case, why not learn from you? He says he knows everything about you, clearly not if he didn't know you were capable of doing this.

Jerking him off and edging him for almost hours, too bad he can't cum anyways since you put the cockring on him, of course the first time you use it is to punish him.

“p-please.. 'm sorry, just pleaseee let me cum!” He begged, practically whining, his hand on your thigh as he shifted and pushed his hips up, trying to get more friction so he could cum.

“Baby, it's not like you can cum anyways.” you mutter in his ear as you stop jerking him off. He whined at the loss of your touch, shifting as he hovered over you. He was very desperate for you to make him cum.

Goodness, guess he was desperate. He won't be ignoring you for Yuki anymore after this if this is what's going to happen. You were surprised you managed to keep your temper in control.

Why were you even pissed off and doing this to him anyways?? Because he declined your calls on purpose then when you called him back, Yuki answered and started fake moaning into the phone to piss you off.(i love her though, she's hot).

And then Choso went along with it, because Yuki told him it would be fine to do it since it would 'make you laugh'. It in fact did not make you laugh, it just made you more pissed off about the fact that your boyfriend was with another chick and she was telling him to do things that wasn't exactly true.

Then he had the audacity to yell at you because you tried to confront him, then this is how he ended up under you. Being edged to almost his fucking death.

“pleaseeee mommy, pleaseee, let me cum” he whined, whenever he wanted something he would beg and all you mommy in the process.

you'll end up forgiving him right and allow him to cum on your tits or inside of you right? right????

part 2 / part 3

visuals

overstimulating choso <3

jerking suguru off under the table!

filming while you and satoru go at it !!

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: as requested, part 2 :) not sure if this is what you had in mind, but i think i like how this turned out

summary: masc rich lawyer!reader, (former) bartender-turned-trophy-wife!nat

warnings: smut (fingering, oral, penetration/strap in v), alcohol/being drunk, reckless driving (is that a warning? idk), angst

word count: 11.7k

part 1, part 2

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— NEW YORK, USA —

Dinner's been ready for almost three hours, yet you're still in the office.

It's not entirely your fault. You're currently working on a big case — some corporate war between two giants. Your client got sued for billions because of a fraud scandal, and since you're known for handling high-stakes cases, you got the job.

Losing this could mean either bankruptcy or a stock market crash — both, probably —, so you've been working overtime for weeks. No missteps allowed for you. All eyes are on you, always, but especially when handling things that others deem to be out of your league.

The problem? You promised Natasha to be on time. Just tonight, since it's Friday, and Fridays are date nights. You're not allowed to spend them in the office. You're supposed to spend them at home, with your wife, and not with a ton of contracts and emails you still need to comb through.

Outside, the sky is dark. No stars are visible. The glittering city beneath it, alive with lights and vibrant neon signs, makes up for that. Everything looks small from up here. Manageable. The mess on your desk, however, seems to only be getting bigger.

You squint your eyes when your vision goes blurry. Too focused on the email you're reading, you don't notice how your phone vibrates again.

When you don't pick up, Natasha slams her phone down on the table and crosses her arms. The lobster in front of her: cold. The mashed potatoes: having formed a crust. The asparagus: soaking up lemon juice and oil and turning limp.

The big penthouse, once so appealing, is nothing but a big empty shell. It's silent, lifeless, lonely. So much so that Linda, your private chef and maid, even offered to stay and keep her company. Of course, Natasha had turned down the offer. It's not that she doesn't enjoy the woman's company, but come on — having an employee stay overtime just because her own wife won't come home from work is just embarrassing.

She exhales, slowly, twisting the wedding ring on her finger. One leg crossed over the other, she stares into the adjacent kitchen. She's still hoping you'll show up soon, but it doesn't seem likely. Eventually, she gets up. Bare feet pad over the woolen rug and carry her all the way into the hallway.

She pauses, but only to slip into a coat. She picks out a pair of high heels and takes the elevator downstairs.

You're immersed in a thick financial contract when the door opens. Any normal human being would jump up immediately — but Natasha's found you have the survival skills of a rock, at least compared to her, so you keep your head in your hand and your eyes on the paper you're holding.

Natasha pauses for a second, just taking you in. Messy, tousled hair, soft to the touch and smelling like the guava shampoo you love. A suit, ironed and fitted. Shoes you got in Italy.

It's the little things she notices about the idiot sitting in front of her. Because that's what you are — an idiot. An idiot she loves, though. Her idiot.

She's already decided you're done working. You shoot out of your chair when the contract is suddenly plucked from your fingers.

"Jesus fucking- oh, it's you!"

Natasha slams the contract down on the desk, glaring at you. You feel your insides shrivel up with shame.

"Yes, it's me", she says, keeping her hand pressed on the stack of papers. "And, oh!, it's you. Still not at home."

You rub the back of your neck, shifting. You're tired. You're overworked. And now, you're also feeling guilty.

"Sorry", you start, cringing at yourself. "The case, it just...it's a big deal. There's a lot to go through. It's important, and-"

"And I'm not?"

Your eyes widen and you nearly start sputtering. Admittedly not the smartest move, but again: you're tired. Overworked, in fact. Hopefully she'll forgive you for being a bit of a dumbass at the moment.

"Come on", she challenges. "Say it. Say it's more important."

"What?? Of course it's not! But it- it's a case, you know, and I'm a lawyer, so I kinda sorta gotta..." You gesture awkwardly and she rolls her eyes. "I'm sorry, love. You know how it is."

"One night, Y/N", she says, stepping closer. "One night. I don't ask for anything else."

"I know, baby", you quickly say, voice desperate. God, you really fucked up. "I'll make it up to you."

Natasha sighs. She lifts her hands and runs them through your hair, ruffling it up further. You crack a hesitant smile and wrap your arms around her waist. The look on her face is pointed, but she keeps combing her fingers through the unruly strands she loves so much, so you know she can't be too mad.

She grabs your tie and yanks you closer. You let out a wheeze, but she's unfazed.

"Listen, honey", she says, tugging at the tie a few times. "We'll go home. We'll have dinner. Tomorrow, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Deal", you immediately say.

"No more nights at the office."

Your mouth opens, but she presses her index finger against your lips.

"Don't even try to argue", she says firmly.

If she lets loose now, this will never end. You've already spent a few nights too many asleep at your desk. Your bottom lip pokes out, just barely, and she pinches it.

"Sorry", you mumble, looking like a kicked puppy.

Gone is the lawyer-level damage control, the confidence with which you carry yourself. You've spent hundreds of hours standing in front of judges and other lawyers, yelling at people, repeating your points and finding new arguments and letting others yell back at you as well.

But this is your wife. When you're with Natasha, that facade you built so meticulously just crumbles. Which, despite the fact that she's bossing you around, is actually a good thing.

Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip, then she lets go of your tie and smoothens it out. You exhale, leaning in and catching her mouth in a kiss. She makes a soft noise, but then wraps her arms around your neck.

Hands run up and down her sides, around to her back. You pull away and study her. Green eyes, plush lips, a face so pretty it hurts.

The case you're working on may be out of your league, but Natasha definitely is. You have no idea how you got her to marry you.

"I'm sorry", you repeat, massaging her back through the fabric of her coat. "Let's go home."

Natasha softens. She squeezes the back of your neck and leads you out into the hallway. The rest of the building is dead silent, except for the soft hum of the a/c's. All your employees have gone home.

You blink, a little disoriented, and run your hand through your hair. Spending nearly 16 hours at your desk, even having lunch there, took a toll on your brain.

You enter the elevator and lean against the wall. Natasha notices your tired eyes and tuts. You look at her, see her smile, see the worry in her gaze, and recover enough to grab her and spin her around. A soft thud, and she ends up pinned against the wall.

"Oh, now you're awake?"

"No matter how much energy I may spend on work", you mumble, undoing the front of her coat, "I always make sure there's enough left for you."

She hums and sighs, hips buckling forward. You let the coat slide off her shoulders and bite back a grunt, then press your lips to her neck. Your hands roam and squeeze skin, soft as butter and smelling heavenly.

Natasha wore nothing but a tiny piece of lingerie underneath when coming to pick you up from your office. It makes you wonder what she had planned originally. It's not like you haven't made use of your reclinable office chair before.

The elevator dings. You whine softly, trying to stay attached to her, but she's already slipped away and out into the lobby.

"Wait, wait, wait-" You grab her coat and hurry. She's too close to getting outside, into the streets, where anyone could see her. "Fuck!"

You reach her just in time, throwing the coat around her like a shield and pulling her back against you. She stumbles backwards, but you've already got your arms wrapped around her. Before she knows what's happening, the world tilts and you've got her dipped down.

"We've talked about this."

"I like seeing you freak out."

"Obviously", you murmur, kissing her. You kiss her like you don't have time, like you're in a hurry, which is far from the truth. This is your law firm. If you wanted, you could drag her behind the reception desk and let her have her way with you there.

She runs her hands into your hair, slowly tousling it up more and more. She loves the messy look. Adores it. If it was up to her, you wouldn't have access to a hairbrush.

Slick mouths slide against each other, lips kiss bitten and swelling up. You straighten up, still clutching, still kissing her, and walk her backwards until the summer night air envelops you.

Her back against the wall. Her back against the front of your car. It takes all of your strength to let go and get into the driver's seat.

"Fuck", you mutter, glancing at her. Lips red and still slick, cheeks flushed. A dream to kiss, a nightmare to sit next to while driving. "Pray we don't get in a car crash."

"You'll do fine", she says.

You won't.

You're driving down the street when she suddenly turns around. She leans in, one hand playing with the hair at the back of your head and the other slowly loosening your tie.

You gulp, and your throat bobs. Natasha smirks faintly and brushes her fingertips over the little hollow base of your throat.

"I have to focus", you say, voice strained, and shift in your seat. You were already worked up, and she's not making it easier on you.

"Focus, then. Focus on me", she mumbles, dragging her finger down to the part where your shirt is buttoned up. "A good driver could do it, you know."

"Nat, baby, I-"

"Come on, hotshot", she whispers, unbuttoning the first button. The car swerves slightly, and she laughs. Laughs. Right in your ear. "We got five more minutes, then we'll be home. Can you last that long?"

Can you? With the way heat is flooding your body, making wetness gather between your thighs? With her lips against your earlobe, her fingers continuing to slowly undo button after button?

No. Not without crashing the car, at least.

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel desperately. "I'm pulling over", you say, begging. "Please."

"No", she says, hooking her finger into your sports bra. "You made me wait three hours, and you're telling me you can't do five minutes?"

You let out a quiet, frustrated wheeze. That's why she's doing this. To get back at you for working overtime.

"A normal wife would-" You squirm in your seat, her hand sliding down your stomach, "would just make me sleep on the couch."

"Should've married one, then."

"Nat", you whine. "Come on. Get in the back."

She makes a disapproving noise, her fingers trailing back up your chest. Suddenly, she cups your jaw and makes you look at her. The car swerves again, this time so badly it makes your eyes widen.

"Four more minutes", she taunts.

You glance at the road, blinking a few times. Your hands are white-knuckled, your pupils blown. Arousal and panic are flooding your veins and soaking your underwear.

Natasha lets go of your jaw. You turn your head. You hear the rustling of clothes. Dumb as you tend to be when it comes to your wife, you glance at her.

Gone is the coat. She's back to being in just lingerie. Red lace adorning creamy supple skin, showing off every inch of her body. If you could, you’d get on your fucking knees and worship her, but that’s not an option right now. Instead, your brain gets fried by the inability to act on your urges.

Tires screech on asphalt. You curse under your breath.

"Eyes on the road, love."

"Put that back on."

She tilts her head at you. "Put what back on?"

You exhale and grit your teeth, stubbornly staring at the road. So far so good. Out of sight, out of mind. Maybe ignoring her will work.

Then, she reaches into your lap and starts fumbling with the zipper of your slacks.

You jump on the gas pedal and make the car accelerate way too rapidly. You slam backwards into the seats, but that's not what you're worried about. Natasha's fingers, deftly undoing the button now, is.

"Do you want us to get into a car crash?!"

"Hush, baby. Focus on the road", she coos, tugging at the waistband of your boxers. "These are my favorites."

You keep going faster and faster until you're well over the speed limit. A bad idea — the faster a car goes, the harder it is to keep it under control. But you're not exactly able to think rationally.

Two minutes, you think, silently begging you'll make it out alive.

You let out a frustrated noise and slow down the car just enough. One hand on the steering wheel, you grab her hand with your free one. She clicks her tongue.

"Awfully feisty tonight. I thought you were tired?"

"Nat", you whine. You recognize one of the stores nearby the building of your penthouse and speed up again. "Give me a minute. Please."

She hums, cupping the side of your head. Suddenly, her lips are all over you. Your neck, your jaw, your ear. You squirm and curse and grip the steering wheel.

The car rockets into the parking lot at such an insane speed you can't slow it down fast enough. It bumps against the wall, but at that point, you don't care. You jump out of the car and hurry to the other side, only to basically throw her over your shoulder.

"You're so dead."

Her arms wrap around your neck, body still half-naked. Grumbling, you grab the coat and kick the car door shut behind you.

"Well done", she says, cupping your face and making you look up as you carry her into the building. Almost midnight, so hopefully you won't run into any neighbors. Your reputation hasn't been exactly flawless since Natasha moved in.

What can you say? You're noisy and shameless.

"I crashed the fucking car", you mutter, lips attaching to her chest before the elevator doors have even closed.

"We made it home, though", she says, her voice shifting into a sigh. You pepper kisses all over her chest, resisting the urge to just slam your fist on the button next to you and make the elevator stop. "My, you're eager."

You don't say anything. You're too distracted by the feeling of her body against yours, soft and warm. Humming against smooth skin, your face nuzzles the spot between her breasts.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open, revealing your living. It was once so cold here, so lifeless. It wasn't a space you lived in; merely one where you existed. Then Natasha moved in, and everything changed.

It's the small things. Her reading glasses on the coffee table, the stack of magazines next to it. Her abandoned cup of coffee. The painting she picked out and hung above the fireplace.

Not that you're paying much attention to it right now. You move to the couch and drop her down on her back. Straightening up, you pull down your pants and boxers and reveal the strap you've got attached to a harness. For the first time that evening, Natasha's speechless.

"You..."

"Date night", you say, kicking off your slacks and unbuttoning your shirt. It falls to the floor. "Wanted to be prepared."

"God", she moans. You crawl on top of her. "You can't just do that."

"No?" You run your hands up her body and hook your thumbs into the sides of her lingerie. You pull it down right as you kiss her neck. "Did it, anyway."

You lean up to kiss her. Your hands slowly part her thighs. You settle between them, but right as the tip pushes in, you nuzzle her cheek.

"Love?"

Natasha bites back a soft sound of frustration. This isn't the right moment to start talking, but you'll do it anyway.

You push in deeper, fingers gripping her skin for stability. You feel her body tremble. Her hips rock against yours, searching for more — more friction, more depth, more you.

You kiss her ear and bottom out. She moans, her head dropping back into the cushion.

"You, me, London. Next week."

"Again?"

You hum, rolling your hips. Her eyes roll into the back of her head, thighs squeezing your middle. You're aware you've been traveling a lot, but most of the time, it's necessary.

"Yeah", you grunt, simultaneously thrusting into her and pulling at her hips. You're fucking her into the couch, you're leaving her head devoid of thoughts, you're literally mid-stroke — yet you're talking to her like this is a completely normal situation. "Got a meeting with an investor. We'll stay in a suite. Have some fun."

"Baby, you..." She makes a useless noise, her hand gripping your tie. "Don't talk."

"Why?", you ask, breathless, and keep pounding into her. She lets out a choked moan. "It's important."

"Sure, but...oh..." Her lips part and her chest heaves. Her hips meet every thrust, and you smile against her neck. "Fuck."

"Close already? I haven't even told you about the new private jet I bought."

Natasha shakes her head, refusing to talk. She's writhing and moaning beneath you, stomachs slick with sweat as they rub together, back arching and thighs clenching. And you're trying to talk business trips with her? Absolutely not.

You decide to have a little mercy on her. You kiss her, deeply, taste her moans as she comes apart and shudders. Every moan is taken like a win.

It takes a moment for her to recover. You smile at her, your fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair away from her forehead. She stares up at you, panting and eyes unfocused, then tilts her head.

"Another jet?"

"New model."

"Dear god", she mutters, wrapping her arms around your neck. "You've got to calm down a little."

"Why?" You lean in, nibbling her earlobe. "You said you liked the seats."

Natasha pauses and lifts her head. You raise your eyebrows.

"That's why we went looking at jets?", she asks, the disbelief written all over her face. "You said it was a gift!"

"For you."

"Well, that wasn't clear."

You snort and kiss her cheek before sitting up. Natasha follows, grabbing the shirt you discarded on the coffee table and putting it on. You pad into the kitchen, her hand in yours.

You turn on the lights and make your way to the fridge. Natasha sits on the counter, bare legs crossed, and accepts the plate you hand her.

"Warm it up?"

"No", she says, grabbing a piece of asparagus and biting into it. "You're returning the jet."

You look up from your own plate. The first thing that Natasha can think is that you should probably get a haircut — the strands in the front are long enough to partially block your vision. But she can't voice that thought. She adores this look a little too much.

"Why?", you ask through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Because it's insane."

"The interior was custom made, though."

"So?"

"Well, I can't return that, can I?"

She frowns, then sighs. You have a point. Returning a multi million dollar aircraft? With a custom made interior? Not happening.

"Okay", she says, thinking. "Donate it."

You give her a deadpan look and set your plate aside. "Love. Baby. You can't be serious."

"I am."

You shake your head and kiss her. She tastes like lobster and lemon juice, but when it's the right person, the fishy taste doesn't throw you off much.

"You're sweet", you mumble, squeezing her waist. Natasha places a dollop of mashed potatoes on your nose, and you scrunch up your face. "Play nice."

"I'm serious", she says, kissing the mashed potatoes off your nose. You grimace and grab a napkin to wipe it off. "Donate it. Someone might need it."

"I think we're both too tired to think straight", you mumble, pecking her lips one last time. You step away and put the half-full plate back into the fridge.

Natasha slides off the counter. Her arms wrap around your middle, her chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

"Finish your dinner", she says, watching you grab a bottle of sparkling water. "You had a long day."

"At this point, all I want is to go to sleep."

"Fair. We're still not keeping the jet."

You turn around, a little disgruntled, and wrap your arm around her. You start your two and a half minute journey into the bedroom.

She pulls you over the threshold, making you stumble right onto the bed with her. Guilt nags at you as you realize it's been a while since you didn't get here only after she'd fallen asleep.

"I love you", you murmur, kissing her. Your fingers brush over clothed and bare skin, the feeling enough to make your heart beat a little faster.

No reply. Natasha deepens the kiss, fingers gripping your face and keeping you close. No way to leave, at least for tonight.

Good. You don't want to leave, either. Because you're right where you want to be, where you're supposed to be. You'd buy her the moon and the stars, fulfill every last one of her wishes.

(You're still not returning the jet, though.)

. . .

— LONDON, UK —

"One more hour", you mumble, typing away on your laptop. Natasha hums, her legs stretched out on the leather sofa.

You're 50 thousand miles in the air. Clouds surround the private jet you're in. You're in slacks and a shirt, the top button undone, your hair damp after you washed it in the bathroom onboard.

There's a platter of fruit on the table you're sitting at. Cubed mangoes, papayas, strawberries. Two champagne flutes, empty now.

You let out a frustrated noise, the click-clack of the keyboard becoming more pronounced. Natasha turns her head, but you don't notice. What a shame — she's wearing that one red dress that'd normally leave you drooling. But you're focused on work, again, so you're not becoming part of the mile high club yet another time.

She watches you for a moment. Her teeth sink into her lip, chewing slowly. You're focused, which is as attractive as it is annoying. Why did you even get her a jet with a hot tub if you don't plan on using it? What's the huge couch for, then?

It's not even sex that she wants. Just a tiny bit of attention would be nice.

Natasha gets up and approaches you. She grabs your arm, ignoring your noise of protest and gently peeling your hand off the keyboard, then slides right into your lap. You adjust her so you can see the screen again and continue working.

The audacity makes her roll her eyes. Subtly, she reaches for the laptop and shuts it. You grunt in surprise.

"Hey, that-"

"You can finish later", she says, turning around enough to undo more buttons, "but first, you let me finish."

Heat shoots into your cheeks. You squirm beneath her and grab the laptop, opening it again. You let out a silent sigh of relief when you see the email you were working on isn't lost.

Natasha frowns, her fingers loosening. She's used to your attention wavering quickly, but this quickly? For god's sake, she's literally in your lap. She's undoing your shirt and offering herself to you like a buffet.

"Love", she mumbles, tracing your jaw. You hum absently, still staring at your screen. Then, the dreaded click-clack continues.

Click-clack, click-clack. Your moans should be filling the air instead of this annoying noise. Your hands should be on her, not on the keyboard.

Maybe Natasha is being selfish. Given the fact that this is one of the rare occasions where you're able to spend a couple hours together, though, she seriously doubts that.

She swallows, trying to ignore the feeling of hurt that's settling in her stomach. Don't take it personally, she tries reminding herself. She works a lot. You knew that when you married her.

It still hurts. It's been hurting for a while.

Finally, she finds her voice again. Her fingers are tugging at the top button of your shirt, tentatively, but the only sign of you noticing is the subtle raise of your eyebrows. The light from the screen in front of you is making your face glow.

"Is it always going to be like this?"

Your head whips around, mouth opening in shock. Now you heard her.

"What do you mean?", you ask, cupping her cheek. She takes your hand and peels it off her face.

"You know what I mean."

"Nat, you..." You exhale slowly, your stomach turning with guilt and mild nausea. The words 'you knew' are on the tip of your tongue.

Because she did. She knew what your life is like when she married you. She knew how much you work. She knew you only spend about a quarter of your week at home. Most of the time even less.

It wouldn't be fair bringing that up, though. Nobody expects the negative things to stay negative when getting married. That little flame of hope usually dies way after.

"I'm sorry", you say quietly. "I'll make it up to you."

This time, it's Natasha's turn to swallow down something she'd regret saying. She just nods, lip balm-soft lips pressing against your temple and slender fingers tousling your hair, then she gets off your lap. You watch her sit back down, staring out the window, her manicured hands twisting in her lap.

Do you get up? Do you continue working?

You exhale, slowly, then quickly finish the email you'd been writing. Just one more email, then you'll hop into the hot tub together. You'll have just enough time to relax a little before arriving in London.

One email turns into four. Four emails turn into you reading through a contract. As you're reading, you conclude that you may as well take notes now.

The click-clack doesn't stop. Natasha sits there, staying silent as to not disturb you.

You're still typing when you reach London.

The silence is suffocating when you enter your suite. You've barely even closed the door, and Natasha has already disappeared in the bathroom. You stand there, suitcase in hand and hair slicked back, a little stunned.

You're aware of where you went wrong. Right in the damn jet, when you couldn't take a ten minute break from your stupid job for once. You should've closed the laptop. It's not like you're behind on anything, anyway.

It's too late now, though. You hear the water run, which probably means she's running herself a bath. You hesitate — is it even worth trying? — but then you go and knock.

Silence. Nothing but the muffled sound of water lapping.

"Nat?", you call. You knock again, then rest your ear against the door. Your hand is flat against the cool surface. "Nat, baby-"

The door opens so suddenly that you nearly tumble over. Natasha crosses her arms, not making a move to steady you.

"What?"

"Uh", you say stupidly, rubbing your neck. "What you doing?"

Her expression doesn't waver. What happened in the jet was enough to make that last string of patience snap. And now? Not yelling, no. Not trying to start a fight. Just giving you that detached coldness.

"The water's running", she says. "I thought you had work to do?"

"Yeah, but-"

The door slams shut. You stare at it, baffled, then the panic sinks in.

Fuck. Oh, fuck. Sweat starts gathering at the back of your neck, your heart begins to race, you blink in disbelief. During your entire relationship, you've never had Natasha slam the door shut on you. Not even during your worst fight.

This, however, has been building up for weeks now. The pot has been bubbling — it was only a question of when it'd boil over. It hasn't boiled over yet, though, not fully at least. Are you going to let it boil over? Oh hell no.

You shake your head and reach for your phone. Meeting? Canceled, done, over. (Actually, postponed. Cancelling a meeting with a potential investor, especially one who's this powerful, wouldn't be the smartest move.)

Then, you start reaching out to a few contracts.

Contact one. Book a castle (the entire thing, of course) for the night. Make sure they have those silk bedsheets Natasha loves. In her favorite color, obviously. Don't forget the little chocolates — she loves those.

Contact two. Find a horse-drawn carriage. White horses too, while you're at it.

Contact three. Private chef, please. Specialized in Italian cuisine.

Contact four. A new dress, tailored if possible so it'll hug her curves perfectly. Of course, you have all her measurements on hand.

Contact five. Jewelry. Necklace, rings, earrings, all matching and all of them with a price tag that'd get the average couple through an entire year.

By the time Natasha's done with her bubble bath, you've got everything planned. She exits the bathroom to find you on one knee, a bouquet of  baby's breaths in your hand. The way you tilt your head is nervous, and she almost feels bad for slamming the door shut on you like that.

"What's that?", she asks, nudging one of the flowers.

"Flowers", you say dumbly, then shake your head. "An apology. A question. Let me take you on a date."

She gives you a wary look, but accepts the bouquet anyway. She takes a tentative whiff of the white flowers. Light, fresh, slightly sweet, but so subtle she can barely smell them.

"You have a meeting tonight", she says.

"I do. No, did. I, uh, I postponed it", you explain, straightening up. "You, me. Tonight at 7. I just...I've been acting like an idiot, and you don't deserve that."

Natasha smiles faintly. She looks at the flowers again, her nose buried in them. They tickle her face. Just watching her like this is enough to make your heartbeat stumble.

"Good thing you're self-aware", she says. "I was close to booking a flight on my own jet and go back home."

You stare at her, doubting both her statement and your interpretation of it. Is she being serious?

She shakes her head at the look on your face. Suddenly, she's on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to yours. Minty and sugary, the bouquet against your chest and the petals brushing your neck.

"Good thing you always know what to do", she mumbles, stepping closer. You let out a breath of relief and wrap your arms around her. "You promise we'll have time for us?"

"Promise", you immediately say, kissing her again. Your hands smooth down her back, the robe she's wearing fluffy beneath your palms. "Just us two."

And this time, you do.

The dress looks stunning on her (obviously — not like you ever doubted that). The carriage makes her laugh (now you're doubting something, though, and that'd be your ability to choose the right form of transportation). The castle leaves her speechless.

You're not sure whether her red dress is giving queen or vampire bride, but either way: it gives you a few dangerous ideas.

"You like the castle?", you ask, leading her up a stone staircase. "How much?"

Natasha pauses, her hand on the railing. "No."

"I wasn't-"

"You were."

Maybe you were. You bring her hand to your mouth and kiss her knuckles.

The dining room is all set when you arrive. A roaring fireplace to your right, a domed ceiling, crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. Food served on fine bone china, brought to you by staff in uniforms.

Much to your relief, the night has been going well. Good food will always better her mood — that's something you learned a while ago. And not many people can stay mad while getting a taste of carpaccio and handmade black truffle tagliatelle. You're right at dolce when things seem to take a turn for the worse, though.

You're holding her hand over the table. You're talking, laughing quietly, pressing kisses to fingers and sharing a tiramisu al limoncello that's sitting between you.

Then, your phone rings. You pause but ignore it, squeezing her hand. Natasha raises her eyebrows.

It stops. You keep talking. It starts ringing again.

You shift, clearly conflicted. Being called twice in a row when you told your assistant to cancel all meetings and appointments for the night usually means it's important.

Natasha knows that, too. She glances at the table, chewing her lip, her thumb rubbing your fingers like she's bracing herself.

You reach into your pocket and accept the call.

Ten seconds. It's fine. Natasha clears her throat, eats another bite of the tiramisu.

Twenty seconds. She sighs, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. The guy on the phone is still talking rapidly.

Thirty seconds. She puts her fork aside and crosses her arms. You shoot her an apologetic look.

A minute. She exhales, eyes closing, and drums her fingers on the table.

After five more minutes, you finally hang up. The silence between you is far too awkward, far too heavy. You rub your neck and adjust your tie, then get up from your chair. Natasha gives you a look that's both wary and warning — if you leave, you're done for.

But no. You grab her hand and give her a shy nod. She tilts her head but gets up, letting you pull her close.

"That wasn't about work", you start, wrapping your arms around her. She loops her hands around your neck, and you begin swaying slowly. No need for music.

"No?", she mumbles, frowning.

"No", you confirm, lowering your head to press kisses to her jaw. She closes her eyes. "I booked something. Just us two. That was the confirmation."

Natasha sighs. The last time you went on vacation together, you spent 90% of it working. She's grateful, yes, but she'd rather spend time with you at home than watch you overwork yourself in some tropical paradise.

You overwork yourself at home already. You'll step into the living room, spent and exhausted, barely able to talk. She rarely witnesses it, but when she does, it kills her.

"Y/N..."

"Just hear me out", you say, one hand slipping under the fabric of her low back dress. Smooth, warm skin, soft and familiar under your palm. You trace her spine with your thumb. "I know you, baby, and I know London isn't going to cut it. Let me take you to Bora Bora."

She shakes her head, but you shush her with a kiss.

"It'll be different", you assure her. "Just us."

Believing you is hard. Just us — two words she's heard too many times. You rarely ended up keeping that promise.

Natasha tilts her head. You kiss her, again and again, the wind outside howling and the leaves rustling. Candles flicker, the fire in the fireplace bathing you in a slow, lazy heat.

Summer is ending, but the sun is coming up anyway.

. . .

— BORA BORA, FRENCH POLYNESIA —

A white bikini and strawberry lip balm.

The netted hammock swings in the warm breeze, the sun warming your skin and the cocktails your throat. She's draped over you, hands on your sides, lips trailing down your neck.

You turn your head and catch her mouth in a languid kiss. Coconut, salt, expensive perfume. Your thumbs hook into the waistband of her bikini bottoms. She hums, sucking your tongue into her mouth.

It's quiet. It's secluded. It's everything you needed and more.

Natasha shifts a little, the hammock swaying in the wind. You smile against her lips and tighten your grip. She's not going to slip away, but you'd rather be safe than sorry.

"What are we doing tonight?", she mumbles, raking her fingers through your short hair and tugging on it. You got a haircut just before you left.

"Dinner", you say, nose nudging hers. You press another kiss to her mouth. "Swim." You tug on her bikini. "No clothes necessary."

Natasha smiles against your mouth, her soft laugh slipping straight to your heart. It's intimacy in its rawest form, and even though you've been married for nearly two years, you feel like you haven't had enough of it so far.

More of this. Less of everything else.

Forget getting up at 5 in the morning. Forget working until a regular teen's bedtime. Forget emails, and contracts, and having to wake her up to kiss her goodnight. Forget the press, who's been after your relationship ever since the public caught wind of it. Forget not being able to want kids because you work so much. Forget it all.

Natasha sits up and straddles your waist, her knees sinking deep into the hammock's net. Fingers trail over skin, find the clasp of her bra, let it pop open. She shrugs the delicate piece of fabric off and you make a noise of appreciation.

You're not sure why you put on clothes in the first place. You're alone out here — when booking this overwater villa, you made sure no one could see you. All the other villas and guests are far away. It's you and the ocean, fishes and other sea creatures included, and nobody else.

Unfortunately, you didn't consider two things: the existence of boats and the fucking audacity of the media.

You slowly pull away, staring in disbelief. An entire boatful of photographers, slowly getting closer to the house. Natasha, confused, turns to look at them, but you quickly pull her down against your chest. She's literally not wearing anything on the top half of her body.

"What the fuck?", she asks, voice muffled against your neck.

You curse quietly and grab your phone. She made you turn it off the night you got here, to avoid distractions. Now, as you're scrolling through messages by your assistant (most of them written in all caps), you realize that may have been a bad idea. Headline after headline, speculating about why you'd go on vacation when your high-profile case isn't finished yet.

You toss your phone aside and grab a towel, wrapping her up in it. You nod at the door.

"Inside. Now."

She doesn't argue. Your wife doesn't want topless pictures of her going viral, and neither do you. You shield her as best as you can, shooing her into the house and locking all the doors and windows. Once the curtains are closed as well, you sit down on the counter to call a few people.

Natasha doesn't need to be told what to do. Unfortunately, she's used to this. It's even worse than that time where paparazzi chased her around the city.

"This is unacceptable", you bark, sliding off the counter. You're too pent up. You need to pace, otherwise you'll explode. "This is a private villa. Nobody should be able to approach it... No, I want you to fucking go outside and get rid of them!"

You scrub a face down your hand as they continue to find excuses.

"No", you say firmly. "Complete privacy was guaranteed, yet you failed to provide it. I can take legal action against you."

Natasha, leaning against the wall in one of your shirts, gives you a tired look. She's not mad at you. She's mad at the fact that, recently, everything seems to be going wrong.

You bite your lip as you look at her, guilt churning in your stomach. Your time here had started well. Ice cream, late night swims, sex in the hammock and privacy. No distractions, no worries. Too good to be true, apparently.

The resort manager apologizes once more, promising to take care of the issue immediately, then hangs up. You're not done there — your PR team and some of the employees at your law firm follow. About half a dozen calls later, you exhale shakily and put your phone aside.

Your eyes meet. It's eerily silent in the way too big villa.

It's just the two of you. Suddenly, you don't get why you had to book this real estate-monster. A nice hotel room would've done the trick. Actually, your penthouse would've done the trick as well.

Natasha doesn't say anything, just clenches her jaw. You rub your neck.

"What do you want?", you ask quietly. She tilts her head. "I've called the shots way too many times. It's not fair."

"I want you."

"You have me."

"Do I?"

You frown, blinking. "Of course you do. You always do."

She bites the insides of her cheeks. You step closer, tentatively. She lets you.

"Tell me", you mumble, grabbing her hand. She glances down at your entwined fingers. "Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

Natasha sighs. She squeezes your fingers.

She knows you're being sincere. Whatever she asks for — she gets it. Vacations, expensive rings, perfumes specifically designed for her. You treat her like royalty, but your time together is limited.

"I told you", she says carefully. "If that's something you can even do."

Your free hand comes up to straighten the collar of the shirt she's wearing. She swallows when your fingertips brush against her neck.

"I can do anything."

"I'll believe it when I see it", she teases, her heart heavy. "Let's just stay here."

You hum, looking up, and take that last step that brings your bodies flush together.

"And the photographers? The paps?"

"Screw them", she says. Her fingers hook into the pockets of your swim trunks, keeping you pressed against her. "Actually, sue them. They'll probably leave us alone."

You hesitate. Now that your location is known, there's the possibility that this will keep happening. The resort manager assured you it wouldn't, that they'd take the necessary steps and guarantee complete privacy and safety everywhere. But they failed to provide it once, and you don't gamble — especially not when it comes to your wife.

"I don't know", you say quietly.

Natasha studies you. Way too many words lie on the tip of her tongue, way too many fears and doubts. She wouldn't be this intent on staying if she didn't think you'll go straight back to work as soon as you arrive home.

You know her, though. You know what she's thinking. You kiss her.

"Okay", you mumble, pecking her lips again. "We'll stay. The full week."

A breath of relief. Arms wrap around your neck. Outside, the photographers find a curtain that's nudged aside just enough to provide a glimpse of you.

. . .

— VIENNA, AUSTRIA —

Your fingers ghost over her arms. You adjust the straps of her dress, then push her hair aside to kiss her shoulder. Perfumed skin, warm and soft to the touch. You look at her in the mirror and press another kiss to her ear.

"You're beautiful."

Natasha turns and brings her hands up to your hair. It's messy, but in a nice way. She brushes her fingers through the gelled strands. "I like this on you."

"I know."

"Mhm?"

"You're not exactly subtle", you reply and quickly kiss her cheek. "I noticed years ago."

Natasha hums, studying you. She smoothes her hands down your front and makes sure everything sits right. The tie, the shirt, the rings on your hands. They match her own jewelry. A small detail, but it's enough. Enough for her to kiss you.

Dark chocolate and vanilla. You deepen the kiss and pull her closer. Your hands toy with the silky fabric of her dress.

"So", she mumbles, briefly pulling away, "business dinner, huh."

"Not exactly." You nuzzle her cheek with your nose, then step away. "Just...dinner. But an exclusive one. I don't know, a bunch of CEO's will be there and I feel like it can't hurt to charm a few of them."

"You?", she teases, turning around to slip her heels on. You watch her, the adoration in your eyes unconcealed and simple. "In your suit and with your short hair? Charm old men?"

A crooked grin tugs at your lips. She has a point. For obvious reasons, you don't seem to check the boxes of what straight old men are attracted to. Not just that — they seem to actually resent you. Probably because, despite it all, you married someone they can only fantasize about.

"Fair", you say. You can't help yourself. You take a few steps closer and wrap your arms around her, feeling her rounded backside press against your crotch. "Good thing I got you."

"I see. I'm the eye candy, huh?"

"Mhm." You kiss her shoulder. Your fingers sneakily nudge aside the strap of her dress. "Eye candy for them."

Natasha laughs quietly. "And you? What about you, hotshot?"

You go quiet, lips lingering on her shoulder. Your hands rest on her stomach, squeezing and rubbing gently.

"Too many words", you mumble, "and not enough time. We gotta leave."

The Palais Coburg. Massive wrought-iron gates, a red carpet rolled over the stairs, marble steps and a white-stone facade. High society and wealth, packed into one restaurant.

You get out of the limousine and round it to get to Natasha's side. You open the door and she puts her hand in yours. Around you, camera lights flash. The smile on her lips is polite and practiced. She's used to this.

You aren't, though. You should be — you're the one with the famous parents, the one who grew up surrounded by cameras, the one who knew how to dodge paparazzi before you knew how to long divide. Yet you're still the one who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

You fight your way into the restaurant. By the time you get inside, you feel like you're sweating through your suit. Natasha watches you tug at the collar of your shirt a few times, then she leans in and loosens your tie.

"Are you sweaty? I'm sweaty."

"I'm good", she replies, brushing her thumb over the lapel of your suit. She's close, so close you can smell her perfume. It's that special blend you had a luxury perfumer create just for her. "You're good, too."

"I'm not good", you mumble, scanning the room. The people walking past you are exactly the kind you usually surround yourself with — mostly out of obligation —, but you feel like someone who randomly ended up here. "What am I even doing?"

"Hey", she says, tugging you closer by your tie. "None of that, hotshot. You're not alone, are you? So stop acting like you are. Anything goes wrong, I'm getting you out of here."

"But-"

"But no." She presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. She smiles when she sees the smudged lipstick on your skin. "Come on. I'm starving."

There's no point in arguing. You trail after her, grasping her hand, looking a little like a lost puppy that's clinging to the only source of comfort it knows.

Nothing should be able to go wrong in a place like this one. Vaulted ceilings and massive chandeliers, mirrors that reflect suits and form-hugging dresses, arched windows and candlelight. A pianist, not unlike the one who played at your wedding, is sitting in the corner.

Nobody's loud here. The voices are soft, hushed, exchanging secrets that aren't nearly as precious as it's pretended they are. You stare at a group of people, zoning out. Natasha brings you back to reality.

You give her an apologetic look. She nods at the table.

Everything is fine at first. You're served caviar, figs prosciutto, wine. You talk to a few people, introduce Natasha, hold her hand and twist her wedding ring whenever everyone else becomes too much.

You're not sure where you go wrong.

Maybe it's when you let go of her hand. When the closeness, once comforting, suddenly becomes as overwhelming as the dozens of conversations happening around you. When you close your eyes, rub your temple.

No. That's not it. Natasha knows what's going on, and she doesn't blame you. You may be a lawyer, a businesswoman. You may deal with insufferable clients and judges and opponents and employees all the time — but you're used to being on your own. You're used to the silence of your office, to the soft hum and her slow breaths in the darkness of your bedroom. But big events? They still freak you out.

Steak is served next, accompanied by aligot and an array of colorful vegetables. More wine. You down it like it's water.

Once you're right between tipsy and drunk, you're doing better. Much better. It's almost over the top, considering how you were too close to spiraling just moments ago.

A CEO turns to you, introducing himself. He's polite at first. He seems interested, and competent. Everything about him is typical — old-money, rich, well-respected. You should want his approval and, at first, you do.

Then, he starts pointing out things that aren't his to point out. He asks about Natasha — which is good. You like talking about her, being able to introduce her. She's that one part of your life that makes every other part worth it. You once used to do this without her. You're not sure if you could anymore.

Most of his questions are expected. 'You're married?' 'For how long?' 'Where?'

People like him tend to be nosy, though. They thrive on watching others feel uncomfortable, inferior. From the moment he saw you, he recognized you. Best believe he's not a fan.

He takes a long sip of wine, studying Natasha with that kind of look that always makes you wary. Most rich people have no shame. They can buy their way out of almost everything.

"So", he says, swirling the dark red liquid around, "married a bartender, huh?"

Your grip on her hand tightens. He saw the headlines — the ones being released right after your marriage. To this day, you don't know who leaked Natasha's former profession. You don't know why it should be important, either. You do know that everyone expected you to follow in your parents' footsteps and marry someone who's in a similar social class as you (which would already cancel out over 99% of people). Ideally, a man. Ideally, you'd have swapped the suit for a dress and let your hair grow out.

"I did", you reply. Your thumb rubs her knuckles, firmly. A desperate attempt at reigning in your composure. You're too drunk to start arguing. "She makes a mean martini."

"Oh, really?" He nods, looking at her again. Really looking. From head to toe, from her high heels to her makeup. She averts her eyes. "Well, maybe it'll work out."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He raises his eyebrows. You give him a challenging look and ignore Natasha squeezing your hand. Drinking this much wasn't a good idea. You're a little too loose-lipped.

"I'm just saying", he says, leaning back in his chair. His beer belly makes his shirt strain. "When two people — especially with such different life experiences — jump into marriage like that? It doesn't end well. You should've looked for someone who's in your league."

Your hand slips away from hers before she can do anything. Thankfully, she manages to catch your wrists just before your hands twitch toward his collar.

"You take that back now."

The older man stares at you, stunned. "Why are you young people so sensitive these days? Child, I've seen way too many marriages break up over absurd things. There are differences that love just can't overcome."

You try to pull free from her grasp, but Natasha's relentless. "Get yourself together", she whispers.

"You're saying an awful lot for someone who's here without a wife", you snap, still wiggling your wrists. "Nobody could stand being married to you, huh? Have fun dying and leaving that shit ton of money behind for nobody."

"That is unacceptable-"

"It is?" You laugh bitterly and give pulling free one last attempt. Natasha keeps hissing at you to stop, to shut up and go outside with her, but you're drunk and furious and this entitled shit-bag is the perfect target for your anger. "You don't know anything about my marriage. Anything. We're doing perfectly fine! We're happy! Are you happy? You don't seem happy!"

By now, the entire room is staring. Conversations have turned into whispers that are both scandalized and amused. You're still glaring daggers at the man.

"Someone who's happy wouldn't spend this much time defending their happiness", he says, voice curt and cold.

He's right. You know it, and Natasha knows it. That's why you finally break free and grab your wine glass, dumping it right into his face.

Gasps and chairs screeching on marble floors. Natasha jumps up and grabs your arm, pulling you straight toward the exit. You try resisting — you're leaving, which means you'll be alone, which means a conversation you're not ready for.

Natasha? On the verge of tears. On the verge of starting the worst fight you've had so far.

Because it isn't about you defending your marriage. It's about how you did it. About how it seemed like you're trying to prove something. Like overcompensation. Like fearing the truth being said out loud. You were too desperate, too terrified of what he was saying.

If you were confident in what you and her have, you would've laughed it off. But you didn't. You did something that was even worse than what she was fearing.

The car ride is silent. Natasha's behind the wheel this time. If you're drunk enough to cause a scene like that, then you're definitely too drunk to drive.

The hotel appears in front of you. Natasha stops the car, but neither of you get out.

"You want to tell me something?", she finally says.

"No", you mutter, slumped into the seat. You screwed up, and now you'll have to pay for it. "I'm good. We're good."

"Stop lying."

You turn your head, frowning. "Don't tell me you believe what that old bastard said. He's old and unhappy. Probably just pissed he'll have to plan a funeral no one important will attend."

"That's not what this is about!"

"Oh, no?" You sit up and hit your head against the roof of the car. You glower and rub the spot. "What's the issue, then? The whole 'bartender'-thing? 'Cause you know I don't care about that!"

"Can you stop deflecting for just one goddamn minute!", she says, turning in her seat to face you entirely. "Why were you so afraid? Why did you lose it back there?"

You stare at her, breathing heavily. You can't take it. You're drunk, defensive, spiraling. You don't know how to handle this. So you do the only thing you know how to do.

You grab her face and slam your lips against hers. Natasha moans in surprise, her hands flying to your neck. You start tugging her into your lap, and she resists at first. But one soft 'please' is enough for her to break and straddle you.

Clothes barely come off. There's no need to get undressed. You're still in the car, still in front of the hotel. Being caught would be bad enough already — it'd be all over the news, just like those stupid pictures from Bora Bora. So all you can do is bunch up her dress a little and dip your hand underneath it.

She squirms and grinds against your palm. Breathless sounds escape her, her breathing heavy. You trail kisses down her neck and mouth at her shoulder. Your lips brush against the necklace she's wearing. It's the one you got her as an apology for having to work on a holiday.

Your fingers nudge the fabric of her underwear to the side. You rub circles on her clit, then pump your fingers into her. Natasha's back arches.

No 'I love you'. No kisses. No softness. You feel too much to express it.

You thrust your fingers into her, pressing your knuckles in deep. She buries her face in your hair, smelling guava and hair gel. Her fingers toy with your earring.

Tingles shoot up and down her spine. She shivers against you, hips jerking forward and thighs shaking with the effort of keeping herself upright. She comes around your fingers, pulsing and throbbing hotly, and you pull out.

Outside, a car pulls up. You adjust Natasha's dress before getting out of the car with her. You sneak into the hotel using the side entrance that the staff gave you a key for. You're still not talking. Silence fills the vast space between you as you hush through hallways and find the staff-only elevator.

She looks at you. You've got her pushed up against the wall before she can say a word, her butt pressing random buttons on the control panel.

No talking. Gasping into each other's mouths is easier.

It's a game of guessing. You stop at random floors, but don't pay much attention to them. When you hear your floor get announced, you briefly break the kiss only to dive back in.

The elevator door opens and you step out into the hallway, still lost in each other. You fumble with the zipper of her dress before you're even halfway to your suite. Ragged breaths and lips against skin, her fingers unbuttoning your shirt.

Your back is against the door to your suite. You slide the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and the piece of fabric pools at her feet. She steps out of it, one leg between yours. Gripping her thigh and hoisting it up, you pepper kisses along her collarbone.

Her scent is literally just hers. A mix of her special perfume and the scent that always envelops her early in the morning, the one that makes you bury your face in her neck sleepily. You've done that not nearly enough times. You wish you'd set the alarm an hour later more often.

Natasha's hand sneaks past your hip. She unlocks the door and opens it, making you both stumble into the room. You don't even care that you left her expensive dress in the hallway.

More clothes come off. Your tie, shirt, slacks. Her bra and underwear. You make a pleading sound against her neck and press her down into the mattress. Her hand in your hair, you trail kisses all over her body, worship every inch, before parting her thighs and burying your face between them.

She tastes familiar. You spent your first night together doing exactly this. Something cold wraps around your stomach, twisting and squeezing, when an unbidden thought hits you. What if you spend your last night together doing that same thing, too?

Your train of thought is interrupted. It's hard to think straight when you've got her thighs wrapped around your head. Your nose nudges her clit in silent reassurance, then you continue eating her out.

Manicured nails dig into your scalp, massaging lightly. You drink her down, grip her hips, pin them in place. A raw moan, sweet and wrecked. Her thighs are slick with sweat, and she comes for a second time that night.

You swallow and look up, cheeks slick. Natasha's staring at the ceiling, still trying to catch her breath. You hesitate before pressing a kiss to her thigh. She looks at you when you crawl up to face her.

Your index finger tips her chin in your direction. Lips still swollen and tasting like her, you kiss her.

She pulls away after a moment. You lay down and let her curl into you, head on your chest and one leg thrown over yours. You rub her thigh, staring into nothingness, feeling everything hang between you. Her fingers draw circles on your side. The room smells like perfume, candles, faintly like sex.

The memories from earlier sober you right up.

You should feel at peace. Neither of you do. Words tumble out of you, sharp and stabbing at what's left of you.

"You think we rushed it? Marriage, I mean?"

Natasha's hand stills, her entire body seeming to pause. Slowly, she continues tracing your ribcage.

"Where's that coming from?", she asks, turning her head so her nose is pressed against your chest.

"What do you think?", you mumble. "We're a fucking mess."

Natasha exhales, her breath shaky. Her fingers curl into your skin, grasping for something. She's not sure what she's holding onto, but she knows letting go isn't an option.

"You're saying you want a divorce?"

"What?" You almost shoot up and out of bed. Natasha lets out a surprised noise and you quickly wrap your arms around her. "God, no! No. Not a divorce. Just...I don't know. I feel like if we keep going like this, it...it might become an option."

She closes her eyes. The necklace she's wearing doesn't feel as suffocating anymore.

"You want to change something."

Not a question. A statement. You kiss her hair.

"Yeah." You take a breath, smelling her shampoo. "Not just 'something.' More like everything."

"Oh yeah?" She looks up, chin on your chest, eyes both lazy and wary. "Think you can do that, hotshot?"

You hum, studying her. You brush your fingers along her jaw. You're tipsy, but you're genuine.

"For you, I think I can do anything."

Natasha scoffs but smiles. Her hand comes up to your face, squishing your cheeks and making you roll your eyes. You tilt your head and awkwardly kiss her thumb.

"You mean that."

"I do."

"And that thing at dinner?"

You feel your cheeks heat up, a rosy flush creeping into your face. That's what she does to you — she managed to make you forget about the fact that you threw a glass of wine into some CEO's face.

"About that", you mumble, resting your forehead against hers, "what was the guy's name?"

"Gerard Ash-something."

"Ashford??"

"Yeah, that", she says, kissing your chest. You sigh. "You don't sound too happy."

"His business is a fucking empire, babe", you say tiredly. You really screwed up. "He's one of the most successful people of the century. He has connections to literally everyone. How did I not recognize him?"

Natasha shrugs, her hand sliding up and down your side. "Face blindness?"

"You're hilarious", you mutter. You pull her closer until she's basically on top of you. "I think he shaved his beard."

"Well, he should've kept it. Maybe it would've helped with that gush of wine he nearly choked on."

You pinch her side and she flinches. Her hand slaps your arm, lightly, and you laugh into her hair.

"It's fine", you say, then let out a sigh. You embarrassed yourself and your wife. You also probably ruined your career. "At least it'll make selling the company easier for me."

"The company that's lost a bunch of its worth?"

Silence. You exhale.

"That one, yes."

Natasha looks up, and you give her a guilty look. It's out in the open now. You're not sure why you've been hiding it from her. She's your wife, your partner. You should've told her. But how could you? It's not like anyone ever told you wealth or success aren't the keys to love and happiness. Quite the contrary.

Besides, you met her when you were at your peak. When your business was thriving, and your career as a lawyer. When everything seemed perfect. Now, you have to disappoint her. Your business has been failing, and all your attempts at saving it were in vain.

"You should've told me", she says.

"I didn't want to scare you." You pause, closing your eyes. "You noticed?"

"No", she says. "It seems obvious now, though. You were overworking yourself all the time, and there was no real reason for you to do that."

You let out a short, bitter laugh. "Thought I could fix the unfixable."

Natasha smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. You've been keeping secrets from her. She understands why, but does it sting? Does it wound her pride? Yes. In a way, yes.

She stays quiet for a few seconds, her fingers drumming against your side. She's not sure she wants to know the details. She asks, anyway.

"How bad is it?"

"It's still fine", you say vaguely. "Even if I stop working, we're financially sorted for the rest of our lives. It still sucks, though. My family..."

"Honestly, fuck your family."

You crack a smile and kiss her temple. "So charming."

She sits up enough to make you look at her. "I'm serious. Y/N, even if you have to sell the company, we'll do okay. I'll find a job, you can work as a lawyer in some law firm."

"I'll go from CEO to employee. Lovely."

She grasps your chin, eyebrows raised. "Hey."

You lift your hands. "Okay, okay. I get it."

"I'm just saying. As long as you're telling the truth, we'll be alright."

You nod, your throat suddenly feeling tighter. You should've had more faith in her, should've known she'd react like this. You pull her in and kiss her, one hand resting on her lower back.

"I picked the right girl, you know."

"Mhm?"

"Yeah." You smile softly, brushing your thumb over her cheek. She's leans in again, lips grazing yours, hand resting over your heart.

Maybe you will be alright.

. . .

— ŠIBENIK, CROATIA —

The ocean glitters in the sunlight. Birds chirp, cars drive by. A beach, concealed by a bunch of trees and basically empty. It's noon, which means that, at least according to locals, the sun is at its most aggressive — best to stay indoors for the next few hours.

It's not like Natasha cares about that, though. She's perched on the wooden table on the porch, a bowl of figs next to her, hair damp and tousled from the breeze. You join her outside and kiss her forehead.

"Hungry?"

"Filled up on figs", she says, hooking her index finger into the pocket of your shorts and tugging you closer. "What did you have in mind?"

"There's this restaurant in one of the surrounding areas", you say, leaning against the table. "A tiny one, but apparently really good. Freshest fish you'll ever eat."

"I think I've filled up on fish, too", she teases. "But sounds good."

"We don't have to. We can grab a bite at the bakery, if you want. The heat's kinda killing my appetite."

"Sounds even better." She puts her hand on your nape and pulls you into a kiss. Her fingers toy with the short hairs at the back of your neck.

Definitely figs. Their taste is all over her tongue. You step closer, put your hands on her waist, feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her tank top. Gone are the dresses and expensive blouses.

You deepen the kiss. Natasha tugs at you so you're standing between her legs. Her thighs are snug around your hips.

When she pulls away, the redness of your cheeks results from something that definitely isn't a sunburn. You exhale, lips twitching, and steal another kiss before she can notice.

You break the second kiss and cup her cheek. She's warm, and you're not sure if she's already developing a sunburn.

"You should go inside", you say, grabbing one of the figs and peeling it. "You heard our neighbor."

Natasha sighs and leans back on her hands, head lolling back. You bend down and kiss her knee.

"I mean it", you say. "Come on, we'll go swimming later."

Reluctantly, she slides off the table. She'd probably live outside if she could, and you don't blame her. The air is salty from the ocean and sweet from the fig trees, the sun is warm, the world seems at peace. It's so unlike your penthouse in Manhattan, and it only confirms that moving here for a while was a good idea.

Why stay in New York, anyway? Your company has been sold. You're currently unemployed, for the first time since you were 16. Staying in the US didn't make any sense. You don't regret coming here — you only regret not coming here sooner.

It's healing, that's what it is. You're not just married, but actually in a marriage now. She's not your wife, but your partner. Whatever you'd been doing wrong before has been fixed. And for the first time, there's no hurry. You're allowed to exist with her, in the same space, and don't have to worry about anything but the two of you anymore.

Inside, it's cold from the air conditioning. After being outside for over an hour, it's enough to give Natasha whiplash. You pull her into your side.

"Told you not to stay outside. It's too hot."

"And I told you to get sunshades."

Smiling faintly, you roll your eyes and let go once you reach the kitchen. You grab the empty bowl from her and watch the sticky residue of the figs away. You only notice how she's gotten closer when she wraps her arms around your middle, her front pressed against your back.

"I don't want to leave, you know."

"Mhm?"

"It's nice here. Nicer than New York." She kisses your shoulder, lips lingering. "Maybe we could stay a little longer."

You hum. You did buy the house for this specific reason — so you can stay as long as you please to, return whenever you like. You have the necessary money, too. And if Natasha wants to stay? You're staying.

"I like that", you say. Her hand slides under your shirt and splays out on your abs. "We'll stay, then. How long did you have in mind?"

"I don't know." Lips press against your neck, again and again, covering your skin in kisses. She nuzzles your shoulder. "Maybe until we get started on our family."

'Family' could mean anything. You don't need the specifics — you feel like you'll be happy with anything.

You're in this together, after all.

[dumbseee]

matchmaker.

in which max is tired of lando being a single mess, so he plays matchmaker.

lando norris x famous!reader.

fc: sabrina carpenter.

_

liked by landonorris, francisca.cgomes, madisonbeer and 1 738 929 others.

y/n: lil photodump 💭

_

madisonbeer: my goddess!! miss you pookie xx

liked by y/n.

user: QUEEN OMGGBSKSKSL

user: she’s addicted to slaying

user: pls come to brazil!!

user: can’t wait to see you in paris!!

user: she’s so pretty wtf

user: Y/N AND MADISON COLLAB WHEN??

user: emails i can’t send is a masterpiece y/n!!

user: JUST ONE CHANGE IM BEGGING AHKSOSLSL

user: the man who’s going to date her is literally the luckiest man on earth

see more.

_

imessages between max and lando.

max:

mate

i have good news

lando:

what?

i’m scared actually

max:

fuck off

it’s for your own sake

lando:

okay NOW i’m terrified

max:

SHUT IT

you’re going on a blind date tonight

lando:

um

no?

max:

wasn’t a question you idiot

be ready at 9

a car will come pick you up

lando:

DHAT

WHAT

MAX ANWSER

WITH WHO???

I REFUSE

_

_

imessages between max and lando.

lando:

max fewtrell.

did you REALLY sent me on a blind date with Y/N FUCKING L/N??

WITHOUT WARNING ME??

i was SO embarrassing

max:

okay for my defense, i didn’t know

i asked kika to find me someone who could match your vibe and apparently it had to be y/n…

BUT apparently it went well so we good

lando:

mate

i fucking spilled my wine on her expensive looking dress

i tripped over my own feet when i got up to pay the bill

i stuttered when she asked for my NAME

i almost slipped when i tried to open the car door for her

i answered « that’s cool » when she told me that the inspiration for her new album was her past and traumatic relationship

max:

holy shit dude

she’s never calling you again that’s for SURE

well at least we tried

lando:

wait till i catch you and kika

i’ll run you over with my car

BOTH OF YOU TRAITORS

max:

i’m innocent

it’s all kika’s fault

_

_

imessages between max, kika and lando.

kika:

YOU COWARD

SHE THINKS YOU DIDN’T LIKE HER

TEXT HER NOW

max:

why are we yelling

kika:

go on twitter and see for yourself

lando:

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DIDN’T LIKE HER??

she should be the one to dislike me i literally made a fool out of myself BECAUSE I WASN’T PREPARED TO MEET MY CELEBRITY CRUSH???

kika:

you should be always prepared lando norris

lando:

omg give me a break

what should i do?

max:

her fans hate you lmao

text her maybe?

kika:

I HAVE A BETTER IDEA

invite her for the miami gp!

yes i’m a genius

lando:

do you want me to crash on the wall francisca?

i will 100% fumble the race if i know she’s watching

max:

oh my god

why are you such a pussy?

lando:

fuck YOU

this is all your fault

kika:

if you don’t invite her, i WILL

lando:

FINE

but if i die i’ll haunt your ass forever

kika:

who knows maybe you’ll finally win a race ;)

mister lando NOwins

lando:

wow i didn’t know mister pierre gasly was a race winner already

max:

okay enough you two

_

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, francisca.cgomes and 2 628 048 others.

y/n: may not know a lot about formula one, but i know for a fact that you deserved that win. i can’t wait to be with you during your journey, pretty boy <3

_

landonorris: i couldn’t ask for a better partner, pretty girl <3

user: YESSS FINALLY

user: omg they’re together??

user: WTFFFABSKSLMSLS

user: no bc why are they so cute??

user: aww she was so happy for him when he won

user: lmao the cameraman kept zooming in on her when lando won ajsksllz

user: PARENTS

user: CONGRATS LANDO

user: he better treat her right

user: they’re cute ngl

see more.

[ladyfocalors]

Trappola's Guide To Winning (Your Heart)

summary: Ace overhears that you have a crush on someone, and for whatever reason, it bothers him. His solution? Offering to "help" you impress your crush, all while acting like he doesn’t care. His advice is half-serious and half-sabotage, but as time goes on, you notice his mood shifting.

pairing: ace trappola x gn!reader

warnings: miscommunication(?).

word count: 2.3k

ace trappola time! he is such a lying liar and a big denier. writing him was a bit tricky so i went a bit with my gut here. i will just have keep writing/reading about him until i get it! also thank you so much for the love on the riddle fic. i promise i read all your replies and reblogs! they make my day <3

Ace Trappola wasn’t the type to get so hung up on things (that was debatable). So when he overheard you telling Deuce and Grim that you had a crush on someone, he should’ve just let it go.

But he didn't.

"You have a crush?" he had repeated, standing behind you with his arms crossed.

"Were you eavesdropping?" You had turned around, startled.

"Not my fault you were talking so loud," he had shot back, avoiding the question. "Who is it?"

You had pressed your lips together, glancing at Deuce and Grim for help. Grim just cackled and said, "Why do you care? You jealous or somethin', Ace?"

Great question. Why does he care? And no, he was not jealous. Imagine being jealous of an idiot you liked! (He actually didn't know why he cared. Maybe because he was curious. Yeah. That was it.)

"I don't," Ace lied immediately. "I'm just shocked, that's all. I mean, really, Prefect? I thought you had better taste."

You narrowed your eyes. "You don't even know who it is."

"Exactly!" Ace threw up his hands. "I'm already questioning your judgment. What’s so great about this mystery person anyway?"

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I don't know. They’re just… fun to be around, I guess. They always know how to make me laugh."

"Sounds like an idiot." Ace scoffed.

"I like idiots."

Ace scoffed but found himself momentarily stunned into silence. That was the kind of thing people said when they were absolutely down bad, wasn’t it? His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Gross.

"Prefect, you should just ignore him," Deuce advised, probably sensing trouble. "He's just messing with you."

Ace was messing with you, sure. But also, not really. Kind of. His stomach was twisting in an unfamiliar way, a strange discomfort settling into his chest. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

Why did you have to go have a crush? Most importantly, why did he feel like he was losing to someone?

But he was Ace Trappola, and Ace Trappola didn’t lose. Not even to some mystery crush of yours. So he grinned, masking whatever this weird feeling he didn't want to feel was, and said, "Well, whoever it is, you’re in luck. Because, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m willing to help you win them over."

You gave him a questioning look. "Kindness? You sound like the Headmage with that talk."

"That hurts, Prefect. Comparing me to Crowley of all people?" Ace looked very offended.

"Well, forgive me for not trusting your kindness."

"Wow. No faith in me at all, huh?"

"Yeah, ‘cause you're totally not up to something shady." Grim snickered.

Ace shot Grim a withering look before turning to you. "Listen, I'm a romantic genius. Who better to help than me?"

You gave him a flat look. "I can think of a hundred people off the top of my head."

"Wrong," Ace said, leaning in with a grin. "You won't find better advice anywhere else."

"Okay, fine. I will take your so-called advice." You said with a defeated sigh.

Ace had won. Well, sort of.

Winning would be getting you to drop this whole crush thing entirely—something he was starting to want more and more as each minute passed. But for now, he’d settle for the next best thing: being the one you turned to for help.

That meant he had the advantage. That meant he could steer this however he wanted.

(And definitely not in the direction of some other loser getting your attention.)

"Alright, first things first: you gotta get their attention." Ace said, laying on your couch as you busied yourself with assignments, while Deuce peeked at your notes and Grim laid flat on the bed. "Make them notice you. You know, stand out."

You frowned at his words. "I feel like I already stand out. I'm the only magicless student in the whole school."

Ace waved that off. "Yeah, but that’s not the right kind of standing out. Make them curious about you. And you make them jealous."

"What?"

"You heard me." Ace said, tilting his head smugly. "Nothing gets people to realize their feelings faster than a little jealousy. Trust me, works every time."

Deuce looked dubious. "That sounds kind of–"

"–like bad advice?" you finished.

Ace scoffed, sitting up on the couch now. "C’mon, it’s basic psychology. If they see you getting cosy with someone else, they’ll start thinking, ‘Oh no, I’m gonna lose them!’ and boom, feelings unlocked."

"And how’s the Prefect s’posed to do that, huh?" Grim asked.

Ace shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe flirt with someone cool and charming." His grin widened. "Like me, for example."

You felt uneasy. It was stupid. You knew it was stupid. Ace didn’t know he was your crush, which meant you had no right to be upset. Still, hearing him offer you advice even if it sounded terrible and also offer himself so casually made your stomach sink.

You forced a laugh. "How noble of you to volunteer."

"What can I say?" Ace grinned. "I’m a giver."

Deuce frowned. "I don’t think lying is the best way to-"

"Okay, okay, plan B then," Ace cut in. "You should act a little harder to get."

"Harder to get?" you repeated.

"Yeah. Make them work for it." Ace leaned forward with an amused glint in his eye. "I mean, you’re not easy, right?"

Grim made a noise of disgust, and Deuce turned pink. "Ace, that sounds–!"

"I mean personality-wise, you weirdos," Ace huffed, cutting Deuce off for the umpteenth time. "Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter."

Ace ignored him and then turned to you. "But yeah, you should be a little distant. Y’know, act like you don’t care too much."

Act like you don't care too much. The words echoed in your mind. If he liked you, he would be jealous and wouldn't try to help you. Right?

It was fine. You would just take his advice and use it on him. After all, he was your crush. And if he really didn’t feel the same way, then at least you’d have your answer.

For the next few days, you followed Ace’s advice to the dot.

And Ace didn’t catch on. At first.

You made sure to get his attention, like he had said. Not in an over-the-top way, which would be very weird for you, but just enough to throw him off. Like sitting next to Deuce more often during lunch. Smiling a little too enthusiastically at other people. Being just out of reach whenever Ace tried to tug you into whatever ridiculous scheme he had cooking up that day. When he complained, you shrugged and told him, "I’m busy, Ace."

"Oh, busy now, huh?" Ace had scoffed, but he didn’t seem too bothered. Not yet.

The jealousy part took a little more effort, mostly because you weren’t great at flirting and Grim had outright refused to help you with any ideas, calling the whole thing "a pathetic excuse for a love scheme." But you had to be committed to the bit, so you pushed on, casually dropping compliments around Ace—never to him but always near him.

"Deuce, your hair looks nice."

"Jack is really strong, don't you think?"

"Isn't Silver so pretty? He looks like a prince."

Ace didn’t think much of it at first.

Well, he thought about it, but not in the way that meant anything. It was just weird, that’s all. A little annoying. Maybe a tiny bit irritating. But not because it bothered him. No, he wasn’t one of those weirdos who got all jealous just because their best friend was paying attention to other people. That would be ridiculous.

It was just that… who even complimented Deuce’s hair? Deuce had the most normal hair. And Jack? Sure, the guy was strong, but you sounded way too impressed about it. And Silver? Pretty? Like a prince? Okay, maybe, but why did you have to say it out loud?

And why were you so out of reach?

It wasn’t a huge difference, not really. Just enough that made him confused. He’d reach for your sleeve to drag you somewhere, and you’d slip away with some excuse. He’d call your name, and sometimes you’d brush him off.

It didn't matter, he told himself. (He told himself a lot of things lately.)

Things didn't change until Deuce had to smack him (not physically) out of the denial phase.

"You’re so obvious."

Ace blinked out of his daydreams. "What?"

Deuce stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive, which Ace took immediate offense to. He was not dumb. He just… hadn’t figured out whatever Deuce was talking about yet. Which wasn’t his fault, obviously.

"You like them," Deuce said, as if that explained anything.

Ace scoffed. "Duh, I like them. The Prefect is my friend."

"How do you know I was talking about the Prefect?"

Oh… crap. When did Deuce get so smart?

"Because who else would you be talking about?" He tried to play it off, but the heat rising to his face betrayed him. "You’re making weird assumptions, Deuce."

"You like them," Deuce repeated.

Ace let out a sharp laugh, crossing his arms. "You're insane. I don't, I helped them. With their crush. You think I'd do that if I actually liked them?"

Deuce gave him a long, exasperated look, then exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Let’s say you don't like them. Then explain why you have been sulking so much and acting so bothered?"

"I am not!"

"You nearly bit my head off when they complimented my hair."

"Well, maybe I don’t like lying," Ace shot back. "Your hair is just hair, Deuce."

Deuce’s eye twitched.

"And anyway," Ace went on, louder, "you’re ignoring the important part here. The Prefect has a crush. Not on me. So whatever you’re implying is wrong."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" Ace burst out. "What happened to backing up your friends?"

"You’ve been helping them impress their crush, right?" Deuce asked. "Then why does all your advice sound like sabotage?"

"That’s not–" Ace began, then stopped. The words stuck to the roof of his mouth, unwilling to come out, because… well.

He liked you.

Ace felt the world shift uncomfortably. That gross twisting in his stomach he had been ignoring for days? The irrational irritation every time you looked at someone else for too long? The fact that he had been so convinced that you having a crush was some sort of personal loss?

Everything made sense now.

"This is bad." he stuffed his hand into his pocket, turned on his heel and left his dorm, setting off on a long, aimless walk. Maybe fresh air would clear his head. Maybe it would make this realization feel less like a punch.

You didn't like him. You never told him who you liked and he was so caught up in denial that he didn't even bothered you to ask.

No, no. That wasn't fair. He liked you and made you follow his terrible advice (you didn't have to but you did). He already came so far and he didn't want to pretend he didn't like you.

The least he could do was be honest with you.

And, Ace Trappola wasn't a coward.

(Okay, maybe he was. A little. But not about this. Not about you.)

So after what was possibly the longest walk of his life, he turned back toward Ramshackle, his heart thudding against his ribs.

Ace had already spent enough time being an idiot. He wasn’t going to waste another second.

You had just finished dealing with Grim’s latest round of whining about dinner when a knock at the door made you pause.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Grim was still sulking about his empty stomach, so with a sigh, you moved to open the door, only to be met with the last person you expected.

"Uh," you started. "Are you in trouble with Riddle–"

"I like you." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He looked vaguely horrified, like he hadn’t planned on saying it so fast. But now that it was out there, he couldn’t take it back. "Like, really like you."

You froze at the admission.

Ace sighed but continued. "Look, I get it, okay? You like someone else, and I already dug my own grave, but I had to tell you. Because, because if I didn’t, I’d be lying, and it sucks, and–"

"Ace–"

"–I mean, I probably made things worse by trying to help you and made you follow bad advice, which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and–"

"ACE!"

He finally shut up.

You exhaled, heartbeat loud in your ears. "You are my crush. I used your advice on you, idiot."

He stared at you, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Huh?" he said, very eloquently.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. You moved ahead to pull him in a hug. He immediately froze, standing stiff as a board. It took a few seconds for his brain to finally catch up to him and he returned your hug with a laugh.

"So all of that–"

"–was me following your advice." you finished his sentence, pulling back enough to look at his face. "You sabotaged yourself without realising it."

Ace groaned dramatically, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I played myself. I actually played myself!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "But at least now you know I like you back?"

Ace looked at you, then his usual cocky grin came back to his face. His hands settled awkwardly on your arms. "Yeah… yeah! Of course you like me. Who wouldn't fall me?"

You smacked his arms away. "Don't get too smug about it. Just be grateful I like idiots."

He could only smile at you, happy to have you back again.

He felt lighter, his heart fluttering with joy.

© ladyfocalors

[usedtobecooler]

the sinclairs' new neighbour arrives out of the blue on a random friday night in may and subsequently becomes the object of eddie munson's desires.

tw: explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni. virgin!eddie, oral male receiving, eddie's pov. pathetic amounts of pining. no use of y/n.

you've been around after every hellfire meeting for a month now, waiting with legs crossed and swinging from a fold-out table as you sit patiently for them to wrap it up, and fuck if you're not the most distracting thing eddie munson has ever laid eyes on.

you join in on the end-of-game conversations every week, a genuine little interest in the lilt of your voice as you ask questions and join in with the banter, which usually consisted of ribbing mike wheeler for being a little shit.

and, eddie's not dumb, okay? he knows you're only here because you're picking up the sinclair siblings every week, taking a bit of the load off steve harrington, who's been designated chauffeur for a year now, much to his own dismay.

but, sometimes, he thinks you maybe like being here and spending late friday evenings in their presence. and it's a nice little delusion for eddie to live in until he's home and safely tucked under his sheets, thinking of your cute laugh and your flirty smile when he slides a hand under his sleep shorts.

he's only a man. a pervert of a man, absolutely. but he'll feed into his delusions and feed into his daydreams, because it's not hurting anybody but himself in the confines of his room.

things are shadowy and hazy this particular friday, and eddie sure as shit is not on his game. he's stuttering and fumbling over his words, which wheeler is using to his advantage like the dickhead he is, mocking eddie with every fuck up with that stupid fucking face he makes.

eddie calls it a day earlier than usual because his head just isn't in the game damnit, and henderson claps him on the back on his way out, giving him this sincere smile which eddie kind of hates because dustin usually takes every opportunity to add himself into their shithead-ery.

oh god, he was worse than he thought. he needs to hang his hat up and give his job over to zombie boy byers immediately.

eddie doesn't get out of his head quick enough to realise that harrington arrived and left with all of the kids in tow, the sinclairs included.

so when you arrive at the door a half hour later, a confused look on your face, eddie's face fucking falls.

"damn, did harrington want his old job back that badly he kidnapped my kids?" you laugh quietly, all sincerity and jokes as you look around the empty room, eyes landing on eddie with a sparkle.

"it's my fault, i let everybody go early and i-" eddie groans, putting his hands on his hips then dropping them to his sides, "i didn't think. sorry, sweetheart."

sweetheart. why'd he fucking say that? someone needs to get the shotgun and put him down like old yeller.

eddie makes himself busy by packing away all his stuff, pointedly not looking in your direction because he's an idiot piece of shit, and who knows what other mess will come out of his mouth if he keeps letting himself look at you.

"you seem stressed, eddie," you observe quietly, a statement. you cross your arms behind your back, fingertips linking together, "is there anything i can do to help?"

eddie lets out this little self-deprecating laugh, a mirthless smile on his features, "unless you stop showing up here, no, there's nothing you can do."

a hurt look flashes across your face momentarily before it disappears again, masked over with a confused furrow of your brows, "oh. i'm sorry, have i done something wrong?"

eddie's fucking this up. he's a fucking idiot, who apparently can't talk to any girl who isn't ronnie or little erica sinclair.

"just, y'know, consuming my brain so much that i can't focus on anything else lately, so." eddie admits, deflated as he slumps into his chair and rolls his neck until he's looking up at the ceiling. his throat clicks audibly, dry and scratchy.

"oh." you say again, a relieved sigh escaping you as you kick a leg out to bash his shin lightly with the toe of your boot, "why didn't you say something? that's- that's okay. lucas kind of figured, he told me your moon eyes were annoying him."

eddie's kicking them all out. hellfire will be no more. he's sick of these damn kids.

he covers his face with his hands, rubbing against his two day stubble with calloused fingertips. a useless groan escaping him, "sorry, i wasn't trying to be obvious. girls don't. hmm."

eddie stops himself with a grunt, trying to narrowly escape the word vomit that threatens to spill out. he's nervously jiggling his leg, the chains on his jeans clattering together obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room.

he feels your presence enter his orbit, the soft press of your hand on his knee stopping the motion of his jerky leg.

"don't be so nervous," you scold playfully, voice light like you're trying to hide a smile, "i'm not anybody to be nervous around. i like that you noticed me, that i'm somebody you're interested in."

eddie's hands fall away from his face at that, and he blinks blearily, head lolling until he catches sight of you crouched down in front of him, staring up with these gorgeous eyes that eddie just wants to get lost in.

"really?" he asks dumbly, brain short-circuiting at the sight of you knelt down like this in front of him, his stupid mind wandering into filthy territory.

"really." you nod, smiling up at him with this thousand-watt thing that he's sure could power the whole of hawkins, "i'm interested, too. in case i wasn't being obvious enough by hanging around here willingly every week."

you weren't obvious at all. not at all. or maybe you were and eddie's just a fucking moron.

"can i help relieve some of that stress now?" you ask, head tilted to the side in question, "i'm only down here anyway."

eddie's brain melts out of his ears, he's pretty sure. his tombstone is sure to say here lies eddie munson, killed by the insinuation of a blowjob.

"oh, you don't have to- you really don't have to, ha, your hands are on me, fuck-"

the conversation kind of fades out after that, and you're all action dropping from your deep squat to thud your knees against the floor softly.

and you're so pretty on your knees for him, eyelashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks that are flushed and warm. eddie practically melts into his chair as you paw at his jeans, fluid motions and featherlight touches like you've done this before, and god he doesn't want to think about that right now, that you've done this for other guys before him. not when you're laid out below him and nudging in between his spread legs with pursed lips, spitting over the flushed head of his dick to dampen it further.

"you should- you should know i've never done this bef- fuck, fuck," eddie stutters over his words, fingers clawing into the arms of the chair when you begin mouthing hot and wet over the leaking slit that continues weeping pathetically with every lave of your tongue.

he tried, okay? he tried to tell you, but he's a weak man and - and you're fucking looking at him with these pretty, knowing eyes like you had a clue from the beginning, and fuck was it really that obvious?

he clenches his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of a neon sign over his head that scream eddie munson, adult virgin.

you start off slow and savouring, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside. eddie thinks he's delirious, because he's surely imagining the way you're inhaling the musky scent of him, moaning prettily as you do.

"mm, fuck," eddie groans quietly, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around your teeth, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes him feel fucking insane.

he didn't know it would feel like this. his brain is gonna explode, scanners style.

your hand reaches blindly for his, guiding his fingers to slide into your hair, and his eyes fly open to meet yours, a pretty haze covering your orbs as you nod slightly to give him the go-ahead to curl his fingers.

"ha, you're gonna fucking kill me," eddie murmurs, but he's gently pulling ever so slightly from the root at the base of your skull, because he may be a virgin but he's not fucking clueless, right? he's read enough skin mags to know how to pull hair properly.

you whimper high pitched and your eyes finally flutter closed, letting eddie move you up and down with his firm hand as you alternate between sucking and drooling all over his length.

he's aware that he's looking at you like he's in love, okay? he can't help it. you're literally sucking the soul out of him, moaning around his girth and running your tongue over him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. like he said before, he's weak.

"you- you're so good at this, oh my god," eddie's eyes roll back into his head when your free hand runs from where it's gripping the meat of his thigh to slide between his obscenely wide legs and cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them between your fingers.

the room is filled with the whining, high-pitched noises that eddie's really trying his best to hold in at risk of sounding like an absolutely pitiful virgin, and the wet noises of your mouth working over his cock, the slick slide of your fist jerking off what you can't quite reach.

eddie's stomach clenches, and holy fuck this is over too quick, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed because, because-

"i'm coming, you're making me come, holy fuck-" eddie's words die with a groan that sounds breathy and pathetic even in his own ears, his fingers burying so tight in your hair and pulling as he arches in on himself and jerks his hips in aborted little thrusts. he feels the plush of your lips brush against the wild, untamed curls at the base of his cock and he lets out a weak grunt, feels his length throb and spurt out another weak dribble of come at the sensation.

he's so delirious when he finally comes to that he's all but dragging you up from where your knees have to be aching on the floor, dragging you into his lap, and fuck sake his soft cock is still out and covered in spit and come and-

your mouth is on his in a hot press of lips and teeth and tongue, eddie's so out of his element here but the taste of his own spend on your tongue is as addictive as it is mildly disgusting.

"you got a mattress in the back of that van of yours?" you mumble between kisses, smiling into it.

"mhm, yup, a-ha," eddie nods wildly as he chases your mouth with his own, "i think i need some more stress relief. i hear burying your face between a pretty things legs helps."

eddie definitely does feel like he's dying when your thighs wrap around his ears and lock him in face-first.

and what a way to go that is.

[scoupsakakitty]

Betrayal Under The Stage Lights pt.2 | Seventeen x 14thMember | fluff

The room remained silent long after Y/N left. The weight of their words, their accusations, lingered in the air like an unshakable storm cloud. No one dared to speak, no one wanted to admit what they all began to realize their mistake.

Mingyu ran a frustrated hand through his hair, the guilt settling deep in his chest. “We messed up, didn’t we?”

Jihoon exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t just mess up. We completely turned on her without thinking.”

Joshua sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. “We should have listened. We should have trusted her.”

Seungcheol, usually so sure of his decisions, felt a rare sense of self-doubt gnawing at him. His mind replayed the scene over and over Y/N’s devastated expression, her voice laced with desperation as she defended herself. And they had ignored it.

“She must hate us now,” Seokmin mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan, for once, had no witty remark, no clever way to deflect the situation. Instead, he sighed deeply. “We need to fix this.”

Y/N sat alone in her room, the echoes of their accusations still fresh in her mind. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to make them feel even a fraction of what she had felt. But more than anything, she just felt… tired.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. At first, she ignored it, expecting them to give up. But the knocking persisted. With an annoyed sigh, she stood up and pulled the door open only to find all thirteen members standing outside, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

Mingyu, standing in the front, suddenly dropped to his knees. “Y/N, I was an idiot. No—worse than an idiot. I don’t even have a word for how dumb I was. Please, please forgive me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You’re really kneeling?”

“Yes,” Mingyu said without hesitation. “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

Seungcheol cleared his throat, stepping forward. “We all made a huge mistake. We let frustration cloud our judgment, and we blamed you without any proof. That was wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

“We should have believed in you,” Joshua added, his usual warmth returning to his voice. “You’re our family.”

One by one, they all spoke up, each admitting their faults, each apologizing sincerely. Even Jihoon, who rarely showed emotions so openly, muttered, “I was too quick to judge. I’m sorry.”

Y/N took her time, letting them squirm under her scrutiny. She could see the genuine regret on their faces, the desperation in their eyes. And a wicked idea formed in her mind.

She sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “I don’t know… maybe I should just leave the group.”

The reaction was immediate.

“What?!”

“No, no, no!”

“Y/N, please, don’t even joke about that!”

Seungkwan looked ready to burst into tears. “I swear, if this is because of us—”

“I’ll do anything!” Mingyu pleaded. “I’ll cook for you for a year! I’ll do your laundry! I’ll—”

Y/N burst into laughter, unable to hold back any longer. “Relax, I was just messing with you.”

The collective groan that followed was almost comical. Seungcheol placed a hand over his heart, exhaling in relief. “Don’t do that! I nearly had a heart attack.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “You’re evil.”

Y/N smirked. “That’s what you get for doubting me.”

Despite their moment of panic, the mood shifted almost instantly. Hoshi pulled Y/N into a bone-crushing hug, and soon, the others piled on, a mess of tangled limbs and relieved laughter.

“Still mad at us?” Vernon asked as they finally pulled away.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “I should be. But I guess I’ll forgive you guys. Just this once.”

They all cheered, and for the first time that night, everything felt right again.

“Well… on one condition,” Y/N added, crossing her arms. “I want my favorite ice cream.”

Without hesitation, Dino shot up. “I got it! I’ll get it right now!” And before anyone could react, he was already sprinting out the door.

The others laughed, shaking their heads as they watched him go. Finally, things were back to normal.

[specialgradefckr]

nerd!gojo is so cute! please give him a kiss on the cheek for me.

you stare at the note you found in your locker. it's written in glittery purple ink, which only adds to the insult.

gojo, "cute"??? give him a kiss on the cheek???

like an ill omen summoned by its name, a terrible presence looms over your shoulder, "watcha got there?"

"hate mail." you say dispassionately as you quickly shove gojo away.

when you face him, you see gojo's face change - smooth features and rounded eyes hardening into anger.

"hate mail?" gojo frowns, "in your locker? who would send that?!"

"you want a list?" comes geto's snarky voice. "she's kind of a bitch."

you shoot him a glare, but gojo speaks before you can.

"don't talk about her like that."

the room feels a little bit colder. since when did gojo sound so... mean?

"i'm just saying," geto says, shrugging, "you'd know better than anyone, she's always on your ass."

"yeah, my ass," gojo turns to you, a pout on his face, "you're not bullying other people, are you? i don't have any other bullies."

only satoru gojo could get into an argument this stupid.

"no," you drone, "your drain on my time and attention is uncontested."

rather than being ashamed of this, gojo looks absolutely tickled.

even when you punch him in the shoulder, his good mood is undampened.

"nerd," you grouse, stalking off to your next class, which gojo naturally follows.

it sucked being in the same classes as him, but at least it meant you could get his help. he really is a huge nerd. all those hours you put into it, and he seems to understand everything effortlessly.

the class feels like it takes hours. you pay diligent attention, take so many notes, and somehow, gojo comes out of it completely chipper.

you're left in peace for a few blessed minutes afterwards as he bolts out of the room for some reason or another.

is he finally starting to fear you as his bully? took him long enough -

"here!" pressed into your hands, your favorite snack from the campus vending machine.

gojo smiles at you, that big, boyish smile that makes him look extra stupid. "sorry i messed up last time."

you don't know what comes over you. maybe it's pure delirium brought on by hunger. or the joy from having something nice to eat.

maybe it's a new form of torture, humiliating him by making him endure a kiss from his bully.

it's just a kiss on the cheek. it's whatever.

he stands there, still, face completely red, blue eyes wide in shock. gojo looks even dumber than usual, which shouldn't even be possible.

you fan your face for a moment as you turn to leave.

"come on, you idiot. we've got a test to study for."

gojo whistles some unbelievably stupid tune, practically skipping the whole way to the library.

"i can't believe it! she kissed me on the cheek!!! a real kiss!" "uh-huh." "don't uh-huh me, suguru, it was REAL! anyways, it all makes sense now. she was just hangry. no wonder she shoved me into a locker. it's my fault for not taking better care of her..." "would you listen to me if i reminded you that you're not dating and this is all pure delusion?" "not dating yet." "so a no, then," suguru says, rolling his eyes as he returns to his work. satoru's already finished with the homework and scrolling through his text message history with you, no doubt spamming you again with memes or pictures or just remarks. but you haven't blocked him yet, have you? suguru smiles to himself, closing his notebook, tucking away a shimmering violet pen.

[yungistiny]

camgirl ═ chapter one

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter one: a bit of a mess

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 3.9k

chapter two

masterlist

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Mingi knew he was getting too deep into this shit, getting too attached. Too emotionally involved. His jaw clenched, there was no livestream now. No viewers. No one watching.

It was just them, alone in his room. His bedroom door actually shut for a change as he trailed a hand up y/n back, tangling his fingers into her hair.

She moaned, gasping as he pulled her up, back flushed against his chest, a hand snaking around her and wrapping around her throat, gently squeezing. Mingi growled, his grip on her tilting her head back so he could kiss her, his other hand gripping her waist tightly as he continued to thrust into her aching, soaked cunt.

Her walls clenching him, her arousal creaming him and Mingi couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him because fuck if she wasn’t the best thing he’d ever had.

“Look at me.” The words left him with no control, making y/n open her eyes, pupils blown as they began to water from his deep and quick pace thrusts, dick finding that spongey little spot that sent her shaking in his hold.

Mingi held her gaze, his own eyes much like hers, darkened and pupils blown from desire. “You’re mine.” A loud, crying moan left y/n as her orgasm tore through her like a storm. “I’m yours!” She repeated the words like a broken record left on a loop.

“I’m yours…”

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Mingi stared at the small piece of paper in his hand, his banking account balance practically mocking him. Just a little over 10, 000 won left in his account. That was barely enough for a bowl of ramen and a drink.

He was starting to slightly regret spending his savings on that Bring Me The Horizon concert. But the chances of them coming to South Korea was low so of course he had to jump at the opportunity to see one of his favorite bands.

The slight chill in the September air caused Mingi to shiver, balling the atm receipt up and shoving it into the pocket of his ripped baggy jeans. His roommate and about the closest thing he had to a best friend, Choi San, was gonna scold him. Remind him how he had distinctly told Mingi not to waste his money on a concert.

Mingi never listened to San.

He ran a hand through his short fading pink hair, the color now a light pastel compared to the hot pink it had been when he first dyed it, his dark roots bleeding through. Mingi knew if he really needed money all he had to do was call his mom, his dad would certainly not be too giving or lenient after he had to pay a good whopping 2.8 million won to pay for damages caused by him at a hotel in Busan.

The Busan incident was now something his dad always brought up when Mingi needed to borrow some money.

“You know son, I would have the money but instead, I had to pay for a brand new window that you and your idiotic friends broke by tossing a mattress out of it.”

It’s not Mingi’s fault that Lee Seokmin and Hoshi Kwan were fucking absolutely crazy when high. He doesn’t even recall what exactly led up to Hoshi pulling the giant king sized mattress, pushing it full speed towards Seokmin who screamed and jumped out of the way.

Mingi promised his dad he’d pay him back, the hotel room had been in his name so of course Mingi was left with the bill. And he really did mean to pay his dad back but then he splurged his savings on dying his hair, he also got a new phone and the rest was spent on that concert.

It wouldn’t be so bad but Mingi’s boss fired him today after he was late, the third job he’d been fired from in the last two months. He just couldn’t keep a job to save his own life and was sure at this point he was going to be stuck going back home and working under his dad at the family restaurant.

Warmth enveloped him as he walked inside the convenience store just a block away from his apartment building. The heat was like a warming blanket against the chill outside.

Mingi grabbed a cup of ice from the small freezer in the front, hand crunching the ice up as he searched for a drink, grabbing a packet of green apple flavored juice. One finger pointed, the black nail polish chipping, searching for a bowl of ramen and snatching a spicy buldak.

He also grabbed a couple of cheese sticks before making his way up to the register where one of his old college friends Jung Wooyoung waited, eyes on his phone before glancing at Mingi when he dropped his stuff on the counter.

“You look all broody today.” Wooyoung teased him as he scanned his items. “I got fired again.” Mingi bit at his bottom lip, pushing his black rimmed glasses up his nose, poking the inside of his cheek, his tongue piercing rubbing against it. “Dude,” Wooyoung laughed. “you’re like job repellent.”

“Fuck you.” Mingi grumbled, unlocking his phone and going into his wallet to display his debit card. “Time and place.” Wooyoung smirked at him as Mingi tapped to pay, just enough in his account for the junk food.

“You know,” Wooyoung watched him walk over to the little snack station, filling his bowl of ramen up with water and putting it into the microwave. “I think I know the perfect job for you.”

“Oh really?” Mingi scoffed as he pulled the seal off of his cup of ice, tearing open the drink pouch with his teeth. “Last time you said that i was left stranded in Busan with your two crazy ass friends and now I’m in debt with my dad.”

“That was like three months ago.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “This, this you’re perfect for.”

“What is it?” Mingi grabbed his cooked bowl of ramen out of the microwave, snatching a pair of wooden chopsticks from the container beside it, mixing the red sauce into the noodles and pulling his chopsticks apart with his teeth to help stir.

“My friend,” Wooyoung leaned atop the counter, to see Mingi where he sat at the small little dining area in front of the window. “she needs help, someone to be behind the camera for this streaming thing she does.”

“What? Like twitch?” Mingi peeled the sealing off of his cheese stick, pulling them apart and mixing them into his bowl of noodles. “Something like that.” Smirked Wooyoung.

“So… what,” Mingi took a sip of his drink, arching a brow at Wooyoung as another customer walked in, disappearing into the store to shop for their own needs and cravings. “I just hold the camera for her? I thought streamers had stands for that?”

“Well… what she streams she needs some….” Wooyoung giggled. “close ups, different angles.”

Mingi waited, taking a bite of his noodles as Wooyoung checked out the customer, waiting until after they left to ask the most important question. “What’s she pay?”

“Well, when I helped her a few times…” Wooyoung thought for a moment, calculating in his head. “For about one session… 700,000 won.”

Mingi choked on the cheese stick he started to chew on, gasping and quickly removing the lid on his drink and chugging to help wash the food down. 700,000 won? That was like $500 usd! “All that? Just to hold a fucking camera?”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it then just that, but yeah, that’s about the gist of it.” Wooyoung nodded, looking back down at his phone. “I’ll text her, let her know I found her someone.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet…” Mingi took another drink of his juice, a cough escaping him after almost choking on his food. “Yes you are.” Wooyoung grinned at him. “I’ll text you her address when she lets me know when she needs you.”

“And she’s just gonna let a stranger into her home to film her?” Mingi asked, not denying the fact that Wooyoung was right. There’s no way in hell he was passing this opportunity up.

“She trusts me and I trust you.” Wooyoung shrugged, sitting his phone back down. “It’s not like I’m sending her some random creepy dude or anything.”

“Have I met her before?” Mingi was curious now, he was sure him and Wooyoung hung around the same friend group. “No. I met her that summer after freshman year when I went to New York. Her grandparents are from here and she came back a couple years ago to take care of her grandma before she passed.”

A ping from Wooyoung’s phone alerted them that he had a new message. Mingi watched him typing a reply, a devious smirk on Wooyoung’s face. “You can go by her place tomorrow night, she said around 6:00. I’m texting you the address now.”

Mingi unlocked his phone, checking his messages, eyes widening in shock at the address location. “She lives in the Gangnam district?”

“Her grandma left her this nice ass duplex.” Wooyoung giggled at Mingi’s reaction. “So she’s like…. rich?” Mingi looked back down at the address on his phone. “What’s her name?”

Wooyoung had to hold in the snicker that wanted to leave him, the smirk on his face growing because Mingi had no idea what he was getting himself into but Wooyoung knew his friend was perfect for the job.

“Y/N.”

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San wasn’t home when Mingi walked into their shared apartment, quickly feeding San’s pet cat, Byeol, before grabbing his stash from under his bed in his room and flopping himself on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table as he rolled himself a blunt.

The tv played a playlist of 2000s rock music videos, a Linkin Park one coming on as he brought the blunt to his lips, inhaling and closing his eyes as the smoke exhaled through his nose.

Byeol curled into Mingi’s lap, the cat purring and snuggling up to sleep. The weed was slowly loosening his mind, relaxing him at the moment as a Three Days Grace music video started to play, he had no care in the world.

Mingi used one hand to thread through the fur and pet Byeol, his chunky steel rings scratching at the cats back making her purr more. The blunt in his other hand burned for a second as he got distracted by the music video on the tv before taking another hit.

Mingi had no idea how long he sat there, too high to care, when the apartment door opened, San finally home after work, a long day spent with kindergartners but San loved kids.

“You’re home early.” San arched a brow at Mingi, he usually didn’t get home after work until after 8:00 and it was only a little after 5:00.

Mingi stared at him for a long moment, eyes red and half lidded letting San know he was high. “I got fired.”

The heaviest sigh left San as he sat down next to Mingi on the couch, shoving his feet off the coffee table. Byeol perked up at her owner, stretching in Mingi’s lap and meowing at San, switching seats and making herself comfortable in his lap instead. “Again?”

“It’s fine,” Mingi waved a hand dismissively. “I already got another job.”

“That was fast.” San scratched Byeol behind her ear. “What is it this time?”

“One of Wooyoung’s friends.” Mingi answered, rolling another blunt. At this rate he was gonna smoke all his weed up before he had more cash.

“You know what happened last time you worked with Wooyoung’s friends.” San reminded, Mingi was never living the Busan incident down. “This is different.” He argued as San turned the tv down.

“Which friend is it this time?” San was curious, he knew all of Wooyoung’s friends just like Mingi did. “I haven’t met her yet.” Mingi shrugged, licking the wrap of the blunt to seal it.

“Her?” San picked Byeol up, holding her closely. He was tired and needed a hot shower. “Just don’t sleep with her.” It’s why Mingi had been fired from his last job, sleeping with the boss’s daughter, while on the clock mind you.

San loved his best friend, practically his brother, but Mingi had become a little bit of a mess and irresponsible after they graduated from college three years ago.

Mingi smirked as he brought the blunt to his lips. “Of course not.”

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It was well past noon when Mingi woke up the next day. His eyes blinked slowly, Byeol staring at him where she had made herself home on his bed once San had left for work that morning. Mingi always left his bedroom door open for the needy cat.

A deep groan left him as he turned over onto his back, stretching his arms and legs. His phone lay on his bedside table, the screen lighting up as he unlocked it. Mingi was going to have to do something he was dreading. Ask his mom for money. Sure he started his new job today but he literally had no money to his name at the moment.

The call rang twice before his mother answered. “Mingi, honey, make it quick because the restaurant is starting to get busy.” She sounded in a hurry and he could hear the clutter of dishes and his older brother’s voice in the background.

He hesitated before asking. “Omma,” Mingi put on his best pouty voice, knowing his mom couldn’t say no to him. “I’m starting a new job today but I’m all out of cash until I get paid.”

“If your father finds out I sent you more money he just might cut you off this time.” She warned him, not saying no though. “He won’t find out and give me a week or so and he’ll have every bit of his money back.” Mingi promised. First thing he was going to do was get his dad off his back.

His mother gave in, telling him she’ll transfer him some money on her break. Mingi still had almost five hours before he had to meet y/n. He found himself the night before on twitch searching for any streamers named y/n but found hundreds of results and instantly gave up.

The next five hours started with a hot shower and then dressing in his favorite dark washed ripped baggy jeans and a black long sleeved Jesus Piece shirt. His hair air dryed, slightly spiked from where it was growing out.

Mingi even repainted his chipping polished nails back black. He smoked about three blunts, he kind of lost count, and headed out to check his bank account balance once his mom texted him that she transferred the money.

Just a little over 300,000 won. Mingi looked at his phone seeing the time and cursed to himself. He needed to be over to y/n in Gangnam in twenty minutes.

He quickly flagged down a taxi. The ride to Gangnam took longer then Mingi hoped it would, quickly paying the driver and hopping out right outside of the duplex y/n lived at. It was pretty, colored a light eggshell, flowers grew in the yard already wilting from the September weather.

Mingi rang the doorbell, waiting with his hands in his pockets. He could hear shuffling inside then the unlocking of a lock before the mahogany door opened.

Fuck.

Wooyoung didn’t think to mention just how hot his friend was. Y/N was shorter then him like most were, knee high white socks on that were fully visible due to the pink Calvin Klein boyshorts she had on paired with a cropped pink Mean Girls tshirt that gave Mingi the perfect view of her stomach and legs. Did he catch her at a bad time? But she said be here at 6:00…

“You must be Mingi.” She smiled at him, her gaze taking him in, lingering from his face taking in the entire length of him. Mingi smirked at her wondering eyes as he was doing the exact same thing to her. He placed each of his hands on the entrance of the door, leaning in slightly, looking down at her. “And you’re y/n.”

Fuck his voice was deep. Y/N clenched her thighs, his entire appearance and demeanor was attractive. And he was tall, really fucking tall. Wooyoung didn’t think to mention to her how hot his friend was?

“Come in!” She shook her head, returning her gaze back to his smirking face, stepping out of the way to allow Mingi room to walk in. Fuck! He smelled really good too. Like faint notes of amber, a smooth sweetness she couldn’t exactly decipher and y/n could tell he must of gotten high before coming over from the undertone scent of weed mixed in.

She shut the front door back closed and locked it behind him. Mingi allowed his gaze to roam around the living room as he kicked off his combat boots, the white painted walls lit by fairy lights that decorated the top of them, wrapping around the entire room. A three seated white couch with a fluffy pink throw blanket draped over it was placed against the wall where a big black cat, with probably the biggest mane Mingi had ever seen, sat licking and cleaning itself.

Mingi looked back at y/n not realizing she was right beside him. Her scent invaded his own senses. A mixture of strawberry, vanilla and sugar. He had the urge to drop to his knees and beg her to let him have a taste. He didn’t of course. He couldn’t. This was business, he was just there to work for her. But damn if he weren’t gonna be tempted.

“That’s Gladiolus,” y/n walked over, picking up the giant cat. She held him in her arms like a small toddler. “he’s not really a people person kitty though….”

Y/N trailed off, shocked when her otherwise antisocial cat started to purr as Mingi scratched under his chin. “I guess he likes you though, magic touch.” She teased him.

Mingi smirked, noticing the way her gaze lingered on his hands. “Oh, yeah. Pussys love me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, face flushed. She was going to kill Wooyoung for sending her someone he knew she’d be attracted to. Wooyoung was the closest she had to a best friend and he knew exactly her type. He’s a menace.

Gladiolus stretched when y/n placed him back on the couch. “Come on, everything is upstairs.” She led Mingi up the small staircase upstairs to her bedroom.

Mingi took in the white painted walls, the queen sized bed centered by the headboard against the wall in the middle of the room, a mirror on the wall it sat against, another mirror, a floor length one against the wall to the right, a large computer and streaming set up on the opposite end of the bed against the other wall.

White fairy lights wrapped around the entire room much like the living room, fake green leaves and pastel pink roses adorned the decor with them. She likes pink. Mingi bit his lip, humored at the coincidence of the color of his hair that was practically the same color as the rug at the foot of the bed he was standing on.

Y/N watched him, gaze following his hands, loving the way his nails were painted black. Loved the rings on his fingers as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the bracelets on his wrists. The beaded ones matched the beaded choker necklace he had on with the silver chain dangling with a small cross pendant.

She watched the way he darted his tongue out, wetting his lips and giving her the perfect glance at his tongue piercing. Y/N avoided her gaze from him before he noticed her staring, unbeknownst to her, he already had. “Did Wooyoung explain anything to you?” Her best friend loved to mess with people, she knew that, it’s why Boo Seungkwan didn’t last one stream with her. The poor guy had been flustered and a mumbling mess the entire time.

“You’re a streamer.” Mingi shrugged, pushing his glasss back up the bridge of his nose. “Did he tell you what kind of streamer?” Y/N was trying not to laugh now at the confused expression on Mingi’s face.

She noticed then the little lightning bolt like design shaved into the end of his right eyebrow as he arched it. He watched as she smirked at him, her glossy lips very tempting. “I’m guessing it’s not twitch?”

The laugh that left her caught Mingi off guard. “Is that what Wooyoung told you?” Of course he would. He once told her he likes to watch the stream whenever she gets a new cameraman, all ended up nervous, shy or just got too horny to finish.

Mingi looked around her room, eyes searching for anything that would give him a clue as to what it was she streamed but nothing seemed out of the ordinary or stood out too much.

“Let me give you a hint…” y/n walked over to a pink painted two door wall cabinet, opening the door and gesturing for Mingi to come and look at what was inside.

Mingi walked over, towering behind y/n as he studied what was there. It took him a minute to register it all but when he did, Mingi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill Wooyoung or thank him for getting him this job.

Definitely the latter.

“And…. you’re just gonna let me film you, live, while you get yourself off?” Mingi’s voice was deeper now, he couldn’t control it with the images flashing in his head, his imagination suddenly getting the best of him.

“Wooyoung trust you…” y/n didn’t look behind her, she didn’t move as he brushed up against her briefly, his height making her feel small. “and I trust Wooyoung.”

Mingi backed up, biting his bottom lip and letting out a quiet disbelieving chuckle. “So, I just…. hold the camera?” He was curious now what exactly all it was he was gonna be required to do.

“Basically.” Y/N turned to him, walking over to her camera that sat on her desk beside the computer. “But… I need you to move with me…” she grabbed the camera, handing it to Mingi, looking up and meeting his heated gaze behind his glasses.

Mingi was glad he was high as hell right now, his senses calm, his emotions centered otherwise he’d probably kiss her, tangle his ringed fingers into her hair and pin her against the wall.

This job might end up being a tad difficult.

“How many cameramen have you had?” Mingi was curious, obviously the last one didn’t make it and he knew Wooyoung had helped her out a few times.

“Just a handful, all sent by Woo but…” she pouted at him, looking up through her lashes, voice teasing. “none of them ever last.”

Mingi took the camera into his hand, gripping it and smirking down at y/n. “If there’s one thing I’m great at…”

His voice was so much deeper now, practically rumbling as he stepped back, gesturing towards the pink wall cabinet she had showed him before, letting her know he was ready to get started when she was.

“is letting a woman come first.”

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