#under the table at the ritz | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hcneymooners · 1 month ago

Text

⋆ i am afraid i will love you forever.

ambessa x sugar baby!reader x sevika. men & minors dni.

synopsis: ambessa & sevika are married for business reasons but cannot stand each other. however, they love you—you who are unaware that they are together.

cw: age difference, older woman/young woman, polyam but is it really bc they just love you and not each other, sugar baby!reader, business moguls!ambessa & sevika, power dynamics, power imbalance (you're a sugar baby, lol), sw, pining, non-sexual intimacy, sexually explicit content, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex (everyone is receiving at some point), masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub, sub!reader, dom!ambessa, switch!sevika, mommy kink, strength kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sevika & ambessa, y'all there's a lot of nastiness in here idk if i can warn for it all, discussions of sexuality, implied assault (non-graphic, within conversation), slightly dub-con, angst, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, sexual tension, hate sex, bisexual!reader.

wc: 10.3k

PLAYLIST.

notes: y'all, i'm going to hell. i had fun with this. i have such a soft spot for plots like this.

ACT I: CONCEPTION. you were used to feeling like a guest in your own life, everything fleeting, everything temporary.

sugaring was something inherently lacking permanence, even in name. it was sweet for a moment, full of gleaming gifts that you accepted with perfect tears in your eyes.

you had more than enough money, saved from endless months in which you traipsed across the world in the hands of older men. maybe it was about the attention now, this idea that you were still young enough to be considered enticing without effort. maybe it was the desperation to wring what you could out of an age gap connection before you became the older one.

still, in the beginning years of your twenties, you found it increasingly grating. very quickly, you understood that the men were the main problem.

they were all the same: fleshy jowls wiggling as they chewed thickly through caviar and jasmine rice, their boisterous laughs sailing across tables when you attempted to join conversations. they took your interests and re-explained them to you, returning them pulpy and distorted as they attempted to convince you that you didn't understand them the way they did. their self-importance clung to them like cheap cologne.

the rare occasions where you actually slept with them were mercifully short, and you learned to suspend yourself out of your body. you would imagine hovering somewhere over yourself, banished to the lavish mirrored ceiling of the ritz or whatever opulent hotel they'd chosen. they shuddered awkwardly above you, and afterward, you'd come back into yourself only to scrub viciously at your skin under the unforgiving spray of the shower.

the women were different—usually. you found yourself drawn to their luxury perfumes and high society drawls. it was because of this that you dropped working through an agency—which you had originally chosen to better protect yourself from male clients—and began independent contracting.

you kept a private log of the ones you liked best. there was the private university professor (who was really a nepotism baby) who loved to wear le labo matcha 26 and smelled so deliciously of fig whenever she kissed you that you sometimes bought the fruit just to continue tasting her. her nickname for you was something in greek—μωρό μου, you think. moro mou. she told you it meant 'my baby', but in all honesty, she could have called you anything. you just liked hearing her speak.

you were a dreamy, distant creature. your appeal lay in your ethereal quality, moving through the world in a way that suggested you were detached from it. people described your presence as lingering, smokey and soft, like a fading perfume in a sunlit room. there was something endearing about the tilt of your head, the deliberate pause in your movements and speech as you stewed in thought, that made people stare a second too long.

you had plied yourself with romantic imaginations since you were younger, when you first grew to hate your mother. that hatred had led you across far waters into a glittering life of your own making. but you'd learned that women could be just as dangerous, if not more so. they could ensnare you, shatter your heart with just the flicker of a glance.

so, of course, this meant that you were bound to get caught in the tides of extensive affection at some point. you just didn't expect it to be with them.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the first sign should have been the unusual nature they coaxed from you.

you typically focused on one relationship at a time, securing yourself to a single person until you became too honest or too sensitive or too old. but with them, you found yourself with what you called a roster—a term your best friend and fellow sugar baby clleo (yes, two l's) took issue with during your weekly brunches.

"it's not a roster when it's only two women, [name]," she said, stirring her mimosa with a silver straw.

"it's more than one, no?"

"i feel like you have to have a minimum of three." she raised an eyebrow. "though i have to admit, even two is unusual for you."

the first was ambessa.

you'd met her when you weren't even looking, at some jazz show clleo had received tickets for from her newest beau. you had been perched inside the red velvet of the box, eyes roving over the insides of the other open balcony seats. you loved to observe, to look into others' lives and pretend they could be your own.

that night, you'd worn a navy slip dress that pushed the line of being dress-code appropriate, but it was comfortable and you had been tired. your hair was elaborately braided away from your face, threaded through with silk ribbons of the same color. despite its usually disagreeable nature, you'd managed to make it look elegant enough. your skin was littered with goosebumps from the fervent blasting of the air conditioning.

for once, you'd done your makeup the way you preferred it—less blushing ingenue, more cool nudes and a dark, bold lip. in the bottom of your purse sat two rolling bullets of lipstick: one a berry shade, the other a satiny red slightly subdued by a touch of brown pigment.

your feet had been curled beneath you, your ballet flats cast aside in the corner. the rounded tops were slightly scuffed, but you only saw it as a testimony of love. again, you looked out into the crowd only to find a woman looking back.

she was utterly beautiful, and your body flushed with heat for a moment, eyes wide like a doe. her skin was a dark, rich brown that gleamed with a sheen of oil and perhaps a shimmering body mist. her hair—black and streaked with thin rivers of gray—was pulled up into a tight bun, though the front was cornrowed. her mouth was full and smooth, a small gold cuff inserted in the middle of her bottom lip.

that night, she'd worn an oversized blazer over tailored pants. your eyes caught on her diamond cufflinks, and you felt your fingers clutch tighter around the bulk of your vintage ysl clutch.

she watched you with a sense of urgency, as if you might take flight like a bird and never return. bashfully, you turned back to watch the performance and clapped politely as it came to an end. her gaze never strayed from you, and as you rose to leave with clleo, you knew that she would be waiting.

you don't remember much of what happened after, of arranging the contract and indenturing yourself to her wealth. you only remember how she made you feel, her great body towering over you as she pierced you with her shrewd gaze. she'd cupped your elbow, pulled you gently to the side so that you were less in the way. the movement was easy; you trusted her with your body immediately.

now, ambessa reigned over the entries of your leather journal as your clear favorite. everything she did further endeared you to her, and you found yourself tumbling out of bed to check your phone where it lay on the floor, desperate for her messages. you watched the device all night, its flat body connected to a limp white cord plugged into the wall—willing it to ring.

and when she did call, you were almost delirious with joy.

ambessa's world was a carefully curated exhibition of power. noxus corp dominated the skyline with its obsidian tower, all sharp angles and tinted windows that reflected the setting sun like spilled blood. you'd learned early on not to ask too many questions about her work. the corporate merger making headlines—something about expanding into the industrial district of zaun—was just background noise to the way she'd trace your collarbone with cold fingers heavy with rings.

belatedly, in the midst of your betrayal and anguish, you’d berate yourself on your refusal to engage with real life when it inconvenienced you. you could’ve caught on, dived deep into the hole of information that was the internet as clleo did when taking up with someone new. but you didn’t, you just answered her call.

she liked to dress you up. tonight, it was a paper-thin black dress that cost more than your month's rent, the fabric liquid against your skin. you'd paired it with kitten heels that made soft clicking sounds against the marble floors—ambessa preferred when you were shorter than her, easier to maneuver, to possess. your lips were stained the color of coffee, and you'd lined your eyes with something dusky and soft.

the restaurant was the kind of place that didn't list prices on the menu, where the silverware felt weighty enough to be used as weapons. you liked this style of dining; it allowed you to escape further. you could pretend that since there were no prices, every morsel you ate was free and that the woman across from you was someone whom you loved and received love back from instead of bills.

“pull your hair back,” she commanded softly when you sat down, reaching across to brush a strand from your face. her touch lingered longer than necessary. “i want to see you properly. you should never feel a need to hide from me.”

you obliged, using the elastic around your wrist to gather your hair into a loose knot. the movement exposed the necklace she'd given you last week—a delicate thing of white gold and diamonds that probably cost more than your university education. her eyes darkened with satisfaction. she liked marking you with beautiful things, preferred to communicate through touch and gifts rather than words.

you preened under her clear pleasure. the idea that you’d done something right flowed through you, sweet as sugar as was the phenomenon of female favoritism. your tongue settled behind your teeth as she skimmed the menu, ordering for you as she always did. she seemed more aware of what you liked and needed more than you had ever been.

“are you alright with sharing the roast monkfish tonight, little lamb? i’m not all that hungry, so i think we should deal with something light.”

you nodded and she smiled, chucking your chin as she flagged down the server. you squeezed your thighs together, resisting the urge to rise from your seat and sit at her side with your head resting in her lap.

the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine you were unfamiliar with, which meant it was far more expensive than your beloved six-dollar gas station sémillon. as ambessa swirled the dark liquid in her glass, her phone buzzed. her expression hardened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over.

"business," she said simply, standing. "order whatever you'd like. i'll return shortly."

you caught fragments of her conversation as she walked away—something about zaun's infrastructure and liability concerns. one hour bled into two. the waiter refilled your glass with practiced discretion, and you watched the ice in ambessa's water melt completely. your phone remained silent except for a single text: an urgent matter requires my attention. car service will take you home.

the words blurred on your screen. you'd grown used to her absences, the way she could withdraw completely into her world of corporate warfare, leaving you adrift in these expensive spaces. but tonight, the emptiness felt sharper somehow. you had, more than ever, wanted her to take you home.

it was then that the woman entered the restaurant, right as you blinked upward to dispel the gathering tears. the air seemed to shift with her presence as she absentmindley looked in your direction.

she moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in the cruel maw of this world, efficient and forceful despite wearing an expertly tailored suit. her left arm caught the light strangely—some sort of advanced prosthetic that spoke of military tech or private healthcare. a significant scar bisected her face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it enhanced her striking features.

your paths crossed at the bar while you waited for a fresh glass of wine. she ordered whiskey, neat, and her voice was rough velvet.

"you're wearing that necklace wrong," she said, not looking at you directly. "the clasp should be centered at the nape. here."

before you could protest, her fingers—warm, unlike ambessa's—were at your neck, adjusting the chain. you caught a whiff of motor oil beneath expensive perfume. you swayed slightly, pressing into her touch. she steadied you with a single finger at the beginning knob of your spine, strong where you were momentarily weak.

"i'm sevika," she said, finally meeting your eyes. something in her gaze made your breath catch. you’d never seen eyes that grey. "you look like you could use something stronger than wine."

you smiled, albeit shakily, which avalanched into finding yourself talking to her about everything and nothing—about the book of poetry you kept on your nightstand for late night reading, about the way you collected vintage coats, about how you sometimes felt like you were floating three feet above your own life.

she listened with an intensity that made you feel anchored, present in your skin in a way you hadn't felt in months. her questions were sparse but precise, each one drawing out another story, another piece of yourself you hadn't meant to expose. and then she asked you to leave with her, and the answer was quick and easy. a light, eager ‘yes’.

the speakeasy she took you to was hidden beneath an auto shop, all exposed brick and piano medleys that wrapped around you like rope. in the dim light, you noticed the way her prosthetic arm moved with incredible precision as she gestured, the way her eyes softened almost imperceptibly when you laughed. she noticed you shiver and draped her jacket over your shoulders without comment, the leather still warm from her body.

"i manage specialized acquisitions," she said when you asked what she did, her smile suggesting there was more to the story. "currently dealing with some complex merger negotiations. but that's boring. tell me more about that poetry collection you mentioned."

you talked until your voice grew hoarse, until the early hours when the city felt like it belonged only to those who were lost or hiding. when she dropped you home, she fixed your broken porch light without being asked, her movements quick and purposeful. you found out later she'd also left her number saved in your phone under 's'.

what you didn't know—couldn't have known—was that across town, ambessa was returning to the penthouse she shared with her wife of six months, their marriage a carefully hidden clause in the merger agreement between noxus and zaun's industrial empire. their shared living space was largely ceremonial, each woman keeping to their own wing, intersecting only for appearances and board meetings.

that night, sevika found ambessa in their shared study, both of them surrounded by contract papers and acquisition reports.

"the zaun infrastructure reports," sevika said, dropping a thick folder on the desk. her wedding ring caught the light—a simple band worn only within these walls.

"you're late," ambessa replied without looking up. "the board expects updates by morning."

"i had a personal matter to attend to."

"as did i."

neither woman acknowledged sevika’s missing jacket which she never was without, nor the faint perfume—your perfume—that clung to ambessa's blazer. their arrangement was clear: their marriage was business, their personal lives their own. they had trained themselves not to care what, or who, the other did in their free time.

but that night, for the first time since their arranged union, both women found themselves thinking of the same person as they worked in silence. it was one of their more agreeable evenings together.

ACT II: GROWING PAINS.

“where do you go?”

you turned, half-lidded, your hair mussed into an untamed bird’s nest. sevika lay beside you, her smile a lopsided thing—teasing, warm, a little worn. you leaned toward her instinctively, pressing a lazy finger into the shallow dimple that cut into her cheek.

she caught your wrist before you could withdraw, lips brushing the tender pulse beneath your skin before pulling you into her chest. her hand slid across your stomach, warm and heavy, before it wandered higher to pinch your nipple just shy of too hard.

the two of you had met in a hotel, yet somehow, it felt less clinical than it should have.

“what do you mean?” you murmured, breath catching as her hand stilled.

“you go somewhere,” she said, “when we fuck.”

the words hung between you, and you felt your body shift under her scrutiny. her gaze trailed the uneasy motion of your shoulder blades as you shifted upright. honesty clawed at your throat, but you tried to swallow it back. you’ve never been the tiger, only the tiger’s bride.

“i often—” you broke off, tongue darting to wet your lips. her arm tightened around your waist, as if sensing your instinct to retreat. “i tend to disassociate when i do this part of things. i’m not—what i want, i usually can’t achieve. i don’t want to make it anyone’s problem, so i float.”

“float?” she repeated softly. her tone was unreadable, but you refused to meet her eyes.

“i pick a spot on the ceiling,” you admitted, voice small. “from there, i phase myself out of my body. it’s like it’s happening to someone else.”

sevika said nothing at first, and the silence thickened as you focused on the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. then, carefully, she shifted you into her lap, holding you there like a delicate thing. her lips found the center of your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart before trailing up to the vulnerable line of your throat.

“you do this with me?”

“not always,” you whispered. “you’re…different. you pay attention to me—what i need. only two other people have ever been that way. both women.”

“mmm. do you still see them?” her voice was calm, but you caught the subtle current of possession beneath her words.

“only one.”

“and?”

“it’s good with her. one of the best.”

“and what do you want?” she pressed. the question lodged itself in your chest. “you said you can’t achieve it.”

your cheeks burned, and you squirmed in her lap, but she held you fast. “i—this is embarrassing.”

“there’s nothing embarrassing about your desires, baby girl,” she murmured, her tone soothing. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want you to enjoy this too.”

“i do enjoy it, but…i’d like to go further. i like to go under.” you hesitated, then added, “you know that i’m—”

“submissive,” she finished for you.

you nodded, your voice softening as you continued. “i don’t really like the harsher aspects of submission, but i love being taken somewhere else—being softer. i love being told i’m good, that i’m doing well. i love being pushed past my limits, to the point where i’m…hazy. overstimulated. freed from my worries through my body, through the pleasure i give and receive.

“when you manhandle me, when you pull me close and push into me like you’re starving for it, when you break me apart with your mouth, i get so close. i hover in this warm heaven where i’m nothing but what i feel. you know?”

sevika’s expression softened, her face almost unbearably open. before you could process it, she moved, pressing you into the mattress beneath her. her broad frame blotted out the light, sheltering you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“you are good, baby,” she finally said. “so good.”

her lips fell again to your neck and you felt her slide her thick fingers into the warm walls of your cunt. a sound slid from your throat, something gutteral and worn. she began to move, curling her fingers as if you pull you closer. there, in the back of your mind, was that heaven.

she kissed your temple, her lips lingering there as your body arched into her hands. “thank you for telling me.”

then, softer: “that heaven? i want to take you there.”

the words sank into your skin, heady and heavy, as if she’d whispered she loved you.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa had endured a long day—one filled with tedious negotiations and the peculiar frustrations of ruling over people who thought themselves her equals. she'd craved just one moment of quiet in her house, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

when she stepped through the door, the sight of her wife pacing their kitchen dragged a weary sigh from her chest. sevika's movements were sharp, her broad shoulders taut beneath the worn leather of her jacket. even now, after months of marriage, seeing sevika in their shared space felt like an intrusion.

for a fleeting moment, ambessa considered turning around, but she hadn’t built empires by running from conflict.

“sevika,” she began, voice clipped, “if this is about zaun’s profit percentage in the acquisition, i suggest you take it up with legal. i’ve no patience to discuss business tonight.”

“it’s not that,” sevika muttered, her tone bristling with frustration. “but thanks for your grace, medarda.”

ambessa’s eyebrow arched. “then what?”

sevika stilled, the weight of her gaze pinning ambessa in place. “are you the other woman?”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. then irritation flared, swift and hot.

“i thought we agreed we weren’t in love,” ambessa replied, dry as the desert. “who i see outside this house is none of your concern, unless it compromises our arrangement.”

sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with restrained anger. she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, its screen casting a gentle glow across the marble counter. with a few taps, she pulled up a recent conversation.

she paused, a smile stealing across her face as she took in the selfie you'd sent of you and clleo in matching milano blaniks. the tenderness in her expression was something ambessa had never seen before.

my feet hurt but it might be worth it!! you'd texted. she had responded in record time.

looking cute, baby girl. i like the purple.

me too! they had a navy and gold pair i would kill for, but i'm trying to be responsible.

sevika's smile deepened, and this time she sent a bank transfer along with her next message.

you can be a little irresponsible.

oh, sevi. that's not what i meant.

i know. i don't mind. get them both.

"i'm sorry, but were we not having a conversation?" ambessa's voice cut through the moment like frost.

sevika snapped back to reality, her face twisting into something ugly—the expression she reserved solely for ambessa. she selected another image, and ambessa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the familiar necklace adorning your throat.

she recognized it instantly—it had rested on her desk just nights ago, a small token of indulgence she’d gifted you during one of your afternoons together.

you were smiling, beaming, caught mid-laugh. your hair was damp, clinging to your cheeks, and a sea lion nudged at your side. it was an image of unfiltered joy.

"she was talking to me the other night," sevika began, her voice tight as a wire. "mentioned some other woman. i thought it was a client thing, but then she showed me this." she gestured at the screen. "that necklace. it was on your desk when i saw you."

ambessa said nothing at first, her jaw working. finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “i didn’t know. i assumed she might have other clients, but i didn’t pursue her because of you.”

sevika’s shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in her face remained. she bent her head, palms pressing into the cool marble of the counter. “what the fuck.”

“does she know?” ambessa asked after a beat.

"what would it matter?" sevika shot back, her voice rising like tide. her gaze locked on ambessa, and her lips twisted in disbelief. "holy shit. are you in love with her?"

the question hit like a blow, but ambessa’s reaction was instant.

“as if you’re any better,” she snapped. her tone turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “you sulk through the door, reeking of her sex, then slink into the shower as if i can’t hear you simpering in there.”

sevika straightened, anger sparking. “and you’re what? innocent?”

ambessa’s laugh was cold, cruel. “i’ve never been innocent a day in my life. but you—god, sevika, you’re pathetic. you’re worse than i thought.”

sevika’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t lash out. instead, she held her ground, her gaze fierce. “what do we do now?”

ambessa hesitated. her mind raced through the implications, the potential fallout. finally, she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. “we don’t tell her.”

“and keep lying to her?” sevika’s voice cracked slightly. “how long do you think that’ll work?”

“as long as it has to,” ambessa replied, her voice low and final. “this arrangement isn’t just about her, sevika. it’s about us. about what we’ve built. if you care about her as much as you claim, you’ll think before ruining what little stability we have left.”

“for fuck’s sake, ambessa. she’s a sweet girl. she won’t—”

“you have no idea what she will do if she finds out,” ambessa hissed. “and i know how sweet she is. she’s the only goddamn person i know who can stand me. who do you think i’m really protecting?”

for once, sevika had no retort. the silence between them was loud, heavy, filled with unsaid things.

“i’ll handle it,” ambessa said after a long pause, her voice softer now but no less firm. “but don’t let your feelings make you sloppy. if you can’t compartmentalize, this will all fall apart.”

sevika turned away, her shoulders tense. “it’s already falling apart.”

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa didn’t sleep that night.

not because of sevika’s words—though they lingered like a sour taste in her mouth—but because of you. she’d grown accustomed to the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your presence softened the edges of her world, made it almost bearable. and yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might be nothing more than collateral damage in this carefully constructed house of cards.

the following morning, as sunlight filtered through the sprawling windows of her office, ambessa reached for her phone. her fingers hovered over your contact, her mind warring with itself. she’d always prided herself on her control, on her ability to compartmentalize. but now, for the first time in years, she felt the cracks forming.

her phone buzzed before she could decide, sevika’s name flashing across the screen.

“what now?” ambessa answered, her tone clipped.

“the gala,” sevika began, her voice unusually subdued. “this year it’s your turn to host, right?”

ambessa’s grip tightened on the phone. “yes. and what about it?”

“and,” sevika said, dragging out the word, “she’ll be there. she got an invite through one of her clients.”

the air seemed to still around her. “you’re certain?”

“positive,” sevika replied. “what do you want to do?”

ambessa leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the skyline. the decision should have been simple: handle the event with poise, maintain appearances, and ensure that you remained blissfully unaware. but something about sevika’s tone made her pause.

“we’ll stick to the plan,” ambessa said finally. “she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. not from us.”

they both knew it was only a beautiful dream.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

and then suddenly, it was different. it was horrible in its subtleness, but enough to make you less comfortable than you were before.

you went to dinner. ambessa watched you with eyes as sharp as her diamond cufflinks, and you wondered if she knew how small you felt in her presence. you let her brush her thumb over your lower lip, and you leaned into it, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands gripping your clutch too tightly.

“is something wrong?” you asked her, throat closing around the end of the question.

she seemed to startle, and leaned back with a shake of her head. you knew what was coming next. she was going to blame work or her family, which you barely knew about, or maybe something as clandestine as the weather. you suddenly felt entirely too sick. you took a sip of wine, eyes falling on the little brown bag that sat next to you.

every gift you unwrapped felt a little like a goodbye, the sparkle dulled by the unspoken terms behind it. you kept smiling, face stretching tediously through the pain though your heart was sinking because nothing ruined a good arrangement faster than too much honesty.

you must’ve overstepped somewhere down the line, and she had grown weary of it. you were sweating now, looking away from her. it didn’t help that your phone had stayed dark all evening, your slew of messages to sevika read and unanswered.

“i finished that book you gave me,” you offered and ambessa nodded. “it was lovely. a little macabre, but i managed to push through.”

“bessa?” you asked, voice small.

the nickname seemed to spur her back into herself and she reached across the table, clutching your hand. her rings pressed cold indents into your skin. you'd grown to love the weight of them.

"the annual noxus environmental gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. her thumb traced circles on your palm. "i'd like you to come."

your heart stuttered. she'd never invited you to a public event before. "another client already invited me. i’ll be there."

she squeezed your hand once before letting go, unfazed by the mention of someone else. "good."

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the evening was opulent in a way that made your skin prickle. the ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, chandeliers casting their glow across marble floors that reflected everything like still water.

you'd been invited by marcus—a client who preferred your company over dinner to discuss art and literature, who looked at you like you were made of gold but never asked for more than conversation. he was safe, a spiderweb you could free yourself from anytime without losing any skin.

your dress—a gift from ambessa—felt like a confession of infidelity. marcus had said nothing in the car, but his face had been momentarily confused. he kept track of what he gifted you, and he hadn’t seen this before. you offered no explanation, just smiled softly and held his clammy hand.

the fabric whispered against your skin with every movement, reminding you of her touch. you held your champagne glass like a shield, watching the bubbles rise and disappear, each one carrying a fragment of your certainty with it.

the past week had been strange. ambessa's usual sharp edges had softened into something almost tender, while sevika's messages had grown shorter, more distant. she’d eventually responded to the ones that had been read, but you felt as though you had disturbed her with them. you'd attributed it to work, to the upcoming shareholder conference business weekly had written about. you were good at making excuses for the people you loved.

and then you saw her.

ambessa stood on the stage like she'd been born there, her voice carrying across the room with the kind of authority that made everyone else feel small. her dress was long and white, with a delicate slit framing the plump skin of her thigh. it clung to her frame with an elegance that made your heart ache. you didn't want to admit how your chest tightened at the sight of her, how your body betrayed you with its instinctive pull toward her presence.

but before you could fully process the sight of her, another figure emerged from the crowd.

sevika.

she stood near the base of the stage, her broad frame impossible to miss. her presence was quieter than ambessa's, but no less commanding. the way she held herself—like she belonged here, like this was her world too—made something cold settle in your stomach. you shifted away from marcus, moved slightly forward with a furrowed brow.

it wasn't just their proximity—it was the way they moved. the way sevika's gaze lingered on ambessa, the subtle nods they exchanged, as if communicating in a language only they were privy to. and then, as if to confirm your worst fears, ambessa's hand brushed sevika's arm in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that the truth hit you like a truck.

the matching rings caught the light. the world tilted sideways.

the soft hum of conversation turned to static, the lights too bright, the room too warm. you tried to steady yourself, clutching the edge of a nearby cocktail table and nearly taking it down, but the weight of realization pressed down on you like a tide. marcus was asking after you, but you snapped at him.

you thought of the gifts—how similar their tastes had been. the way they both knew too much about each other’s companies, about each other's worlds. the little moments that should have added up but hadn't—because you hadn't wanted them to. you'd ignored the signs, wrapped yourself in their separate affections like blankets against the cold.

someone nearby whispered, "isn't that their…" the words trailed off, heavy with implication. you spun, eyes wide and searching. you couldn’t tell who had spoken.

the champagne glass slipped from your fingers. it didn't shatter—caught by a waiter's quick reflexes—but the sound of it leaving your hand seemed to echo through the room. both women turned at the noise, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality to something raw and complicated.

“do you know her?” the question came from a guest nearby, their curious tone laced with amusement.

the tension shattered. the murmurs began, the subtle shifts of the crowd as more guests turned to watch the unfolding spectacle. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the gathering noise like a blade.

“how long?”

ambessa stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. “it’s not what you think—”

“don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “don’t you dare lie to me.”

sevika tried to intervene, her hand reaching out as if to steady you, but you recoiled, your fury spilling over. “you both knew,” you said, your voice rising. “you knew, and you let me—”

sevika tried again."baby—"

"don't." the word came out hard and cold.

you backed away, your heels suddenly unsteady beneath you. the crowd parted like water, their whispers following you like shadows. you felt that your dress was transparent, exposing your body to the their ravaging gaze. you made it halfway down the marble steps before sevika caught your arm. her touch was warm, familiar—everything you'd grown to love and now couldn't bear.

"please," she said, her voice rough with something like desperation. she couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be desperate. "please."

"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but she was stronger. had always been stronger.

"we never meant—"

"what?" your voice cracked. "to hurt me? to make me look like a fool? do you think i love being a loser? that i would be fine because i would view this as some way of knowing what it was like to win?" you yanked harder, and suddenly you were falling.

the puddle wasn't deep, but it was enough. your dress—ambessa's dress—soaked through instantly, clinging to your skin like shame. you stayed there on your hands and knees, watching your tears make ripples in dirty water.

"stand up," ambessa's voice came from behind you, softer than you'd ever heard it. “come inside. we can—”

"no." you pushed yourself to your feet, water streaming from ruined silk. your makeup was running—you could feel it tracking down your cheeks, and somehow that small detail destroyed you more than anything else. for the first time in a long time, you felt ugly. "i don’t want to come inside."

when you looked up, they were both there. ambessa's perfect composure had cracked, showing something raw underneath. sevika looked like she wanted to reach for you again but didn't dare.

"were you laughing about it?" your voice was barely audible. "about how pathetic i was, falling for both of you?"

"no," sevika said quickly. "god, no. we didn't even know—"

"until when?"

"a week ago," ambessa admitted. the truth fell between you, landed hard.

you stepped back, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. "oh my god. were you ever going to tell me?”

their silence was answer enough. the air around you grew thin.

a scream rose up from the depths of you before you could stop it, and echoed wildly from the sides of surrounding buildings. you clutched at your face, eyes screwing shut as you let out a terrible heaving noise. you knew they were seeing you now as you really were: a frantic girl who clasped desperately at whatever she could get in order to save herself.

“i hate you,” you screamed at them, hurling the words like they were knives. “i hate you! i never want you to speak to me again.”

it was rendered useless because the three of you knew that simply wasn’t the truth.

“just—leave me alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

their expressions were unreadable. if you gave in to your delusions, you could believe that ambessa looked slightly ill.

you walked away, legs shaking, each step carrying you further from everything you'd thought was real. behind you, you could hear them arguing in harsh whispers, but you didn't turn around. the city lights blurred through your tears until everything was just a soft shape and shadow.

your apartment felt suffocating when you returned, the silence oppressive in its stillness. you sank onto the couch, your dress pooling around you like a shroud. the tears came in waves, each one more relentless than the last.

you thought of ambessa’s calculated charm, sevika’s quiet strength, the way they’d both made you feel seen, cherished. and then you thought of the lies. you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed out a message. but no words came. what could you possibly say? that you hated them? you’d done that. that you missed them already? that you wouldn’t know how to exist without them?

instead, you deleted their numbers, one by one, the act feeling both liberating and excruciating. for the first time in what felt like forever, you were truly alone.

your mother was right. you were such a fun girl, but impossible to love. when someone looked at you, they’d never see someone worth settling down with. another wail unearthed itself, reverberating through the grave of your body. you twisted, holding yourself with your own arms as you felt the grief break you down.

you would never see them again. there was nothing worse than this, not now. you felt like you’d be better off dead.

ACT III: DEFORMATION.

ambessa hadn’t slept in days.

the boardroom’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her sharp features as she reviewed contracts she couldn’t focus on. every word blurred into the next, her thoughts returning to the look on your face when the truth unraveled.

“i don’t think i can fix this,” she had told sevika the night it happened, her voice hollow as they sat in the dim confines of her private office.

sevika hadn’t responded, her silence cutting deeper than any argument could. ambessa could tell her wife blamed her, and in some ways, she couldn’t disagree.

sevika, in response, buried herself in her work. her nights were spent overseeing global operations, her jaw clenched tight as she barked orders to underlings down the phone who didn’t dare question her unrelenting pace.

but even the chaos of the company’s industrial sprawl couldn’t drown out the memory of you. the sound of your pleausre haunted her—high and wispy as she ate at you. her dreams were vivid, stuck on the way you’d lit up when you talked about the things you loved—things she hadn’t known enough to ask about.

they’d both lost you, and they felt it in the empty spaces you’d left behind.

ambessa, meanwhile, pulled back. she gave the reins to her daughter for an indeterminate amount of time, something viewed as largely positive and a sign of trust. but those who knew her interpreted it as a sign of grave danger.

her days were spent much like yours, wrapped in the endless heart of her bed which she only left to sink underneath the soapy water of a warm bath. there were several evenings where sevika would stumble home, slightly drunk but coherent enough to check on ambessa and yank her from the bottom of the bath.

“no,” she rasped, her hand tight on ambessa’s thick wrist. “you face it.”

and you?

well, eventually you realized that the world would continue to move on. blessedly, your breakdown hadn’t hit the headlines or social media platforms. you knew this had to be the work of them, but it was the least you deserved. you cut all arrangements you had leftover. the gifts were boxed up and put into storage.

despite your dramatics, you reminded yourself to not be stupid. all cash you had kept was deposited into your bank account, in increments so it wasn’t flagged as suspicious. you had well over thousands, so you broke your lease and found a block several miles from where you used to be.

you’d invited clleo to live with you, but she’d refused citing her current suitor as her preferred living situation. she felt that he was the one, that they would marry. you felt your bitterness rise up, but you shot it right in the middle of its scaled head. you were happy for her, you said instead of “he doesn’t mean it. please don’t believe him.”

please send an invite.

she’d cupped your face and kissed your cheek. of course. you’ve been with me through everything.

so, you broke another lease and left the city.

ACT IV: REVIVAL.

true to her word, clleo did get married, and she did more than invite you. you were her maid of honor; the only bridesmaid at that. this meant that you were captured into a lavish gown that showed more skin than you thought would be appropriate.

“we can’t forget where we came from,” clleo had said coquettishly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. she treated you so fragilely now, and you clung to it. you were pretending it was something else.

the wedding was a spectacle of opulence—ivory drapes cascading from every corner of the venue, chandeliers dripping crystal tears, and flowers so fragrant they felt like an embrace. the air buzzed with the cloying sweetness of a celebration meant to declare love eternal. you floated through it all, a wraith in your own right, bound by duty and the magnetic pull of clleo’s joy. you wore the dress she picked for you: black satin that crushed in on itself like paper whenever you moved and clung like sin, with lace so delicate it felt like a secret. it revealed too much and not enough all at once. you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d wanted you to stand out or to feel exposed. to embarrass you.

no, this was clleo. you were simply…paranoid now.

the ceremony was a blur, a kaleidoscope of vows and veils, of clleo’s radiant smile and the way her hand trembled in her husband’s. you caught the bouquet because she’d aimed it at you, her laugh like champagne bubbles bursting in the air. it was later, during the reception, that you felt it—that electric hum at the back of your neck, the awareness of being watched. you turned, and there they were.

ambessa and sevika.

they stood together, an impenetrable force against the crowd. ambessa’s gaze was as sharp as ever, her golden gown gleaming meanly, a study in power and restraint. sevika, beside her, had the air of someone caught between worlds, her hand resting on a glass of something dark, her eyes locked on you. they hadn’t been invited. you knew this because clleo would have warned you. yet here they were, as if summoned by the threads of some cruel, cosmic joke.

your stomach tightened, but you refused to look away. instead, you tilted your chin, the soft wave of your hair catching the light, and took a slow sip of wine. if they wanted to haunt you, they would have to work for it.

it didn’t take long. ambessa approached first, her steps deliberate, her presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. “you look beautiful,” she said, her voice low enough that it felt like a secret. you hated how your skin warmed under her gaze.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you replied, though the edge in your voice felt dull, worn down by something deeper.

sevika joined her then, her expression inscrutable but her proximity unnerving. “we needed to see you,” she said, her voice rougher, as if it cost her something to speak.

“at a wedding? how romantic.” you let the words hang, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “good thing it’s not mine.”

sevika’s lips twitched, and you scowled. your pain was not for her amusement.

“[name], we made mistakes,” ambessa said, and for the first time, there was something fragile in her tone, a crack in the glass. it distracted you from your ire. “but we haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

you set your glass down, your fingers trembling against the crystal stem. “i don’t think this is the time or place.”

“when is?” sevika countered, her voice steady but her eyes revealing something raw. “you’ve been avoiding us.”

“i said i never wanted to speak to either one of you again and yet, here you are,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and longing. “do you think crashing a wedding will fix what you broke?”

ambessa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “we’re not here to fix it. we’re here because we can’t let it end like this. and it’s not crashing if the groom extends an invite at the behest of the bride.”

your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the noise of the reception faded into a dull roar. clleo’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, a reminder of where you were, of what you’d tried so hard to rebuild. why did everyone betray you?

“i can’t do this,” you whispered, stepping back. the movement felt like tearing yourself in two.

“baby girl,” sevika said, her voice low, almost pleading. “look at me. this isn’t some big scheme, okay? let’s talk. we don’t even have to do it here. we can go anywhere you fucking want. just like before, mama.”

you shook your head, the weight of their words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “i need air,” you said, your voice barely audible, and before they could respond, you turned and slipped into the crowd.

“[name!]” ambessa called.

fuck being the tiger's bride, you were the tiger. you stood your ground, kept walking.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the gardens were quiet, the air cool against your skin as you leaned against the wrought-iron railing. the night sky stretched endlessly above you, an intricate canvas of stars that felt too indifferent to your pain. but the world wasn’t responsible for soothing you.

you’d thought the distance would help, that the cool air would clear your head, but instead, it only magnified the ache in your chest.

you heard them before you saw them, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge their presence, but you felt it—that charge, that unbearable pull that had slaughtered you repeatedly since the beginning.

“i didn’t ask you to follow me.”

“we’re not asking for forgiveness,” ambessa said, her voice soft but firm. “we are willing—we’re willing to take what we can get. we want to make this right.”

you turned then, your eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, you saw it—the vulnerability, the regret. sevika stood slightly behind her, her expression shadowed but her eyes fixed on you with the same intensity.

“and what does that look like?” you asked, your voice breaking despite yourself. “what could you possibly do to undo the damage?”

ambessa stepped closer, her hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “we can’t undo it,” she admitted. “but we can promise to be better. to show you that you’re the only thing that matters.”

“you’re both so good with words. but words don’t mean anything if they’re not backed by action.” you laughed then, a bitter sound that cut through the stillness. “you always made me feel like i mattered. that’s why it hurt so much. i have no place between you.

sevika finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “then let us prove it. on your terms.”

“you’re not good for me.”

ambessa glided forward, caught your chin inbetween her thumb and index finger.

“nothing in this world that we want with so much intensity will ever be good for us.”

you looked between them, your heart a battlefield between desire and self-preservation. the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. finally, you broke out of her grasp, a small, tentative gesture that felt like stepping off a cliff.

“i have no place between you,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper.

sevika's shoulders sagged with disappointment, but ambessa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. she was like a bloodhound with weakness.

“is that what you want, lamb?” you looked up at her, sensing a shift in the air. “you want to be between us? coddled, warm, and safe?”

“ambessa—” sevika began, but the other woman held up a hand.

“you would’ve been fine if you had know that we were married from the beginning, hmm? is that it? your conscience would’ve been sated, right? because it’s not homewrecking or infidelity if the partners are aware of the others transgressions.”

“that’s not fair,” you snapped.

“mmm, well life isn’t. besides, you must be stupid if you think every client you’ve been with hasn’t once had someone waiting at home. this is your life, little lamb. your permanent affliction,” ambessa sneered. “i think you like it.”

you knew this game well. she pushed you, said the best things to make you act your worst. if you gave in, she won.

“fuck you, ambessa.”

“gladly,” she said with a small smile.

you scoffed, irritated beyond belief and moved to storm past her. by doing so, you gave her what she wanted. as you made an effort to leave, she cinched your waist with her arm and pulled you back into her chest. you could feel her breasts against your back, full and ripe like fruit.

“what are you doing?” you asked incredulously.

she didn’t answer, only hiked your dress up to press a ringed hand to your cunt. she held it there, groping the warmth of you until you were leaking in response. you let out a strangled squeal, legs kicking to no avail.

“see? you want us so badly. it’s like an instinct.”

you glanced at sevika, hoping for some fucking common sense but found her gazing at your lace-clad panties with something unfathomly angry lurking across her face.

“who the fuck gave you those?” she said quietly.

you stopped struggling, looking at her fully now. her stormy gaze lifted, piercing you like a spear through weak flesh.

“it wasn’t me, and ambessa never gifted you shit like this.”

“i had—i had other clients,” you answered and she rolled her shoulders, skulking forward. “but i bought these myself. i don’t see anyone else anymore. i can’t—i couldn’t. it was hard.”

her face softened at that, and she came closer. her large body covered the front of you, shielding your exposed body from any prying eyes. this meant that ambessa could slide the fabric to the side and dip a finger into your cunt. the slide was slick due to your drooling arousal, but the pain still startled you.

she was large, almost too much, but it seemed to burst a part of you that had been straining at its locks. you let loose a silent cry, shuddering desperately in her grasp as she explored you tenderly. sevika cooed, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“hold on,” she murmured into your mouth and you clutched onto her, gripping tighter as ambessa gave you over.

sevika walked you over to a small alcove, expertly hidden from immediate vision and grunted as she held you up with one arm—removing her jacket with the other. once the concrete floor was covered appropriately, she lowered you on top of it carefully.

you released her, but barely had a moment to thank her before she was on you. your first thought was that it was like before: relentless, tender, and crushing. her hands slid up your thighs until they grasped at your hips. you rocked into her, moaning softly as she squeezed the soft meat of your stomach. your breath came fast, labored and fueled by aching.

“it’s okay, baby. ‘m right here,” sevika said, her voice low and firm.

she pulled back, spreading your legs till the pink of your pussy was revealed to her hungry gaze. it winked at her, clenching around nothing the longer she looked.

“jesus, i’ve missed this,” she murmured.

you flushed, body pulsing hot with flame. from the side of you, ambessa came prowling. she lowered herself to her knees, back arching neatly as she crawled into the apex of your thighs. her mouth descended upon you with a fervor, her lips closing around your clit and sucking. your back bowed until you were practically hunched over her, hands in her thick hair.

she only adjusted herself so that she could better lick into you, her tongue lapping at every crevice of your cunt. you were dripping all over her face, hips bucking as you fucked forward onto her tongue. her hands came to cup the peach of your ass, squeezing and tugging until you felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. after a moment, ambessa pulled back and laughed as you tried to follow.

“sorry, little lamb, but i need to know if i’m doing a good job” she watched you, eyes sharp. “i know you are.”

you shivered at that, and she smiled. impatiently, you further opened your legs and pushed your sopping pussy toward her.

“c’mon. please.” when nothing happened, you let out a groan. “you’re doing a good job.”

“who’s doing a good job?” ambessa asked, moving closer.

you shivered again, your brain beginning to mottle and smear.

“you are, mommy.”

“fuck,” sevika groaned.

satisfied, ambessa suctioned her lips back over you. you let out a high moan, pushing your chest out. sevika reached over, tugging the bust down and exposing your tits. your nipples were straining toward her, so she dragged one in between your teeth. with a cry of surprise, you slammed your thighs closed around ambessa’s bobbing head. she did nothing to open them herself, only slapped a hand on your inner thigh to get you to correct yourself.

“yes, fuck,” you cried. “fuck, please. please. ohhhh.”

ambessa shook her head back and forth, letting herself get messy as she pushed her face deeper inside of your pussy. you were fully fucking her face now, your clit engorged and begging. whatever filter you’d had before was gone now; your mouth ran like water from a faucet.

“yeah. yeah, mommy, like that. eat your baby’s cunt. lick your girl’s pink little pussy.”

ambessa moaned, her nails digging into the skin of your ass. you bounced as much as you could, that warmth coiling deep inside your stomach. sevika was still teasing your tits, but she had a hand inside of herslef now—her pants pushed down for better access.

when you realized she was trying to rub one out, you came with a primal grunt. ambessa attempted to pull back but you kept her where she was with a firm hand at the nape of her neck. breathlessly, you coaxed sevika up for a kiss and then pulled her away by her hair.

“i want you to touch her,” you instructed. your voice was shaky as you edged toward your second orgasm.

it took her a minute to register what you meant and you watched her cheeks darken, her eyes flickering toward ambessa’s rippling back inbetween your legs and then back to you.

“i know you want to, sevi,” you murmured.

your mind was almost gone now; you were so close to heaven.

you could see her warring with herself, but you also knew her love for you would win out. with a curt nod, she moved until she was behind ambessa and lifted her dress until she was face to face with her naked ass. with an efficent movement, sevika pushed ambessa’s legs open so she could smell the musk of her large cunt. there was a moment where you weren’t sure if she would obey, but then she dived in—licking a large stripe between ambessa’s folds. you seized around ambessa’s tongue as she squealed in surprise, your orgasm pouring from you like honey.

you puhsed her off of you and crawled onto all fours, squatting slightly to make the push of your fingers easier as you entered yourself. despite not pleasuring you anymore, ambessa made no effort to move as sevika slapped a hand on her ass as she slurped at her pussy.

“holy shit,” ambessa muttered and you grinned.

“have you—have you touched each other like this before?” you asked, voice breaking as you reached that spot long your walls. “did you fuck when i left to try to stave the guilt?”

there was no answer, but ambessa stiffened. you laughed, bright and a little unhinged. it was confirmation that they’d thought about, but had never actually followed through. you were in a squatting position now, positioning your hips as you rode your own fingers. you wrist twinged in discomfort, but you were more determined to cum for a third time.

faster and faster, you rode. your head was turned up toward the ceiling of the alcove, your tits bouncing as you began to crest that wave. you closed your eyes, focusing on the shaky inhales of ambessa and the wet squelches of sevika feasting on her.

there was a pause, so you opened your eyes and found sevika flipping ambessa over so that the bigger woman sat on her face. like this, she was even more insatiable. she rocked ambessa back and forth on her face, spreading her own thighs weakly as heat cascaded through her.

you weren’t sure what did it: sevika’s newfound desperation to actually fuck her wife, ambessa’s unrelenting eye contact as she came, or the high whine sevika released when ambessa leaned back to fuck two fingers into her frantically pulsing cunt.

but whatever it was ravaged you. you screamed as you came for the third time, legs trembling as you squirted all over yourself and sevika’s suit jacket. the comedown was impossible. you were incoherent, moaning wildly as the pleasure possessed you.

you heard them both scrambling to move toward you, but you held a hand out. your neck bent, your body settling onto all fours like a lame animal as you let your cunt flutter and clench through the remnants of your orgasm. your chest heaved frantically, but you were euphoric. you’d done it, reached Heaven and taken control.

you glanced up at them and know from the look on their faces, you’ve never been this beautiful. if this was what the french called a little death, you wanted to die forever.

“this is your place,” ambessa said hoarsely. “you belong right in the center. you are the only one who understands. you are our center.”

sevika lay next to her, and she said nothing for a long while. then her face turned toward you. you met her gaze unflinching.

“baby girl, please. please.”

you thought you were the loser.

“it has to be different,” you finally said. the two women broke into identical smiles. “it has to be. i want you to be transparent with me. i’m not a little child.”

you thought you were down for the count.

“like you said,” you continued, staring right at them. “you are my life. this is my life.”

but here you were, the last woman standing.

⚚ special taglist: @venusiandyke @thatonetargaryen @drgnflyteabox @y2kas13 @baeumonde @blackdykegirlblogger @slut4sevika @sevikasllver @indigopearl96 @dut1fuldyk3 @imheadintothemountains @bambishaven @kirammansbow @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @nightlyconfusion @sevikasrightboob @half-of-a-gay @nsfwruru @yourlovesicklibra @tnash-tammy @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @bluferret @doppelman @savedforlaterr @sevikasserafim @fruitfulfashion @soniiyi @namuranguinhos @16novvs @bubblestrbls @spidercat-soccerfan @pllduniverse @sugrcookiiee @iwasholic @sevslefthand @starting6over @fxngsfxgxrty @leone007 @ambessaswhore @jvalentinelvr @bella-goths-wife @maaaaaaaaaaari @elena0497 @powderpinkandsweeet @sweetcinnamoncookie6 @pearldaisy @sevikas-whore @wolfessa @lazyartizt

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vultbae · 9 months ago

Text

negroni ✩

art donaldson x female reader

↳ summary: After winning against Patrick, Art takes the night off to grab a few drinks at the Ritz Carlton lobby bar. There, he meets a profound admirer.

Things go wrong with the girl who bought him a Negroni.

↳ warnings: fingering (minors dni), age gap (reader is 22), manipulation, infidelity, angst towards end.

↳ extra warnings: english is not my first language pookies + my first fic + yall I'm messyy so I added drama out of nowhere. if u read this I love u thank u for giving me a chance

word count: 4.9k

✩

"Excuse me, no smoking."

The blonde man lifts his chin to encounter a young waitress warning him about the cigarette dangling off his mouth. His middle and index fingers immediately approach the cigarette and gradually pull the filtered end from between his lips. "Sorry." Art frankly apologizes.

The waitress's purposeful avoidance of directly looking at him makes Art borderline giggle. He can't help but discreetly give her a comprehensive look; the girl is attractive, with velvety skin that impersonates caramel and peaceful facial features. He shushes all the pushy thoughts resembling the waitress to his wife staying upstairs. He is not that desperate, plus, everyone knows he is married to the Tashi Duncan.

Art audibly clears his throat and articulates before the young woman strolls away, "Can you get me a Negroni, please?" He requests, showcasing a courteous smile. The woman nods.

He didn't even realize when he positioned the cigarette between his lips. He had been anxiously waiting for an instance when he could be alone -at least since the match against Patrick. Tashi cheerfully agreed to let him descend to the lobby bar to grab a few drinks.

✩

Art had been attentively scanning his frame on the wide mirror and adjusting strands and strands of hair as he paid more attention to his hairstyle; his somber eyes descended from his impeccable hair to the unfastened buttons of his seersucker shirt, revealing a fraction of silk-like, gloomy skin from chest to lower stomach, his well-grooved muscles casting shadows under the bathroom's dim yellow lighting.

"I'm going out!" Art shouted from the bathroom as he fastened the remaining buttons of his shirt.

From the corner of his eye, he sensed Tashi approaching the bathroom doorframe and standing by it. Art tilted his head up to encounter Tashi, his wife, silently grinning, dressed in a beautiful pearl-white silk robe, "I won't be gone for more than an hour-

"It's fine," Tashi interrupted. "I'll watch a movie with Lily. We can talk about it later."

Art nodded. His eyes stared at her with minor fascination. Tashi couldn't figure out why, but the feral spark on Art's orbs evaporated. She walked away.

Art slightly opened his mouth to say something but suddenly cut himself off, lips slamming together. He didn't say anything. He allowed the slim figure of his wife to vanish from his eyesight. He authorized himself to go out alone for the first time in years and think about his relationship with Tashi and tennis -if, at this point, they were not equal. And his relationship with Patrick, of course.

After today, he felt things he hadn't felt in a while.

✩

An insistent tap on his shoulder provokes Art to flinch and abruptly land on earth again.

"Excuse me, Negroni..?" Another waiter says in a quivering voice—a statement rather than a question—hardly maintaining eye contact. He is holding a tiny round silver tray with a bloody-looking Negroni sitting on it.

Before the amateur waiter can shakily grasp the crystal glass to place it on Art's table, Art raises his arm and moves the Negroni himself. As soon as he places the glass on the marmol table's surface, his long fingers seize the thin wedge of orange embellishing the glass, bringing it to his lips and sucking on it instantly.

He doesn't realize that the one time he and the waiter are maintaining eye contact is while he sucks on a slice of orange -slowly.

"Thank you." Art says, dragging the wedge out of his mouth, detecting the scarcity of color on the waiter's facial canvas. "Why is he so pale?" Art thinks. The meddling stare from the waiter endures for maybe five seconds before Art frowns his eyebrows slightly in confusion; the poor guy nearly jogs away from Art's table.

Does he carry that much power over people? It has been long since Art calculatedly flirted with or attempted to gain someone's attention. To be accurate, since Tashi entered his life. He has officially lost the "open-to-the-public" charming spark and neglected his intrinsically flirty side.

But today, for some reason, he feels different than usual. Not that he is trying to test it...

The Ritz lobby bar is moderately quiet. Art peeks at a few travelers relaxing with their baggage as they sip cocktails in miniature glasses and couples drinking -"probably pre-gaming before a night out," Art assumes. His gaze disembarks over two guys in their premature 20s, brunette, and blonde, chuckling and vividly chitchatting about topics he can't overhear properly. Art is hooked to the scenario in front of him as he stares enthusiastically: it bitterly reminds him of his friendship with Patrick, whom he hasn't heard of since the match.

As he finds himself —once again— daydreaming about what once was, Art takes decent-sized sips of his Negroni, with his right hand hugging the crystal glass just right. He is sitting on one of the many hickory brown leather armchairs dispersed across the bar, manspreading as his left hand lays over his lap.

Suddenly, a personal reflection pops into his mind like a light bulb unexpectedly turning on; what is he doing? Sitting submerged in loneliness in a 5-star hotel lobby bar will not change anything. It simply won't. He would rather go back to the suite and have some pleasing fucking sleep. He is feeling tired, and confused, and depressed, and—

Well, If anything, people who recognize him could come and disturb his night.

Art locks eyesight with the first waiter wandering across his vision field; he pitches a writing motion with his hand and requests the bill. As the waiter walks in his direction, he chugs down the leftover sips of cocktail in the glass.

"Bill?" Another waiter wearing a burgundy uniform asks Art. The tennis player shakes his head up and down, murmuring a yes please, "Don't worry, on the house."

"I can afford it." Art stresses, with a robust sarcastic undertone tinting his voice tone while attempting to maintain the most benevolent smile on his catalog.

The waiter chuckles in exaggerated glee. "I know, Mr. Donaldson. Your bill has been cleared by another customer," he clarifies, standing in front of Art with the straightest stance and hands intertwined in the manifestation of hospitality. The waiter clears his throat, "Actually, by the young woman over there," and discreetly points his finger at the stools by the bar gantry.

Art's gaze dashes over to a woman standing by the bar gantry. He can only see her back, not her complete complexion. Although he has internally accepted this demeanor as improper, he allows his eyes to scan over the woman's silhouette freely, lingering a little longer on her legs. In the background, he can faintly attend to the waiter talking about hotel-specific branch issues and how stays such as his and Tashi's benefit the hotel's branding -isn't this the Ritz Carlton?

"Yes, I agree." Art blurts out as soon as he realizes the waiter has concluded his monologue, his gaze glued to the enigmatic female standing five meters away from him.

"Thank you, Mr. Donaldson. Have a great night." Just as Art opened his mouth to greet him in return, the waiter had already shifted on his feet to approach another table.

Art reevaluates what he is about to do. Should he greet her, thank her, or gently communicate how unmannered it can be to buy a married man a drink?

But also, what if it's an obsessed groupie attempting to instigate drama?

It doesn't matter. Buying Art Donaldson a drink is disrespectful. Literally everyone —quite literally everyone— who knows Donaldson knows he is married to Tashi Duncan!

Come on, a woman, unattended in a bar, buying me a drink? Art thinks.Of course, she has hidden intentions, he reassures himself. Art shifts on the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees, still pondering whether he should approach her.

Why isn't he simply disregarding this and walking away?

He hadn't felt so much excitement about something so childish in a while. It felt like being nineteen again. After hugging Patrick today, he sensed a heartwarming relief regarding Tashi cheating on him. But, on the other hand, he's a fucking human.

Fuck it. He just wants to chat with the girl and perhaps communicate that she shouldn't do that again. Right, that's it.

Art picks up his belongings and strides towards her.

"Hey, sorry..." Art speaks, dragging the stool beside the woman and grinning warily at her. His soothing, recognizable tone of voice instantly captures her attention.

Art expected many things, but not a drop-dead gorgeous woman. A girl. She looks...young— not underage kind of young, but unquestionably not over twenty-five. On the other hand, as a well-known tennis player, he's had plenty of exquisite-looking women begging for attention; Tashi herself is stunning. Somehow, this woman left his lungs tightening for a sizzling second, which is concerning.

Plus, her aroma. Jesus, the scent, Art thinks. He would continuously go weak on the knees when Tashi wore that damn tangy, dark cherry fragrance she had. He immediately identified the distinct smell.

"Mr. Donaldson, oh my god..." The girl's voice pitches high, and she extends her right hand in his stomach direction as if she had been rehearsing for this moment. "I didn't believe you would accept the drink," she adds enthusiastically.

Her voice is too harmonious for his ears.

Art stretches his hand and shakes hers. "Well, I didn't." Art retorts, unconsciously smirking at the girl's harmless bliss, "I was pretty much obligated to accept the free Negroni."

"Well, either way, I am honored," she says with a slight shrug and giggles, "Names Y/n; by the way, very nice to meet you, Mr. Donaldson. Big fan of yours"

"Nice to meet you too, Y/n," Art unpretentiously expresses. His facial expression goes abruptly blank as he realizes he might be snitching on himself. "Uh, Y/n, I don't wanna sound rude, but what you did... with the drink," he struggles to word it nicely, worrying about coming out as unpolite. He laboriously swallows as Y/n raises her eyebrows, expectant. "You shouldn't buy drinks to married men," he concludes.

Y/n lets out a gigantic gasp, "Oh my- this is so embarrassing," her hands fly over to her mouth, covering it in mortification, "I am so sorry, Mr. Donaldson-

"Please, call me Art," Art interrupts, a smirk rising on his face.

"Well, Art," Y/n corrects herself, now speaking with a mischievous undertone, still with an infectious grin plastered on her face. "I go to Stanford. I couldn't stop hearing about you —your skills. Well, I grew up in a household of tennis enthusiasts, and I, myself, am a tennis player. I just wanted to show my appreciation for what you've done for the tennis culture."

Art's cheeks feel hot. Heck, they are burning.

"Oh.." he mumbles, mainly to himself out of amazement.

"I would never, don't worry, Mr. Donaldson- I mean, Art." Y/n reassures, emphasizing the never. But as she justified herself, a sad half smile crooked on her plump lips, "I mean... No one can deny you are very handsome, but I am a respectful woman-"

He unmistakably heard the last sentence but will bypass it for his mental stability. "It's fine, Y/n." Again, he runs over her words, interrupting, "I should be apologizing; I don't want to come across as an entitled asshole."

For some reason, Art can't stop feeding the conversation. You are a fucking horndog, Art internally insults himself.

"Let me buy you a drink as an apology," Art says bluntly, requesting clearance but simultaneously demanding. Y/n, on the other hand, has her eyes set on the blonde man in front of her, both gazes perforating each other. "I mean, if you are of age.."

She giggles.

"Twenty-two. Took a gap year," the girl admits, "and I wouldn't mind a Negroni," she adds, now faking a nonchalant accent.

Y/n can hardly believe the circumstances she has put herself in. She observes the man standing before her, deftly moving from how he calls the server to how he licks his lips after ordering the Negroni. He's so fucking hot, she thinks. She had only seen him through flat screens and once attended one of the numerous lectures he gave back on campus.

But no, Y/n wasn't an obsessive stalker. Earlier that day, she had been at the New Rochelle Tennis Club with her father and the new newbie guy he was coaching —she can't even recall his name. Long story short, the guy had asked her on a date, and as a grandiose concurrency, Y/n had suggested the Ritz —they serve finger-licking cosmopolitans at their bar. It wasn't until she reached twenty minutes earlier by mistake that she contemplated bailing on her plans. Why? Because she laid eyes on the mouthwatering blonde man sitting by himself, ingesting a depressing ass-looking Negroni.

She knew it was a hit or miss. But she would rather miss if it came to the possibility of messing around with the man of her most soaked dreams.

Y/n's nostrils pleasingly burn as she inhales a warmish, spicy fragrance emanating from Art's clothes and skin. She can't dodge the impulse to frequently peek at the opening of his shirt, revealing milky skin. Her breathing becomes erratic just by fantasizing about him without the fucking seersucker shirt. She knows he's fucking ripped.

Y/n chews on the bottom of her lip anxiously, contemplating her words. "By the way, what you did today was insane."

Art arches a brow. "You mean playing tennis?"

"That wasn't even tennis; that was an entirely different game," Y/n responds as if Art had offended her. "It felt as if the court was entirely yours," she overpraises him, feeling rewarded by the minuscule giggles escaping from Art's lips.

Art feels his heart warm up at the familiar sentence choice. "It is not a big deal, just a good tennis match," he elucidates.

She rolls her eyes. "Sure... or maybe you are just too skilled for other players." Y/n softly laughs.

Art bits back the tiniest groan of frustration. He feels his dick hardening underneath the light-washed denim jeans he's wearing. He tries to comprehend if it is because of the sudden sensual undertone in her delicate voice, her unmistakable submissive look penetrated deep into her big eyes, or the fact that Tashi had not touched him below the hipline in months and turned him into a precocious motherfucker. Or it could be the alcohol making him horny. He hadn't noticed before how tight her clothing was —it took one swift glimpse at her body for Art to see her thighs spilling out of the hem of the strapless mini-dress. It took another one to realize she was now gently caressing his arm.

Art was convinced there was nothing left to wipe the carefully crafted agitated expression from his face. "Could be, yeah," he says, subsequently coughing to avoid strangling on his own spit. "I don't want to be seen as some kind of God."

"Well, you move like one," Y/n affirms, chuckling at her own filthy sentence, her fingers playfully stirring the brand-new Negroni sitting on the bar table with the cocktail straw. She licks her lips, "You know what I mean."

Bullshit. There is no way this girl doesn't want to fuck.

She dodges eye contact, but there is a peculiar shift in the air, and a smirk exponentially extends her lips.

"I know what you mean." Art snaps back, incapable of looking away from the cocktail straw now entrapped in between her glossy lips.

His muscles and head feel more lightweight, but his ocean eyes remain entirely tied to her outline.

Their bodies have shuffled negligibly closer—inappropriately closer. Art senses warmness filling his face from the subtle friction of their knees: the coarse texture of his denim and Y/n's smooth, bare skin.

From her peripheral vision, Y/n glimpses a security guard patrolling the hotel lobby. She makes eye contact with the robust man for a split second, whose facial expression reshapes in dull stunner as he peeks at who's sitting next to her.

Y/n sets her crystal glass on the bar counter. "Thank you so much for the drink."

"Wait. Are you leaving?" Art questions, with feigned etiquette that reeks of desperation.

Y/n's eyes dart to the man standing near their stools. Art tracks her gaze and sighs. "You already gifted me minutes of your time and a Negroni. That's enough coming from Art Donaldson."

Art hesitates. "They are not in my business." He practically whines, progressively revealing his despair to the young woman sitting before him.

"I still need to Uber home," Y/n excuses, pouting at her words. "A woman can't be alone that late-

"I can drive you."

✩

The drive is around twenty-five minutes.

Y/n quietly sits in the copilot seat of Art's Bentley Bentayga. By her left side, Art grips the steering wheel confidently, his fingers switching effortlessly over the controls as they drive through the streets of the suburban county of Westchester. She peers through the shadowy window glass on her side —there's a winter storm outside.

"How many days are you staying in Westchester?" Y/n asks while her gaze stays fixed on the passing scenery framed by the window.

Art clicks his tongue. "Not much. Most likely leaving tomorrow morning."

"Did you do anything fun around the county?"

"Well, a rich-people county isn't the most amusing place to visit." Art jokes, speaking with a devilish tease.

Y/n doesn't reply. Instead, her eyes quickly flicker to his silhouette under the fuzzy skyglow leaking through the car's transparencies. Art's blonde hair captures the faint illumination beautifully, each strand seeming to shimmer under the dim light. His muscles tighten at—

Red light.

When the car stops, Art twists his head to the right, his and her gazes collapsing. He runs his tongue over his upper lip before talking, "You mentioned something earlier..." he begins to say.

In the stillness of the moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the engine idling.

"I mentioned many things," Y/n corrects.

A faint crease of discomfort crosses Art's brow, and he shifts slightly on the red leather seat. Y/n examines each of his subtle hip and torso motions as he gets rid of the discomfort. Finally, again sitting still, he resumes. "Let me be specific. You mentioned I am handsome."

A sudden warmth spreads across her cheeks, an unmistakable flush of embarrassment.

"I don't think this is appropriate."

"I don't think neither of us cares about what's appropriate anymore."

It feels as if the world has stopped for Y/n. It feels as if a spell had caught both of them, leaving them besotted, and fucking horny, and awaiting the other to give the—

Green light.

"I think there's a parking lot next to a store that shut down recently 3 minutes away."

That's all Y/n says. Art presses down the gas pedal and tightens his grip on the wheel to suppress some exotic sensations that rocket down his spine.

Raindrops splatter against the windshield and the car's roof, and the blonde guy continues to drive through a road of infinite rain-soaked side trees swaying in the wind's rhythm and closed shops.

It takes four minutes and fifty seconds to reach a gigantic parking lot beside what once was a Dollar Tree. Although Y/n can scarcely appreciate the space due to the weather conditions and the tinted glass, she can see some faded, bright yellow parking lines now covered in dirt and droplets of rain. The place is totally empty.

Y/n's heart sprints ten times faster when the engine settles into a contented hum. Goosebumps flourish on her skin as serenity inundates the car interior—complete silence. The SUV has parked on a random corner.

And she doesn't want to look in Art's direction because she knows he's already looking.

She plays it credulously. "I think this is a great place to talk in peace," Y/n murmurs, finally turning her head towards him.

The fleeting moment her eyes cross with his evokes a sense of vulnerability for the girl. Art's orbs shamelessly spark with a glimmer of mischief, like a predator stalking its prey. The unbridled desire is nowhere near disguised now, and Y/n knows the guy won't keep playing the innocent role anymore. Is buying him a drink disrespectful? Bullshit. But she's grateful the poor, troubled man will have some fun. She knew he'd surrender faster than expected.

Yeah. Art had lifted the white flag as soon as he reached out a hand to grasp the door handle of his sexy ass Bentayga to open it for Y/n, and his eyes had flown by instinct to the girl's ass when she was hopping on his car.

Now, he can't tear his eyes off her lips.

"I've had a fucked up day." Art suddenly breathes out. There's a steady rise and fall of his chest, but Y/n can tell he's struggling to maintain it. His eyes ascend to lock in with hers. "I want to forget who the fuck I am."

Y/n is drowning in the noise of her own accelerated heartbeat. "I can help you." Y/n's words shoot out in submission, haltingly batting her eyelashes at him.

It's humorous mainly because she has no idea what is happening in his life. She doesn't know the mess between Tashi and Patrick; the fact that Tashi allegedly fucked Pa—well, whatever. Y/n doesn't know. She understands the man is disturbed, though, because the instant she stepped inside the luxurious lobby of the Ritz Carlton, she could tell the man had no emotion on his face. She recalled watching his matches when she was younger, and one thing about Art Donaldson was the radiant vitality his presence brought to any room he was in.

It's evident that the radiance was gone. For whatever reason.

Their bodies draw closer, the only barrier being the gear stick and seat partition between them. Y/n can feel Art's warm breath clashing against her lips, a slightly intoxicating and crisp scent of gin climbing to her nostrils. She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue before grabbing Art by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into her mouth. He briefly widens his eyes but reciprocates instantly.

He is the sort of kisser who goes slowly but deepens as much as possible, inserting his tongue everywhere attainable. Y/n tastes good and, heck, excellent —sweet and spicy, as if she chewed cinnamon gum before assaulting his mouth. The flavor and the satiny texture of her lips push him to near insanity; Art pumps his tongue in and out, desperately, sweeping against hers because of the faint, delicate moans leaking from her side every time he does it —it makes him vertiginous.

It isn't until Y/n sucks on his lower lip that he splits off to breathe. "No marks." Art forewarns with his face dropped in soberness, heavily panting.

He discerns something shifting inside of him when Y/n's beautiful features soften for a beat, casting a veil of a peculiar sentiment he's too emotionally dumb to interpret —bitterness? sadness? He can't tell. The fuzzy thoughts fade when her lips attack again, parting his with ease, allowing her tongue to slip inside. "Shut up." Y/n spits lowly between kisses.

A couple of sizzling minutes of pure, obscene french kissing pass before Art realizes the pressure underneath the light-washed denim over his crotch is tormenting him. His left-hand glides over Y/n's thigh and gently squeezes, letting her know he needs to move forward. At this point, he has readjusted the position of his body over the red leather seat, facing Y/n straight; the hand resting over her thigh gradually shoves the hem of the mini-dress upwards, revealing more skin and dangerously approaching her pussy.

The tempo of Y/n's kisses becomes unsteady with the sensation of his physical touch near such an intimate area. It felt weirdly mortifying for her to be this wet this early —her pussy felt slippery and willing to take whatever Art proposed. She breaks off the kiss out of involuntary reflex, with her gaze immediately descending on Art's left hand, too big for her, and skillfully positioning the lace of the light-pink panties aside.

If Art was a magician and opening her legs was a challenging magic trick, goddamn, he'd be a good magician. Y/n had no idea how, in such an undersized space, her legs had managed to spread that wide. The specific moment when Art's middle finger comes in contact with her wetness is a blur, but the filthy, low-pitched groan that his mouth emits as the first finger rubs her pussy lips will never be forgotten. Y/n unconsciously rocks her hips in search of more friction-

"Stay still." Art demands, chest rapidly going up and down. Although he attempts to sound demanding, his voice is weak in want and ridiculously desperate. Y/n's cheeks flame up when he begins toying with her clit, rubbing slow circles, with an equally attractive and irritating cocky grin resting over his face.

But she wants that one finger to go in. Y/n sighs in eagerness, muttering a series of pleasepleasepleases.

"Art..." Y/n mutters between choked moans, bucking her hips forward into his hand. Art gazes at her, intoxicated by her facial expressions and the mild tone of her voice, delivering such nasty noises. His eyes don't leave Y/n's face as he thrusts his middle finger past her slick folds. He feels his dick twitch at her exaggerated facial response.

What was one finger quickly became two, picking up their speed and twirling inside, hitting the sweetest spot. "Not a virgin, right? " Art abruptly asks, terrified but astonished at the tightness her pussy held, clenching down on his digits and squeezing.

"No... oh my god—" Y/n yelps, hardly managing to articulate words as his fingers keep steadily penetrating her pussy.

Y/n tilts her head back and instantly feels a trail of sloppy, wet kisses on her jaw; Art is nearly over her body, working his way downstairs and upstairs, too. The accelerated rhythm of his fingering ceases for a hot second as his available hand reaches her chest to unashamedly pull down the neckline of Y/n's mini-dress, freeing her tits and letting them bounce out of the expensive cloth.

As a sheer coincidence and dissolving in pleasure, Y/n's eyesight dismounts in one of the tall buildings in front of the parking lot. What she sees is practically ironic. An immense billboard with Art's face crammed inside, by his side Tashi Duncan's iconic facial features, and an oversized Aston Martin logo. "Game Changer," the thing reads. Funny, she thinks. He is a game changer, though —not sure if he is the same kind Aston Martin broadcasts.

But seeing his face and Tashi's painfully reminds her the man is not hers.

In fact, the man has a whole wife.

"Fuck me." Y/n requests, still a complete mess, moaning, arching her back, breathless.

And nothing happened where she thought the fire test lay. Art obliged. In fact, he seemed enthusiastic. He wants to make her his. Y/n modestly smiled at the thought.

"Yes... fuck, yeah." With a deft hand, he reaches down and unfastens the button of his pants; he eases the zipper down, and the faint sound of it sliding makes Y/n nauseated of anticipation.

Art reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a beautiful, black leather wallet. He flips it open, his brows furrowing in concentration as he sifts through its contents. With a muttered curse under his breath, he begins to dig deeper; Y/n doesn't understand what's happening —is he searching for a condom?

After eternal seconds, the blonde guy lets out a frustrated sigh and shakes his head, resigned.

Y/n sits beside him awkwardly, unhurriedly pulling up the neckline of her dress, covering her now shivering body.

"...So?" she questions.

He remains silent.

"I don't have condoms."

"I'm on the pill." Y/n offers.

The look Art shoots at Y/n isn't gracious. In fact, it triggers a big spark of frustration on his face, eyebrows knitting together in a light scowl as he looks at her incredulously.

Then it turns worse when, by mistake, his gaze falls on the same billboard Y/n had seen earlier.

"I can't. Sorry."

Y/n slowly closes her legs and adjusts her neckline. "Why?"

Art's eyes fall to his lap. "Well, starting from the fact I have a family-

Y/n interrupts. "Well, you didn't seem to care when you offered to drive a total stranger."

It was most likely the sassiness and the blaming in her voice that unexpectedly threw him off. Really threw him off.

"That's none of your business. I just took the opportunity of a warm hole."

In one swift, rampant movement, her hand connects with his cheek with a resounding crack, the sound echoing through the air like a crash. His head jerks to the side. A slap.

She had fucking slapped him.

With a trembling breath, Y/n doesn't think twice before she pushes open with unmeasured force the door of Art's fucking ugly car —or that's how she thinks of it now. The storm still persists, rain pouring down in sheets. Tears accumulate over her eyes as she steps out into the downpour, grabbing her purse tightly.

"Hey, hold on..."

She completely ignores Art's words, which get easily lost in the roar of the rain.

But she turns to face him one last time, sitting on the pilot seat, visibly ashamed of himself —and still with unbuttoned pants.

"Fuck you. I hope you lose every single fucking tennis match." And with a forceful push, she slams the car door shut.

As Y/n steps away from the vehicle, leaving a splash in the puddles on the floor, she wishes the man she met two hours ago had run after her and begged forgiveness. But of course, he didn't. Instead, she watched as the vehicle got started again and drove past her, quickly rejoining the road and disappearing in the darkness.

✩

#art donaldson smut #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengers fanfic #art donaldson imagine #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #smut #fanfic #imagine #mike faist #challengers

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knifeforkspooncup · 5 months ago

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I made this silly little art, and then like a being possessed, wrote 1200 words of pure unadulterated hogwash to go with it (ficlet below the cut)

Duck Duck Goose

Rating: Teen and up

"Shouldn't be feeding them bread." Crowley said, trying and failing to ward off an irate goose with the pointed toe of his boot. "It’s brioche." Aziraphale chided, as if that explained anything. A nattering crowd of ducks was forming at his feet like eager disciples. Crowley didn't ask where he'd gotten the brioche. He'd stuck his chilly hands into Aziraphale's pockets enough times now to know the list of things the angel kept on his person at any given moment was - well, impressive was one word for it. In the way a magpie's hoard of oddities was impressive. A brioche was quite pedestrian, really. "Brioche then.” The goose had moved on to striking repeatedly for his ankles, more pit viper than waterfowl. “Shouldn’t. Feed them. Brioche,” he gritted between defensive maneuvers. He never had gotten the hang of sword fighting. If Aziraphale heard, he pretended not to, ripping off hunks of bread at least double the esophagus diameter of the average mallard duck. One at a time, he tossed them lazily into the fray. The ducks erupted into chattering, nipping each other’s feathers. A shark frenzy had more natural order to it.

The goose took no interest, bloodlust overriding any desire for fine French baked goods. If anything, it doubled its effort to latch onto Crowley’s shin. Had geese always had teeth?

Aziraphale beamed at the chaos, halogen bright. Humming with self satisfaction, he brushed his hands of crumbs, and settled back against the bench. Crowley diverted a sliver of bodily coordination to snake one arm behind him, weaseling into the warm gap left by the angel’s impeccable posture.

This was a thing they did now, apparently. Not watching ducks squabble over bread – that part was old hat. But Aziraphale tucking himself neatly against Crowley's side? For all the world to see. Like he was one of Crowley's wings simply stowing away. Frankly, that hat still had the tag on it. Still had that new hat smell.

This was rapidly becoming their new normal. Embroidery on the familiar weave of their time together. They still did all the things they always had. They still went to the Ritz, where the waiter still assumed Aziraphale was paying for the bill. Crowley still pulled out the angel’s seat like a proper gentledemon.

None of that had changed.

Just now they also held hands on the table between courses, and Aziraphale fed Crowley bites of dessert straight from his spoon. Sometimes they even did exciting things with their feet under the table.

Aziraphale called it canoodling. Crowley was pretty sure that was a fussy type of dog. The kind that wore bows on its head and left the groomer looking like an ornamental hedge.

Whatever it was, it was nice. More than nice.

Take today for example. The clouds were parting, birds singing – the whole production; the sun sparkled just so, really putting the ol’ razzle dazzle on it all.

There went Aziraphale, tipping his head back against Crowley’s shoulder, eyes closing. Lashes sun-gilt and fanning on his rosy cheeks. Straight out of a renaissance painting. A nice, expensive renaissance painting, on with real lapis lazuli pigment for the eyes. The angel really knew when to lay it on thick.

“Oh, that’s quite nice, isn’t it.” Aziraphale sighed, basking in the warmth.

See, nice? It was nice. Five hundred years of coming here, and this moment was the most nice it had ever been. Crowley remembered when this place was a marshy field full of roving geese and snuffling pigs. When the trees that made this nice bench were just scrawny little saplings, runty and wind bitten. Had the bench gotten smaller? It used to feel immense, and not in the luxury Cadillac sense of the word. Used to fit Heaven and Hell between them with room to spare. Back when nice was a four letter –

The goose sunk it’s – definitely toothed – beak into Crowley’s shin, just above the boot.

Satisfied with its grip, it started to flail, giving the impression Crowley was a chewtoy it meant to thrash to death. The small part of Crowley’s brain reserved for humility was starting to believe it would succeed.

"Dinner? How would you feel about a nice, tasty Christmas goose?” Grunted Crowley, shaking his leg and raising his free hand, demonic miracle at the ready. He had just the goose in mind. “With all the trimmings. Could even do some plum sauce on the side if you like,"

Aziraphale frowned, eyes still closed. “…it’s October.”

“That a no, then? Don’t want to get a head start on the festivities?”

Aziraphale looked up just as Crowley managed to dislodge the fowl beast and punt it away like a feathery football. It came right back, tongue stuck out like a rude child and wheezing angrily.

He tsked, mouth thinning. “You’re terrible. Leave the poor thing alone.”

Crowley sputtered. “Wha – ha – me?! I’m not the one biting a boot like a lunatic!” Would that work? Biting it? Maybe the goose would bugger off if Crowley bit it back. Should he bite it back? He should probably bite it, shouldn’t he. Oh, Satan, he was going to get feathers stuck in his teeth.

The infernal creature hissed, undoubtedly reading his mind. Crowley hissed back, tongue forking menacingly if only for the sake of his own ego.

Aziraphale was staring at him and smiling. Well, smirking. Fondly. The corners of his mouth pinching his cheeks, eyes crinkling under a raised eyebrow. He even had a dimple forming on his chin. Ridiculous. Something in the inner workings of Crowley’s chest did its best impression of a snare drum.

“Shall we, my dear?” Said the Very Ridiculous Angel, stirring from Crowley’s side. He stood and straightened his jumper until there were no more wrinkles. Seeing Crowley still engaged in boot-to-beak combat with the feathery fiend, he added tartly: “Before someone gets killed.”

Crowley grumbled something about demonic wrath and taking bets, but slunk to his feet. He flicked his glasses down and shot a final, venomous glare at the goose before sidling up to Aziraphale and offering his arm.

Aziraphale took it, wedging warm hands into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. He made it look habitual, easy as. Just the natural thing to do. Right as rain.

He was faster than Crowley, at this part. At the settling in. He’d taken to it all like geese to psychological warfare.

“You mentioned dinner?” Said Aziraphale brightly, ducks parting obediently at their feet.

“Your turn to pick.” Crowley’s skin was sizzling, water on a hot frying pan.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, face thoughtful. He took dinner plans very seriously.

“How about Peking duck? From that lovely place just around the corner, the one with the comfortable chairs.”

Crowley gave him a sharp look, nearly spraining an eyebrow in the process.

The angel was looking resolutely ahead, expression perfectly blank save for the way his mouth twitched at the corners.

I love you, blurted Crowley’s brain.

“Every restaurant has comfortable chairs,” blurted his mouth. It was a fact. Every restaurant did have comfortable chairs. Or else. So far Crowley hadn’t met a chair that cared to find out about the or else – chairs not being very curious by nature.

Crowley would say all the other things later, of course. All the sappy, corny, sweet-nothing things. When they were home. When he could wash the burn down with something whispered and sinfully filthy. Something that would make Aziraphale turn pinker than a summer peach.

Aziraphale was watching him, gaze unspeakably soft. “I know, my dear,” he said.

“I know.”

#I hope you can tell this was made with a truly disgusting amount of love #a cowboy lesbian and his grandpa-core soulmate sit on a bench #if geese have no haters I am dead #good omens #good omens fanart #good omens fanfiction #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens art #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley

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loafysainz · 17 days ago

Text

the parent trap (remake) | CS 55

cast: carlos sainz x fem!reader

warn: 100% fiction & remake

next chap

PART 13 FIRST MEET

Y/N stormed into her bedroom, yanking open the closet door with a dramatic motion. “I’m such a moron!” she exclaimed, her voice teetering between frustration and panic. “I can't handle all this damn thing.” She began pulling clothes off hangers, tossing them carelessly onto the bed as if the act of packing could somehow ease her nerves.

Martin, standing awkwardly by the door, opened his mouth to say something but quickly decided against it. There wasn’t much he could say—he’d never seen Y/N in such a state before. It was a mix of chaotic energy and raw vulnerability that left him unsure whether to step in or stay out of the way.

“I can’t believe it,” Y/N continued, more to herself than anyone else. “Carlos and I haven’t seen each other in nine years, and now I have to go back to Spain to get my other baby!” She turned to Martin, her expression a mixture of exasperation and despair. “I’m not mature enough for this.”

Martin suppressed a grimace and stayed silent.

Y/N grabbed a coat from the closet and draped it over her arm, her motions quick and restless. “I wouldn’t be so nervous if I was still married to him! God, we both made this stupid agreement to never see each other again and start a life...” Her words trailed off as she reached for a glass of wine on the nearby table and downed it in one gulp. “Look at me, Martin,” she said, turning back to her butler. “Have you ever seen me like this?”

Martin opened his mouth to answer, but Y/N cut him off with a raised hand. “Don’t answer me,” she said sharply, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for something—anything—to focus on.

At that moment, Matheo appeared in the doorway, barely able to hide the amused grin spreading across his face. He’d been listening to his mother’s frantic rambling from the hallway and found it equal parts hilarious and endearing.

“What if he doesn’t recognize me?” Y/N muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She ran a hand through her hair, her voice softening as she added, “It’s not like I’ve changed that much...” She paused, catching sight of Martin’s skeptical expression. “Forget what I said, Martin. Don’t answer that question either.”

“Ma’am Matheo said to me that his father still handsome.” Martid said while trying to clean the mess.

She paused for a moment, lost in her memories. “Matheo was right. And as I remember his gaze was always so warm. And every time he looked at me, my stomach felt like it was hosting a butterfly rave.”

Martin trying stop his face into a wide smile. That was definitely more information than he needed.

Matheo, biting his lip to keep from wide smile outright, decided it was time to step in and rescue Martin from his mother’s whirlwind of emotions.

“Mom, I’m ready!” the boy announced brightly, stepping fully into the room.

Y/N barely glanced at him, too busy adjusting her coat and muttering under her breath. “Me too... well, almost.” she gestured vaguely toward the mess of clothes and an almost-empty suitcase lying forgotten on the bed.

Matheo raised a brow and folded his arms. “Your suitcase is literally empty.”

Y/N looked at the chaos around her, then at her son. “Ah, yes… Well, I’ll sort that out later. Don’t worry about it.” She waved dismissively before changing the subject with practiced ease. “Sweetheart, have you called your father yet?”

“Oh, yeah,” Matheo replied, his tone impossibly casual. “We talked. He said he’s really nervous to seeing you again.”

Martin shot him a sharp look, eyebrows arching in disbelief at the obvious lie.

Matheo pressed on, undeterred. “Anyway, he said he’s waiting for us at the Mandarin Oriental Ritz Hotel in Madrid. Noon today.”

Y/N froze for a moment, her expression caught between surprise and mild panic. “Wow. That’s… really early,” she muttered. Then, with a burst of nervous energy, she turned to Matheo. “Baby, can you do me a favor? Go with Grandpa and buy the plane tickets while I clean up this—” she gestured wildly at the room. “—absolute disaster?”

Matheo nodded, already halfway out the door. “Okay, Mom.”

As soon as the boy left, Martin stepped closer, leaning in to whisper, “Liar…. Liar….. May your nose is going to grow like Pinocchio’s.”

Matheo, still in earshot, turned back to glare at him. “Shhh!” he hissed, silencing him with a quick gesture before disappearing down the hall.

Martin rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he turned to help Y/N. This reunion was shaping up to be even messier than the room.

*****

“Martin,” Y/N began, her voice shaky, “can you do me a favor? It’s… a bit out there. Strange, even. But I know you’ve always been more than a butler. You’re practically family.”

Martin raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt.

“What I mean is…” Y/N hesitated, running a hand through her hair, “…can you—”

“Help you with all this madness?” Martin cut her off, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “You don’t even have to ask twice.”

Y/N didn’t even give him a moment to breathe before launching forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Martin. Tears threatened to spill as he choked out, “You’d do that? For me?! Oh my god, Martin, thank you. I don’t even know how to repay you. And you don’t have to go as my butler, you can come as—”

“A friend?” Martin finished for her, smiling warmly as he patted Y/N on the head.

“Exactly!” Y/N sniffled, pulling back and wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

Martin’s tone turned teasing, “No problem, Y/N. But… not to be annoying, if you want my opinion, you might want to reconsider your outfit. If you’re meeting your ex, maybe wear something a little more… you know… provocative?”

“Provocative?” Y/N repeated, squinting in confusion.

Martin sighed dramatically and walked over to the closet, rummaging through its contents like a man on a mission. He emerged a moment later, “Here. Wear this. Trust me,” Martin said confidently, pointing at the pile, which consisted of a beige-colored Jacquemus backless silk dress. “This? It’ll turn heads.”

Y/N glanced skeptically at the clothes, then back at Martin. She let out a resigned sigh and muttered, “Fine. I’ll take your advice.”

An hour later, Martin stepped out of the house dressed in a sharp, unfamiliar outfit. Gone were the usual casual vibes—he looked polished, modern, and effortlessly cool.

When Y/N dad emerged a moment later, his jaw practically dropped.

“Wow,” was all he managed, though his eyes said everything.

Even Grandpa, who was usually unfazed by such things, looked stunned. “My daughter,” he whispered under his breath as he saw Y/N.

Y/N straightened her coat nervously, then turned to her dad. “Wish me luck?”

His dad pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “I think I’ll just pray,” he said finally, shaking him head.

“Yeah, that’s probably better,” Y/N quipped, shooting her a quick grin before heading toward the car.

Matheo lingered in the doorway, looking a little lost as he watched Y/N leave. He quickly turned and hugged his Grandpa.

“Promise you’ll visit me?” he asked softly, his big eyes filled with hope.

His grandpa face softened as he cupped his cheek. “Of course, little gentleman. I’ll always visit you. Now go to your mom before she has a nervous breakdown.”

Matheo nodded, flashing him a quick smile before hopping into the car. The ride was quiet at first, a mix of nerves and anticipation hanging in the air. Y/N drummed her fingers on her knee, staring out the window, while Martin leaned back, arms crossed like he owned the moment.

“Ready for this?” Martin asked casually, breaking the silence.

“No,” Y/N admitted, her voice small. “But let’s do it anyway.”

The car rolled down the driveway, leaving behind Grandpa, who stood waving with a knowing smile on his face.

****

The Mandarin Oriental Ritz Hotel was buzzing with life that afternoon, a vibrant energy filling the luxurious lobby. Meredith stood near the grand entrance with her parents, her gaze darting towards the towering clock that loomed above. She clutched her phone, refreshing it anxiously, before turning to her father with an air of confidence she clearly didn’t feel.

“It's almost noon. He’ll be here any minute,” Meredith announced with a bright smile, although her fingers tapped nervously against the marble counter. “Dad, please… be nice to him. Carlos is everything you’ve ever wanted for me—and, well, he’s that rich.”

Her father smirked, an amused glint in his eye. “If he’s that rich, I’ll be the nicest man in the world.”

Meredith rolled his eyes but grinned anyway, her attention snapping back to the revolving doors just as a tall figure stepped through, flanked by an entourage that could rival royalty. There was Carlos, his sharp jawline highlighted by the sunlight streaming through the windows, leading his family with a confident stride. Even Sammy, their family’s enormous dog, trotted in like he owned the place.

“Oh great, the whole family is here,” Meredith muttered under her breath, though her lips curved into a practiced smile. Straightening her dress, she strode towards her fiancé, who greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Carlos, you finally coming,” Meredith said, her voice laced with faux enthusiasm. “And you brought… everyone. How… nice.” Her eyes landed on Sammy, whose wagging tail and massive stature immediately drew concern. “Oh, Sammy… at a hotel? Really?”

Carlos smirked. “Matheo didn’t want to leave him home alone.”

Meredith crouched down, forcing a grin as she tentatively reached out to the dog. “Hey there, boy…” she cooed, her tone sugary sweet.

Sammy, unimpressed, growled menacingly, his teeth bared. Meredith flinched and stumbled back as the dog barked. From the sidelines, Mattia snickered, while Chessy whispered a gleeful, “Good boy,” under her breath.

Chessy, turned her attention to Meredith’s parents with a disarming smile. “So… these are your parents?” she asked smoothly, her tone polite but carrying just a hint of amusement.

“Yes!” Meredith beamed, gesturing eagerly toward her parents. “Mom, Dad, meet Carlos Sainz—the love of my life.” She lingered on the last words, as if daring anyone to argue.

Her parents stepped forward, the mother radiating warmth as she extended her hand. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Carlos,” she said, her voice honeyed with hospitality. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

Carlos responded with charm, his Spanish accent softening his words. “The pleasure is mine, Señora.”

“And this,” she added, turning toward the younger boy, Mattia standing beside Carlos, “is their adorable son, Matheo.”

“Adorable,” Meredith’s father echoed with an awkward chuckle, though his tone suggested he was still trying to figure out the dynamic.

Mattia, wearing a small, satisfied smile, gave a polite nod but said nothing.

Carlos chimed in, as if sensing the awkwardness. “Actually, it was Matheo’s idea to meet here. Very clever of him.”

Mattia, standing off to the side, looked ready to combust from the sheer effort of keeping his expression polite. He managed a tight smile at the group, though the sharpness in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Meredith’s mother, dressed in an effortlessly chic silk blouse and wide-leg trousers, leaned down slightly to address Matheo. “Hi, baby. You can call me Aunty.”

Mattia’s lips twitched into a sardonic smile, his eyes narrowing slightly as if to say, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

*****

Before the awkward tension could deepen, a sleek black limousine pulled up to the entrance. Out stepped Martin, adjusting his sunglasses with his usual flair before opening the door for his boss. A bare foot promptly kicked him in the chest.

“The hand, ma’am…” Martin grumbled, catching his balance with an uneasy smile.

Out stumbled Y/N, looking devastatingly elegant in a beige-colored silk dress that clung to her figure like it was custom-made (because it was). Her golden earrings caught the sunlight as she took a swig from a vodka bottle, finishing it off and casually tossing it over Martin. Martin scrambled to catch it just in time.

“Wow, what a ride! Don’t you think?” Y/N slurred, grinning as Martin knelt to help her with her strappy designer heels.

“First time I’ve seen you drink like this, Ma’am,” Martin muttered.

Y/N chuckled, the sound light and airy. “First time I’ve had vodka. It’s… not bad!”

Matheo, who had been watching the entire debacle, buried his face in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

While the other family was busy with their own plans, Meredith stood in the center of the beautifully decorated venue, eyes scanning the room with approval. “I think the room is perfect for the wedding. It’s not too big, not too small. It really is perfect," she declared, her voice full of pride. "The guests will be amazed. Carlos, how about they wait for us by the pool while we go upstairs to relax?" She turned to her parents, who nodded in agreement, seemingly unfazed by the chaos that Chessy and Mattia were dealing with over their dog, Sammy.

Mattia, meanwhile, struggled to keep Sammy under control. The dog had other plans, tugging hard on the leash and dragging Mattia along. “Where do you want to go?” he asked quietly, his voice strained as he tried to regain control. Sammy, however, was on a mission, and Mattia had no choice but to follow. Chessy, clearly unnerved by the situation, trailed behind them with a nervous glance.

Carlos, noticing the commotion, he trying to help his son, but Meredith with her sly smile she leaned closer. “How about we check out what our honeymoon suite looks like?” she suggested, her tone dripping with flirtation. Before Carlos could reply, she linked her arm through him, ready to explore.

****

Meanwhile, in another corner of the venue, the other family was making their way toward the elevator. Y/N, however, had just stepped out of it, looking a bit disheveled. “Oops, I forgot my bag,” she announced, turning on her heel and heading toward the reception desk. Matheo and Martin exchanged exasperated looks, clearly concern with Y/N’ absentmindedness.

Back by the lobby, Mattia and Chessy were still wrestling with Sammy, who seemed determined to cause as much trouble as possible. Suddenly, Matheo’s eyes widened with delight as he spotted the dog. “Sammy!” he called out, his voice full of excitement. The dog, equally thrilled, broke free from Mattia’s grip and bounded toward Matheo. Martin yelped in surprise as the massive dog leaped up, but Matheo was unfazed, embracing Sammy like a long-lost friend.

As Mattia tried to catch his dog, the elevator doors slid shut, leaving him and Chessy stranded. Before he could process what had just happened, Y/N appeared out of nowhere, sauntering toward them in a dangerously elegant outfit that screamed old money.

Mattia’s jaw dropped. “Mom?!” he blurted, his voice a mix of shock and disbelief. Chessy, sensing the awkwardness of the moment, turned away, pretending not to see.

Y/N, seemingly unfazed, offered a breezy smile. “Matheo, my love, you didn’t have to wait for me. I can get to the room by myself.” her voice was soft, but Mattia couldn’t ignore the faint whiff of alcohol that accompanied her words.

“Matheo, wait upstairs while I relax, okay?” Y/N added, ruffling Mattia’s hair in a way that felt both affectionate and dismissive. Mattia grimaced slightly but said nothing as Y/N strolled away, her stride as confident as ever.

“Hey, Matheo,” Y/N called over his shoulder. “Were you already wearing those clothes on the plane? I don’t remember...” her voice trailed off as he nearly collided with a boy carrying a vase full of roses. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, sidestepping awkwardly before disappearing down the hall.

Mattia turned to Chessy, his face pale. “She’s drunk. My mom, never had more than two glasses of wine in her life, she is drunk. And today of all days.”

Chessy stifled a laugh, placing a reassuring hand on Mattia’s shoulder. “Relax. Let’s just stick to the plan.”

On the other side, Carlos and Meredith were oblivious to the chaos below, completely absorbed in each other. Meredith leaned against the elevator wall, his tone teasing. “Whoever invented the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign deserves a medal.” Carlos chuckled, pulling her closer, but his playful expression faltered as his eyes caught something beyond the closing elevator doors. There, standing in the lobby, was Y/N. Her golden earrings shimmered, her silk dress flowing with an effortless grace. Y/N offered a small wave and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The elevator doors shut, cutting off the view, but Carlos’s mind raced. His stomach dropped, and his heart pounded in his chest.

What the hell just happened?

prev chap

#carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x reader #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #carlos sainz #f1 fluff #carlos sainz jr #cs55 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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munsonhoneybaby · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Leaf | Eddie Munson X F!Henderson!Reader

Summary: Finally starting to spend time with Eddie outside of your bedroom, everybody seems to know about the two of you but Dustin.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, eddie’s never-ending pet names, frequent drug use (marijuana), smut, lots of high sex in the whole series idk what to tell you lol, tiny bit of dry humping, eddie’s fishnet fetish?, skinny dipping, fingering, p in v (unprotected but he pulls out), sex in an empty parking lot, squirting, pretty heavy subspace, not angst but crying after sex, eddie’s a little fucknasty sometimes but he worships his lady, cheesy ahh ending

A/N: just two emotionally damaged stoners trying to figure out how to love each other, what more can i say? the length of this one just kept getting away from me lol i’ve loved writing this series and even though the main storyline is over i’d love to keep writing about these two if anybody sends in blurb/headcanon requests or anything like that !! i had plenty of little ideas i had to leave out !!

part one | part two | tmic masterlist

Eddie paused in the mirror, fixing the hair laying on his forehead. He fidgeted with his shirt, trying to get it to sit right on his shoulders– it was an old Kill ‘Em All t-shirt he’d cut the sleeves off of ages ago. He huffed and did one more frantic scan of his bedroom, hands fluttering uselessly at his sides as he was sure there had to be something he’d missed. Bed made, laundry done, and messes cleared away, his room looked cleaner than he’d seen it in probably two years. Deciding it wasn’t gonna get any cleaner in the next fifteen minutes, he dashed down the short hallway to double-check that the living room was spotless.

He’d draped the nicest blanket they had over the back of the couch and even specifically bought a few candles to light around the room just for the occasion. A few pre-rolled joints sat out on the coffee table alongside the selection of horror movies that Steve definitely didn’t let him sneak out of Family Video for free; he wanted to give you options, so he settled on The Thing, A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Shining, and The Evil Dead. He would have happily taken you to see a movie, maybe even a drive-in, but you’d said you’d rather it be just the two of you.

Three knocks sounded at the door, making him jump. You were four minutes earlier than he expected. Stepping to the door, he glanced around the room again and blew out a heavy breath before he opened it.

And there you were. Black shorts peeking out under your baggy Dio tee and a bag of snacks in hand from the gas station a couple miles off, you smiled at him. “Hi.”

Eddie couldn’t help his cheesy grin as he replied, “Hey.” Something about you was so enrapturing to him. He could have just stared at you, standing in the afternoon sunlight shining on his doorstep, forever.

“You gonna let me in?”

“Oh! Uh– right.” He moved aside, opening the door wider. “It’s not exactly the Ritz, but uh–”

“Oh, knock it off. I don’t care about that shit.” You looked around, taking in the collection of hats and mugs lining the walls. The warm light outside made the closed mismatched curtains glow. “I think it’s perfect.”

He cleared his throat to overcome the warmth in his chest before he spoke. “I got a few different movies if you wanna pick.”

“Ooh, can we watch The Shining? It’s been a little while since I’ve seen it, it’s one of my favorites.”

“Sure thing,” He nodded. As he turned on the TV and put the tape in the VHS player, you found a seat on the couch and grabbed a joint off the table to light up. While you seemed totally at ease in his trailer, he was as nervous as the first time he met you. First date jitters, he supposed. You looked so comfortable curled up and smoking in the corner of his couch that, as he settled at the opposite end, he couldn’t help but feel like you belonged there.

Your legs stretched into his lap as you scooted down a bit to pass him the joint. He rubbed his free hand back and forth along your calf absentmindedly. “I don’t know how long you were planning on staying– if you wanna stick around after this movie, I could make a frozen pizza and we could watch another or something.”

“Sounds good to me,” You hummed in return.

Forty-five minutes into the movie, the first joint was gone and Eddie was focused intently on the television screen. You started to get fidgety though, foot nudging against his thigh. “What’d you sit so far away for?”

“I dunno, just thought I’d give you your space I guess? I didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“C’mere.” Pinching at his shirt, you tugged until he scooted himself to you. Your legs lay completely over his lap as you rested your head against his shoulder. “I don’t need space, I came here to be with you. It’s cute you’re taking this whole ‘first date’ thing so seriously, though.”

His cheeks flushed a little pink and he fiddled with his rings over your lap. “Sorry, I just– I want this to go well.” He laughed nervously as he continued, “I want to keep seeing you outside your bedroom, y’know? I want you to come to my shows, and I wanna take you to the diner, and I wanna kiss you goodbye after Hellfire sessions.”

You gave him a little smile, turning his face toward you to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “I wanna do that stuff too, Eds. You know that you mean something to me, right? I just wanna go slow in the Dustin department. He has to be okay with this.”

“Okay,” Eddie nodded instantly, “However you wanna go about it. I swear, I’ll even ask the little loudmouth for his blessing when you want me to. I mean, I love that kid too.”

For a split second you just took in his features, and those big, earnest eyes were impossible not to believe. The material of his shirt scrunched between your fingers as you drew his lips to yours again. “Thank you for being there for him. And for me. You don’t know how much it means.”

He brushed a strand of hair back from your face with a little smile. “I think I do, sweetheart.”

“Hey, so where’s your sister?” Mike asked, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “She’s like…always home.”

“I don’t know,” Dustin frowned, “I guess she just told Mom she was going out. Maybe I should call Robin and ask if she’s with her.”

“Dude, she’s an adult,” Lucas shook his head slightly. “She probably doesn’t need you to check in on her, I’m sure she’s fine.”

“But what if she isn’t?” As he continued, he paced the length of the basement, hands gesturing wildly with his words. “And what is she doing? ‘Going out’? What does that mean? Why is she trying to hide where she’s going? What if it’s somewhere sketchy?”

“You need to calm down,” Mike insisted. “It really isn’t that serious, she’s probably with Robin and Steve or something.”

“Right, so I should just call Robin and make sure!”

Lucas still rolled his eyes, but Dustin was already dashing up the stairs to the phone. “Great, now he’s gonna lose it if she’s not with Robin.”

“Where else would she be?”

“Literally anywhere, man. She could be at the record store, or with Nancy, or maybe with...”

“You don’t think she could be with Eddie–” But Mike was cut off by footsteps thundering down the stairs.

“She’s not with Robin, Steve, or Nancy which means I’m out of people to call which means I’m officially concerned. Do you think we should go out and start checking places? I mean, what if she smoked like– like– bad weed or something? I don’t know how that stuff works! Why wouldn’t she tell me where she’s going? She should know I’m worried sick!”

“Oh my god, would you relax? Did you talk to your mom?”

“Well, of course she thinks everything’s fine! She trusts us both implicitly when she obviously shouldn’t!”

Mike pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath before he looked at him. “I seriously think you’re overreacting. Like Lucas said, she’s an adult; she doesn’t have to tell you everything. She’s allowed to have a life.”

Having returned to his pacing, Dustin halted and looked at him with an offended expression. “Are you trying to say I’m clingy? I’m not clingy!”

“I’m not saying you’re clingy! I’m just saying that you do your own shit, she probably does her own shit too. Maybe she’s taking time to herself or maybe she’s out with a guy or something.”

“There’s no way she’s out with a guy. She would tell me if there was a guy! And where would she even meet a guy? Work? She barely talks to anyone, you guys know that!” Mike and Lucas shared a glance before looking in different directions.

“Look, if she’s not home in an hour we’ll go check a couple places, alright?” Lucas finally sighed.

“An hour? It’s already a quarter after nine!” Then they heard the front door close and Dustin was racing back up the stairs. There you stood, kicking off your shoes beside everyone else’s, a smile on your face that you were trying to bite back. Until your brother and his friends burst out of the basement. “And where on Earth have you been?”

You looked at him questioningly. “Enjoying my day off?”

“By yourself? Until nine-thirty at night?” He placed his hands on his hips, scanning you with a scrutinizing gaze. “What were you doing?”

“What’s with the third degree? I stopped at the bookstore, then I went out in the woods and read for a while. Is that okay, Mom?”

“Don’t condescend to me, you had me worried half to death!”

As you replied, you ruffled his hair. “Aw, well that’s very sweet, Dusty. I’m fine though, you don’t need to wait up for me.”

“See? We told you there was nothing to worry about,” Mike chimed. When he and Lucas gave each other another pointed look, however, he knew they’d both seen the faint hickey peeking out from your shirt collar that Dustin had apparently missed.

“Goodnight, boys. I’ll make you guys some breakfast in the morning, alright?” They all called back their own goodnights as you headed down the hallway to your bedroom and they made their way back into the basement.

Later that night you were dozing off, still dressed and on top of the blankets, when you jolted back to full consciousness at the sound of the phone ringing in the living room. Grumbling a little under your breath, you rubbed your eyes.

You were halfway down the hall when you heard the basement door creak open, and suddenly you were wide awake. At half past midnight, there was no way anyone other than Eddie was calling and there was definitely no way Dustin could answer that call. Increasing your pace to a slightly-panicked speedwalk until you were in the room with him, you just barely made it to the phone before him. You pressed the receiver into your chest to muffle your voice as you practically whispered, “Don’t worry about it, Dusty, it’s for me.”

“Who is it?”

“Nancy, she wanted to talk about what I got from the bookstore but she was busy with Robin and Steve,” You answered easily. He nodded and yawned out another goodnight before booking it back downstairs. Letting out a relieved exhale, you finally raised the phone to your ear. “Sorry, Dustin almost picked up. Everything okay?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, baby. Everything’s fine. I tried not to call, I swear I did, but–” He laughed a little embarrassedly, “Fuck, when can I see you again?”

“Eddie,” You whispered through a little giggle. “You had to call about that now?”

“I mean, I could always come over so we could talk about it in person instead,” He teased.

“I just left your place three hours ago.”

“Should’a just stayed the night, babe,” He sighed regretfully.

Clutching at non-existent pearls, you replied, “Stay the night? On the first date? Eddie Munson, what kind of girl do you take me for?”

“Of course, sweet thing, you’re right. You could never do anything so scandalous as sharing a bed with me before we’re really goin’ steady.” You could picture that smirk on his face as he spoke. “Guess that means we’ve gotta plan a second date, huh?”

“Guess so,” You hummed. “Have anything in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking,” He began slowly. “Maybe you could come to one of our shows? I know that’s not a super great date idea since I’m gonna be on stage pretty much the whole time and everything, but–”

“No, that sounds great,” You interrupted. “When’re you guys playing next?”

“Friday night at eight.”

“Alright, I’ll see you at The Hideout on Friday then.”

“Alright,” He cooed back playfully. “G’night, baby.”

Standing in front of your open closet, you rustled through all your clothes in indecision. “I don’t know what I should wear.” Nancy, Robin, and Steve sat side by side by side on the edge of your bed, peering into the closet from behind you. The latter opened his mouth to share an opinion but held his tongue as your younger brother leaned in your door.

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh– just trying to find something to wear, I’m going out later.” You shrugged off his question and continued shuffling through your hanging shirts.

“Again with this ‘going out’ stuff! With who?”

“Us,” Nancy interjected casually.

“Thought we’d go check out Eddie’s show at The Hideout tonight,” Steve added. “Show him some support since it’s usually just the drunks there.”

Dustin eyed you for a split second but seemed to move on from whatever suspicion he had toward you quickly. “Cool, I’ll let Mike and Lucas know. We were gonna hang at Mike’s, but we can all go to the show together instead.”

“You can’t come, Dusty. That’s not a kid-friendly environment,” You told him apologetically.

“What? Come on! We’re not kids, we’re in high school! We wanna see Eddie perform too, he’s our friend!”

“Oh, so now he’s just your guys’ friend,” Steve chimed. “Before, you were practically begging us to get along.” He stood and crossed the room to ruffle Dustin’s curls. “Seriously, dude, your sister’s right. This place is nothing but adults drinking, I doubt they’d even let you stay if you came in with us.”

“See? Your mother says no,” You confirm. “Sorry, Dustin, really. Maybe we could all do something together as a big group though soon, yeah? All of us and the Hellfire club. We could sit in on a session or take you all to the movies or something, okay?”

He paused, fidgeting with one of the buttons on his undone, patterned overshirt. “That’d actually be pretty cool. You’d do that?”

“Yeah, kid, it’s no problem.” You walked over to give him a side hug before nudging him out the door. “Now beat it, I’ve gotta get ready.” It took another minute or two of brainstorming before you decided to snag Dustin’s Hellfire t-shirt from his laundry basket– thank God you had just done his laundry for him. You thought it’d be the best fan attire since Corroded Coffin wasn’t exactly selling merchandise.

Once you were ready to go, Robin called shotgun as the four of you piled into Steve’s car. “Sorry that you guys have to tag along now, but you know how Dustin gets.”

Glancing at you briefly in the rearview mirror, Steve replied, “It’s no big deal. Sorry I told him you were going to see Eddie.”

“It’s fine,” You shook your head. “I wanna lie to him as little as possible anyway, I just haven’t figured out how to bring it up yet.”

“I know he wants you to, but you don’t always have to tell him everything right away,” Robin reminded you. “I mean, what were you gonna tell him– that you were fucking one of his best friends? He doesn’t need to know that. It’s not like you guys are actually together yet–” She was interrupted by a punch in the shoulder from Steve.

He gave her an incredulous look before Nancy took over, reaching over and squeezing your hand. “What she means is, you guys should take your relationship at your own pace and tell Dustin when you think the time is right.”

“Right, that’s exactly what I was gonna say,” Steve added.

Robin rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Harrington.”

“What? I was!”

When you were finally standing in the parking lot of The Hideout, you let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Robin hooked an arm around your shoulders and started for the door. “Come on,” She drawled. “Let’s catch ‘em before the show starts, you’ll be okay.”

They weren’t hard to find, setting up on stage front and center. You could see Eddie kneeling down to plug in the amp until Gareth lightly hit his arm and pointed in your direction. A grin stretched across his face as his stare dragged over your frame, taking in your fishnets, short skirt, and Hellfire tee. He excused himself to the rest of the guys before jogging over to you. “Hey, I didn’t realize you guys were coming along.”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up. Dustin found out where I was going and I didn’t want him to get nosy–”

“Are you kidding? This is the most sober people we’ve ever had in an audience, don’t sweat it.” He briefly squeezed your waist then let his hand settle on your back, fingers drumming impatiently. You looked at him questioningly, but he didn’t meet your eyes just yet. “I appreciate you guys coming, I know it’s not really your kinda music.”

Steve waved him off. “Nah, man, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Harrington.” His arm moved from your waist to your shoulders, “I’m gonna steal her from you guys for a couple minutes if you don’t mind. I wanted to show her some of the equipment.” Robin opened her mouth to make a smart remark but was stopped by another punch from Steve.

He guided you to a nook behind one of the walls in the far corner of the bar. Humming lowly, he cupped your face so you’d look at him. “You really dressed for the occasion, pretty girl. You look fucking incredible.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten my exclusive Corroded Coffin t-shirt yet, so I figured this was the next best thing.”

“My apologies, babe, I’ll get right on that.” He dipped his head to press a long, slow kiss to your lips.

“Somebody smoked a joint without me,” You teased.

With a good-natured smile, he rolled his eyes in false exasperation. “Sorry, should’a gotten here earlier. We can smoke all you want after, alright? Pothead.”

“What’s that thing people say?” You asked sarcastically. “I think it was something about a pot, maybe a kettle?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” He laughed. A whistle from Gareth called his attention to the stage and he exhaled heavily. “Okay, that’s my cue. Wish me luck?”

“Like you need it,” You pecked his lips. “I’m really excited to hear you play. You guys are gonna do great.” Eddie smiled and stole one last quick kiss before darting back to the stage, leaving you to make your way back to the others.

“We may have taken the liberty of getting you a drink,” Steve said as Robin pushed a glass across the table toward you.

“I would be offended if you hadn’t.” Taking a few swigs, you looked over to where Eddie was finally settling the mic into its stand, his guitar hanging from his shoulder. They didn’t bother with grand introductions given the small crowds that gathered weren’t exactly there to see Corroded Coffin; they simply started into their set.

The boys mostly stuck to covers of semi-popular songs– sticking to their roots with Metallica and Black Sabbath, but appeasing the bar patrons with some Led Zepplin and a grudging Bon Jovi song. A few pieces they’d weaved in were their own and you could tell, but they certainly weren’t out of place. You could see where their inspiration came from.

You caught up with Nancy, Robin, and Steve between songs, but they mostly carried the conversation as you watched Eddie. Anyone really paying attention would be able to see that he was in his element. Sweat matted his bangs to his forehead, fingers moving masterfully over the strings as he powered through Trapped Under Ice with incredible accuracy. While you had heard the dramatic voices he put on during Hellfire, you hadn’t known that he could also mimic James Hetfield and Ozzy very impressively. He wasn’t perfect, but what little he lacked in refinement and precision, he more than made up for with passion.

The middle-aged drunks occasionally gave some muted applause for the songs they recognized, but otherwise ignored the free entertainment. He really was underappreciated here. In front of a real audience, you couldn’t imagine the kind of stage presence he’d have.

Over the next two hours, you worked your way through a couple drinks. You hoped the frequent crossing of your legs could be attributed to the short skirt you were wearing rather than your dwindling patience and self-control as you waited for Eddie to finish his set. When they finally wrapped up their last song, you made your way up to the stage. He was lowering the mic stand when you got to him, holding his gaze as you dropped a twenty in the guitar case in front of him. There were only a few other bills and some loose change inside.

“God, please don’t. Seriously, that’s insulting.”

“Are you kidding? That’s an investment. I expect it back with interest when you guys make it big.” He held a hand out to you as you joined him on the stage. “Really, I thought you were amazing. You’ll see when you get outta this place.”

He just gave you a small smile and brushed his thumb over your cheek, eyes sweeping over your face briefly before he took both your hands. “So I really do wanna hang with you, babe, but I absolutely have to move all our gear first. Is there any way I can convince you to stick around?” His lips dragged over your knuckles, leaving a few kisses as he spoke. “Have a li’l smoke sesh in the back of the van once it’s empty. Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Your chest warmed at the attention he was lavishing you with in front of all of his friends– Dustin’s friends– and you tucked your chin a little bashfully. “That’s fine, Eds.”

“Awesome. We’re gonna finish loading the van, then you can ride with me to Gare’s to unload everything there, then I’m all yours. Cool?”

“Sounds good to me, rockstar.”

Holding your face in one hand, he squished your cheeks and shook your head back and forth lightly. “Always makin’ fun ‘a me, aren’t you?” He landed a kiss on your puckered lips and subtly patted your butt. “Go sit with your friends and I’ll let you know when I’m finished, okay? So glad I had my best girl cheerin’ me on tonight.”

As he went back to helping the guys pack up, you went back to Robin, Nancy, and Steve who paused their conversation when you sat down.

“Swooning already?”

“Somebody’s definitely looking a little starstruck,” Robin added. “Ready to ask him to sign your boobs?”

“The way it’s sounding, he might later,” You replied before taking a sip of your drink.

“I’m proud of you,” She nodded and took your hands dramatically over the table. “At least one of us is leading a successful love life. We will live vicariously through you.”

“Well then, let me know when we figure out how to tell our little brother that we’re dating his male mentor.”

“Wait, did Dustin say Eddie was his male mentor?” Steve interjected. “That’s so not true–”

Robin shook her head. “Steve, shut up.” She smacked your hand and nodded behind you just before you felt hands settle on your chair.

“Hey, you guys enjoy the show?” Eddie’s rings clinked against the metal of the chair, his voice not far from your ear making your heart rate pick up.

“Yeah, you guys were great. We’ll have to come again sometime,” Steve replied.

Nancy politely asked, “How long have you been playing, Eddie? Some of those songs seemed pretty complex.”

“I started playing with the guys when I was in eighth grade, but I started teaching myself around sixth. So, I guess about…nine or ten years?” He shrugged, thumbs drumming against the chair.

“You’re really talented,” She commended.

“Thank you, that means a lot to me.” His hand shifted to your shoulder before he continued on playfully, “Your guys’ friend here gets a backstage pass though, which means she gets to come watch us unload equipment at Gareth’s mom’s house and smoke my weed.” He took your hand as you stepped down from your high-top chair, pushing it in for you and grabbing your purse as you said goodbye. “Thank you guys again for coming. I’ll see you around soon, yeah?”

Steve gave him a one-armed hug as he nodded, “Definitely, man.”

The two of you walked back to the van, hand in hand, your steps echoing in the mostly-empty parking lot. The others were already waiting in Gareth’s garage passing around a joint when you pulled into the driveway. You followed Eddie around to the back of the van as he opened one of the back doors. Gareth got up to open the other one, handing you the joint as he passed you.

“Alright, boys, think we can manage our fastest unload yet?” Eddie asked, cracking his knuckles.

“Yeah. As long as you don’t tweak your fuckin’ back again, old ass,” Jeff scoffed in return.

“Seriously, dude. Lift with your legs,” Gareth chimed.

Eddie made a talking motion with his hand and mumbled mockingly back before grabbing one of Gareth’s drums. “Start moving your shit or I’ll stop discounting your weed.”

“Oh, yes! Forgive me, master!” Gareth snarked, voice quavering with feigned fear.

They all got to work on moving the drum kit out first before moving on to the other equipment. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you took a hit and sat on the edge of one of the chairs they had out. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I mean, there’s a fridge in the corner, you wanna grab a few beers?” Jeff asked, getting a grasp on one side of an amp.

Gripping the other side of the amp, Eddie gave him an unimpressed look. “Dude, did you seriously just send her on a beer run?”

“It’s literally the other side of the garage. Shut the fuck up and bend your knees.”

You grabbed a beer for everyone– except Eddie, who was stuck with cherry Coke until he was done driving– and passed them out when they were done moving the amps. Then, to kill some of the time, you sat in the van and packed a bowl to smoke with Eddie later. When the equipment left in the back started to dwindle, you, Jeff, and Barry made conversation while Eddie unloaded some of the lighter equipment with Gareth. Keeping his voice low, the drummer suddenly spoke. “You know you have to like– marry her, right?”

“What’re you talking about?” Eddie chuckled, though his face and neck warmed at the mental image.

Gareth jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in your direction. “Dude, she’s over there talking to your nerdy loser bandmates about Judas Priest’s influences on Iron Maiden’s first album. And she’s actually invested. You’re not gonna find another girl like that in Hawkins. Not to mention how you talk about her–”

“Alright, shut it,” He huffed. “Just help me get this shit out, it’s getting late.”

When the last of it was finally tucked away in Gareth’s garage, Eddie checked his watch and sighed. Eleven-thirty. “Damn.” Your conversation with the boys had drifted to your opinions on heavy metal power ballads when his hands settled on your waist. “Sorry that took so long, you ready to get going?”

“Don’t worry about it, Eds. I’ll see you guys later though, alright? We should really head out.” The three of them thanked you for coming and said their goodbyes before settling back into their fold-out chairs, presumably to keep getting fried.

You and Eddie climbed into the van and he started it up before looking over at you. “It’s not the first date anymore. Any chance I can convince you to stay the night?”

“No convincing needed. I didn’t know how late I’d be home so I already asked Nancy to cover for me if Dustin calls.”

“Wait, you really want to?”

“Of course I do. Will Wayne mind me staying there?”

“Oh, he wouldn’t care. He works the night shift and sometimes he works overtime, so he usually isn’t back until six or eight in the morning. And occasionally he’ll even stop for a drink with a couple guys from work and that could take ‘til ten,” He explained with a little crooked smile. “He’d love you, though.”

You noticed him freeze up a little as he registered his own words, so you took one of his hands and laced your fingers through his in your lap. “I’m sure I’d love him, too. He must be a great man if he raised you.”

He squeezed your hand lightly as he relaxed. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool.” There was a moment of quiet, just the low hum of the radio and the roar of the van until Eddie spoke again. “You wouldn’t wanna go to Lover’s Lake, would you?”

“Sure.” His hand settled on your thigh and your lips curled down as you repressed a little smirk. “I didn’t take you for the type.”

“Hey, I can be romantic,” He defended lightheartedly. “I just prefer places like these when they’re less populated.”

“Why? So you can smoke and have sex in them?” You asked with a joking scoff.

“No, I just like my privacy. It’s more intimate without a bunch of obnoxious people around.” He paused, then conceded. “But yes, I like to have a range of recreational activities to choose from. Is that so bad?”

You shifted your leg so his hand drifted further up your thigh. “You wouldn’t happen to be taking me there to do both, would you, Eds?”

“I’m taking you there to do whatever you wanna do, sweet thing.” His tone remained casual, but his hand slowly crept higher and higher. “We could lay down and look at the stars…Maybe go for a swim…” Goosebumps rose on your skin as his short nails dragged across it, fingers catching on the loops of your fishnets. “What d’you think?”

“We didn’t bring swimsuits,” You remind him.

“So?” He asked as he pulled into the small gravel lot hidden by the trees. Looking over at you with a smirk, he continued, “There’s no one else here.” He got out of the van and came around to open your door as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, though.”

After grabbing a couple of blankets from the back of the van, he took your hand and lead you out away from the trees. You helped him lay out the blankets, crawling onto them and kicking off your shoes. Eddie lay down beside you and you looked over at him, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been out here at night. It’s really pretty.”

“Can’t believe you think so when you get to look in the mirror every day,” He shot back without effort, giving you that goofy grin of his.

Lightly smacking his arm, you fought back a big smile of your own. “That was terrible, you know that, right? That was actually so bad.” Your combined laughter sounded loud in the near-silent clearing of the lake; your voices were only accompanied by the constant chirping of crickets and the occasional owl’s hoot.

He rolled onto his side, resting his head in his hand as he looked down at you. “You’ve gotta get used to taking my compliments, babe, even the corny ones. ‘Cause soon they’ll be comin’ non-stop.” You simply hummed in response, your hand finding the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. He didn’t hesitate to shift over you, arms on either side of you to support himself as his knee braced between your legs. Lips sticky with your lip gloss, his mouth made a path to your neck. “Y’really do look so pretty tonight, baby. Never seen you in a skirt before, I could barely pay attention to our set.”

“I thought you did amazing.” His hot breath on your neck made you squirm, grasping at his shirt as your hips wound against the firmness of his thigh. “Had me wet the whole time.”

“Fuck, wanted to get my hands on you so bad. Just performing had you all soaked for me, huh?” Your skirt rode up toward your waist until Eddie decided it was unnecessary, leaning back to yank it off. “Jesus H. Christ, fucking look at you.” Lying beneath him, fishnets stretched taut over your spread thighs leading up to your Hellfire tee, you were his fucking dream. It wasn’t hard to tell he wasn’t a religious man but, at that moment, he wished he was because he felt like he needed to thank somebody for your existence. It was like every fantasy he’d ever had simply walked out of his head and into his life. “Seriously, I might need to take a minute.”

“Can you help me out of these while you do?” You ask, curling your legs up to your chest.

He guided one of them up to his shoulder, running his hand down your outstretched leg and eyeing the tights before he looked at you. “Am I in trouble if I say no?”

“If you take them off now without ripping them I’ll wear them for you again sometime,” You bargained teasingly.

“I’ll do it if you let me eat you out through them next time.”

You shoved lightly at his chest with your foot, trying not to laugh. “You’re such a freak.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you playfully, but you could see he didn’t take the name to heart coming from you as his hips pressed into your ass. “Careful callin’ me names, babe. I’m starting to like it when you’re mean to me.”

“Pervert.”

He hummed, trailing kisses down the inside of your leg and finally hooking his fingers into the waistband of your fishnets. “Only for you, sweetheart.” His short nails scraped gently along your skin again as he carefully drew the tights down your legs. The second they were off, you sat up to pull him into another hungry kiss.

Deepening it, he started to ease you onto your back again but was shocked when you pulled away. With a coy smile, you asked, “How ‘bout that swim?”

Baffled, he was unable to come up with a response before you were standing and whipping your shirt off. His brain kicked back into gear when you dashed away from him toward the lake. Then he was running after you, fumbling to kick off his shoes and strip in the process. He froze as he watched you take off your bra and jump in wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of panties. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding. Finally kicking off his jeans, Eddie dove in after you.

Attempting to wipe the water from your eyes, you looked around for him in the water. Just as he breached the surface behind you, though, he grabbed your waist and shouted. Your squeal broke into a fit of giggles as he squeezed your sides and pulled you into his chest. “You’re such a dick!”

“That’s what you get for bein’ a tease.” Staying close to shore, the water came nearly to his shoulders. He urged you to wrap your legs around his waist, his hands settling under your butt to hold you comfortably.

Arms settling loosely around his neck, you looked away pointedly, that mischievous little expression finding its way to your face again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course, you don’t. ‘Cause the sweet girl I know would never do a thing like that, right?” He asked sarcastically.

You shook your head and answered in a falsely solemn tone. “Never.”

He chuckled softly until you leaned into him, nipples hardened from the chill of the water and pressing into his chest. Faint smiles never left your faces as you shared a few messy kisses. His hand rubbed soothingly up and down your spine while you pushed a strand of wet hair from his face. Swept off his shoulders, his soaked hair allowed you to see his whole face more clearly than ever. He started to feel self-conscious as your eyes drifted slowly over his features, taking him in, your thumb stroking over a spot beneath his ear that gave him chills. “You’re so handsome, Eddie.” He opened his mouth slightly like he was going to respond, but he couldn’t seem to think of anything so you changed the topic for him. “It’s nice here at night, we should come back again sometime when we don’t have any other plans.”

Eyebrows furrowing, he frowned in confusion. “What do you mean ‘other plans’?”

Untangling yourself from him, you faced him and swam backward toward the dock. “Hotboxing the van and having amazing sex, obviously. C’mon.” Climbing out, you held your arm tight over your chest as you snagged your bra off the dock and ran to the blankets still on the ground.

Eddie was close behind, picking up his trail of abandoned clothing. He started to apologize for the lack of towels, but you quickly waved him off and you both dried off as well as you could with one of the blankets. While you wrapped yourself in the dry blanket, he gathered your things with his to carry it all back to the car. “Go ahead and get in the back, I’ll start it up and get the music going.”

Opening one of the back doors, you found that the floor was already covered with other blankets. Climbing inside, you felt the van rumble to life. You could hear Eddie rustling through cassettes in his console as you peeled off your sopping-wet underwear and curled up with the pillows and blankets he’d put back there. The bowl you’d packed in hand, he finally joined you in the back. When he climbed in he paused to fidget with something you couldn’t see and suddenly the back doors were illuminated by little twinkling lights. He swung the door closed and tugged off his boxers before you asked, “When did you have time to do all this?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s all been back here for a little while. I just laid the blankets out in here when I grabbed the other ones to lay down by the lake.” He settled beside you, the top half of his blanket bunched in his lap leaving you free to ogle his tattoos– a favorite pastime of yours. “You want the first hit?”

You shook your head with a small smile, eyes tracing his features like they had in the lake. His hair was still heavy with water, but his forehead was hidden again and his curls were starting to come back. With nothing but moonlight, his eyes had looked black; in the glow of the fairy lights, you could see their warm cocoa-brown color again. His pretty lips formed an O as smoke billowed out of them. Their blushy-pink color nearly matched the flush on his cheeks, which you knew would spread to his neck and chest soon enough. He was beautiful, really.

He offered you the bowl and it stayed quiet, excepting the Master of Reality album playing softly, while you took a few long rips. You passed it back to him and let the silence continue for a moment before you finally said, “I’m gonna tell Dustin.” Unintentionally hitching in a breath, he choked on a throatful of smoke. The resulting coughing fit was so intense it brought tears to his eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh as you rubbed his back. “Are you okay?” He nodded, but you still leaned over the console to grab the bottle of water from the cup holder.

Taking a few swigs, he cleared his throat. “Okay, sorry,” He let out a big breath before he looked at you again. “You’re ready to tell him?”

“Yeah.” Too nervous to hold his gaze, you curled into his side. He welcomed you, of course, tucking his blanket around the both of you and kissing the top of your head. “I just feel like things have gotten…real. You try to take care of me in ways no one else has before and everything feels so easy with you– and honestly, both of those things scare the shit out of me ‘cause that usually means everything is absolutely going to go to shit…But you look out for my brother, and I feel like I can trust you, and everything we do together just feels so intimate…” You huffed embarrassedly and buried your face in the crook of his neck. “I think Dustin deserves to know that I care about you so much.”

“That we care about each other,” He corrected you. Hand framing your jaw, Eddie made you meet his eyes. “I’m gonna be there with you when you tell him. I don’t want you to do it alone, we should do it together. I still have to get his blessing, right?” He added jokingly. Before you could say anything, he started to ramble a little nervously. “I feel like this is real. I’ve never felt this way about anybody. I’ve never had the chance to have anything serious before, but you…You’re all I think about now. That first day I met you, it was like I had this ‘Where have you been all my life?’ moment and you’re all I’ve wanted since, and I know that sounds really cheesy and dramatic but–”

Your mouth on his cut him off, which seemed to be a habit you were forming. He didn’t mind though, he’d been told to shut up in much less pleasant ways. When you pulled away, it was only enough to murmur, “I know the feeling.” Your nose nudging his was enough for him to keep it going, hand hooking under your knee and drawing you to straddle his lap.

The blanket slumped to your waist leaving your torso bare for his eyes and hands to wander. “You’re just so fuckin’ beautiful. My pretty girl, right, baby?”

Toying with one of his damp curls, you held his gaze as you agreed, “No one else’s.” At your answer, he pulled you in for a much more desperate kiss. His fingers pressed into your back while the others slipped beneath you to find you soaked, your chest flush with his as his tongue passed your lips.

He pressed two fingers into you easily, slowly massaging your g-spot until you were whining into his mouth. “Feels like you might not even need me to stretch you out, sweetheart.” Hips canting forward involuntarily, your clit ground into the thick base of his cock. Finally letting you catch your breath, he withdrew his hand from between you and looked down to watch how your slick spread on his skin as he rutted against you. “Mmm, gonna let me show you how bad I need you?”

You brushed his hair back from his shoulders as you breathily replied, “Condom?”

“Wallet,” He answered. Leaning over his shoulder to grab it off the console put you in the perfect position for Eddie to mouth at your tits, lips wrapping around one nipple while the roughened pads of his fingers found the other. You moaned quietly and tugged at his hair, but grabbed the wallet and rifled through it.

“Eds, there isn’t one in here.”

“Fuck. Glovebox, maybe,” He suggested.

Huffing impatiently, you began to wind your hips against his again. “D’you promise to pull out if I let you fuck me raw?”

He looked up at you with wide eyes. “Really– I mean, are you sure? You don’t have to.”

“Need to feel you now, Eddie,” You insisted.

“Alright, sweetheart, I promise.” He lovingly pecked your lips before grasping your waist, helping keep you steady as you slowly sank down on him. Fully seated in his lap, a gasp rose in your throat. “There you go,” He murmured comfortingly. “I know, baby, but you’re so good. Can finally feel how wet you really are. Takin’ me so deep.”

Your voice was nothing but a high-pitched, airy sigh. “Feel you everywhere.”

“S’Cause I’m made for you.” Your forehead rested against his as he continued. “I was made to fill you up, pretty girl.” His words provoked a pathetic moan from you, spurring you to lift your hips fractionally just to ease back down again. Supporting yourself with your hands on his shoulders, you tried to start up a steady pace, but your thighs trembled with every motion. The moans and whimpers you let out started to sound quiet and watery and it worried him, but the determined rocking of your hips never ceased. “You doing okay, baby?”

Not lifting your head, you sniffed frustratedly. “Need help, Eddie.”

“Oh, baby, why didn’t you say so?” He cooed sympathetically. “S’okay to need my help, c’mere.”

Arms around your waist, he guided you up and down on his cock at a careful speed until you were grinding down on him again. “Eds please, I need more,” You whimpered. Rolling his hips to meet yours, he didn’t hesitate to tighten his arms around you and quicken his pace. The way he was hitting every possible spot inside you had your eyes squeezing shut to keep them from crossing. Thighs trembling, you shivered as he rubbed and squeezed at them.

Eddie’s shoulders rolled back as he leaned against the console, hands running slowly over your hips and across your stomach to palm at your tits. “Look so pretty on top’a me, sweet girl. Might have to make you ride me more often.” His thrusts into you sped up, the console against his back giving him more leverage. One of your hands rested lightly on his lower abdomen to steady yourself but once his thumb found your clit, you were practically writhing in his lap. He rubbed it in firm, precise circles and felt you squeeze around his cock uncontrollably. “That’s it, baby, come for me. Can’t wait to feel you soak me for the first time.”

Something felt different than usual as that coil wound tighter in your stomach. It was hotter, like flames were crawling across your skin. It felt like your bones shook and your eyes swam with stars as you cried out his name. Your nails dragged down his stomach, those of the other hand doing the same to his thigh, trying to anchor yourself with your head in the clouds.

It wasn’t until the ringing in your ears cleared that you heard Eddie’s feral groans, making you look down. Everything was drenched; your thighs, his cock, his stomach, and his chest glistened wet in the warm lights. The sight made you register the sloshing sounds of your dripping wet pussy as he started to slow his thrusts enough to pull out. Arms enclosing around your waist again, he all but pinned you to his chest as he rutted between your stomachs. Lips molding to yours, he kissed you sloppily before his gaze wandered your body in awe. “Can’t believe you fuckin’ squirted f’me. Fuck–” Cut off by his own moan, his forehead fell to your shoulder as his eyes squeezed shut, his hot spend painting both your skin and his.

After he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, he eased you onto your back, watching the filthy mixture of your come drip down your used cunt. “Eds, what’re you doin’?” You asked timidly as he lowered himself between your thighs, voice coming out in a barely-there squeak.

“Wishin’ I could take a fucking picture, sweetheart. I was gonna clean you up. Want me to use the blanket instead? S’okay if you’re too sensitive, especially after all that.” You nodded and he kissed the side of your knee with a smile as he grabbed the soiled blanket and quickly wiped himself off. Your legs flinched as he patted you dry and his eyes filled with concern as he murmured your name. “Did I hurt you? Did I do too much?”

“No,” You struggled to raise your voice above a mumble. “I’m okay, Eds, I’m jus’ all sensitive.”

“Promise me that’s it?” He asked, running his hands comfortingly over your legs. Pointedly avoiding his gaze, you huffed through your nose and your eyes brimmed with tears. “Baby, c’mon, what is it? What’s the matter?”

You answered him in a whimper, sniffing back tears every few words. “I jus’ made a mess ‘n I’ve never done that before ‘n now everything’s all yucky–”

“Aw, baby,” He chuckled through a sympathetic pout. Lying down and drawing you to his chest, he wiped your tears and kissed your forehead. The two of you curled up under one of the clean blankets. “Nothing’s yucky, sweet girl. Just gotta wash the blankie, no big deal.”

“But ‘m still all sticky,” You pout up at him. “C’n we take a bath when we get home?”

“Home?”

“Your trailer, Eddie,” You whine. “Wanna take a bath.” Lids heavy with exhaustion, your eyes slowly fluttered closed repeatedly before they’d snap open again.

“You’re so sleepy, sweet girl.” He brushed your hair back from your face. “Think you can take a little nap back here while I drive us home?” You nodded dreamily but still clutched at him whenever he tried to get up. “I know, baby, just twenty minutes and we can take a bath. Okay?” When you finally conceded, he tugged on his jeans and made the short drive home.

Once you were bathed and dressed in nothing but a borrowed Metallica t-shirt, he tucked you into his bed before crawling in beside you. You dozed off easily with your head on his chest, but he stayed up just a little while longer. Palm rubbing circles on your back, his lips ghosted over your forehead. “I love you, baby,” He whispered almost silently. Closing his eyes, he focused on the feeling of your heart beating against his side, counting them like a child would sheep until he fell asleep.

The next morning, you woke up first, Eddie’s arms around you and his chest molded to your back. You scoffed and rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help your tiny smirk as you registered the feeling of him squeezing at your tit, his even, heavy breaths against your shoulder telling you he was fast asleep. Slowly rocking your hips back, you bit back a laugh when it made his grasp tighten while he nuzzled into your neck. He rutted against you, half-hearted and arrhythmic in his unconscious state. It wasn’t until you reached back to hold his hip and grind directly against his cock, separated only by his boxers, that he finally grunted himself awake. “Mmm, g’morning t’you too, gorgeous.”

“You’re a perv even in your sleep, you know that, Munson?”

He mouthed at your neck with a sleepy grin, “I could’a told you that. How’d you know I was dreamin’ about you?”

“Well, your right hand was my first clue.” You pointedly ground your hips into his again and looked back over your shoulder at him, “Wanna guess my second?”

“Can’t help but get ideas, babe. You’re sleepin’ in my bed, in my shirt, no panties…” His fingers walked a path down your stomach, stopping just after your belly button. “Promise I kept my hands to myself, though– while I was awake, anyway.”

His hand drifted leisurely between your legs but you groaned. “Eds, what time is it?”

“I don’t know, almost nine? Why?” His lips never left your skin, still working over your neck and shoulder without leaving obvious marks.

“We can’t, we have to go. Dustin’s at Mike’s and I wanna make sure we get back before him. I’ve still gotta make myself decent and figure out what I’m gonna say to him.”

“What we’re gonna say to him,” He corrected. “And can’t you stay indecent a little longer?”

“Wayne’ll be home anytime,” You remind him, “If he’s not already.”

He pouted, “But how often do we get to have great morning sex after a night together like this, baby?”

“Any morning now that I’ll be staying over whenever you want,” You point out.

“Hmm, I s’pose that’s true,” He agreed contently. Stretching out beside you with a loud groan, he pecked your cheek before he got out of bed. Yawning, “I’ll be right back,” he headed for the bathroom.

Rolling over, you buried your face in his pillow and breathed in. Old spice shampoo, weed, and Marlboros filled your nose and it made every muscle in your body relax. Him. You wanted to bottle the scent, soak every pillow and blanket and sweatshirt you owned with it. You’d never have another restless night again. Lifting your head slightly, you left your nose against the fabric but allowed your eyes to flicker around his room.

A bottle of lotion sat on his nightstand, he didn’t seem to bother with tissues though. You weren’t surprised. Handcuffs hung on the wall, also not surprising, but they still made your thighs twitch. There were more band posters than in your room, including a hand-spray-painted one for Corroded Coffin. He had three guitars, his prized possession– his other sweetheart, as well as another black and white electric, and an acoustic painted to say ‘this machine slays dragons’. An amp sat across from the bed and his dressers were strewn with clothes and beer cans. It was easy to imagine him existing in here. Playing guitar in bed in his boxers or planning the party’s next campaign at his desk.

Your eyes snapped to the door when it finally opened again. “Still in bed, huh?” Nodding with a small smile, you watched him rummage through his dresser for today’s band tee. His hand settled on Slayer before he thought of running into your mom, and opted for the much tamer Deep Purple one beneath it. “Well, you should probably put somethin’ else on before I take you home. What you’ve got on might get a little breezy.”

“Bite me,” You yawned, flipping him off as you got up.

“I didn’t think we had time for that,” He replied snarkily. He finished getting dressed as you slipped on your skirt and balled up your fishnets to put in your purse.

When you were both ready– or as ready as you could get for now– you headed for the van. “I’ll make coffee when we get to mine,” You offer. “My mom should be at work, so I’ll make breakfast. Food might help soften the blow.”

“God, you’re acting like we killed his cat or something,” He laughed. “We’re not breaking bad news, babe.”

“It’s still a shock, alright? And Dustin has big feelings, you know that. I just don’t wanna make him feel uncomfortable or lied to. Me and him don’t usually keep secrets, so this is a big deal.”

“I can be tactful, alright? But I’ll let you do most of the talking if that makes you feel better, I know you’re worried about him.” His fingers laced through yours and brought the back of your hand to his lips. “It’s gonna be okay though, sweet girl.”

Pulling into your driveway, you let out a heavy breath before you got out and lead him inside. As you got dressed, you tried to practice what you’d say, rambling your thoughts aloud. He left you to your process, only stepping in for you to bounce thoughts off of or to keep you from getting lost in your concerns. You only paused once you made your way into the kitchen. Putting a pot of coffee on, you asked, “Chocolate chip pancakes okay for breakfast? They’re his favorite. I’ll probably make a little of everything else too; eggs, bacon, sausage, there’s fruit in the fridge.”

Eddie had to bite his tongue to keep the words ‘marry me’ from rolling off his lips. “Sounds incredible, baby. Anything I can do to help?”

“No, it’s okay.” Watching you methodically gather everything you needed from the fridge and cabinets, he figured he’d just get in your way if he tried to lend a hand. While you cooked, you mumbled through your prepared speech again, knowing it would never go so smoothly in actual conversation. Thinking about it more, you just hoped Lucas and Mike didn’t come back with him.

By the time he made it home, leaving his bike in the yard, you had made more than enough food and Eddie had already eaten his. Dustin was talking the second the door was open. “What’re you doing here, Eddie? Something going on with Hellfire?”

“Nice to see you too, Henderson.” He retorted, standing and flicking the bill of your brother’s hat into his eyes. “Your sister made you breakfast. I hear chocolate chip pancakes are your favorite.”

He eyed both of you suspiciously as he started toward the kitchen. "Yeah, what's it to you?" Eddie shared a confused look with you, but decided not to say anything. After he’d made his plate and sat down at the table to dig in, Dustin spoke again with a mouthful of food. “So, what’s with the special breakfast? Why’re you guys being weird?”

“We’re not being weird–”

“You’re alone at the house together,” He pointed out, still shoveling food into his face. “That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird– would you just listen? It’s not a big deal, I just wanted to run something by you, alright?” Eddie could tell you were fumbling, forgetting everything you’d planned to say. His hand itched to reach out for yours on the table, but he knew you wanted to get the words out first. “I’ve been–”

“Seeing Eddie?” Dustin interrupted. When the two of you shared a glance and you opened your mouth to question him, he continued. ��Mike and Lucas told me last night.”

“How did they–” Eddie began, but Dustin cut him off.

“Apparently, everybody knew but me! All the guys in the band knew! Steve, Nancy, and Robin knew! How could you leave me out of the loop like this? You know I hate not knowing things! I have to know everything!”

“Dusty, calm down,” You said softly. “I wanted to wait until I actually had something to tell you. He’s your friend, I didn’t want to change the way you look at him just to go on a couple dates and decide it wasn’t gonna work.”

Nose wrinkling, he asked, “So, what? You guys are like– boyfriend and girlfriend now or something?”

You snorted and Eddie couldn’t help the small, smug smile creeping across his face. “Yeah, are we boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Back of your hand hitting his stomach, you tried not to laugh as you answered. “Yeah, I guess we are.” Turning back to your brother, you added, “Only if you’re okay with it, though. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or feel like you can’t trust Eddie anymore.”

“It’s kinda weird, but I guess I don’t care as long as you don’t make out and all that gross shit in front of me. And you’d better treat her right or me, Mike, and Lucas are all leaving Hellfire,” He tagged on pointedly.

“You don’t have to worry about that, you have my word.” He looked like he was about to say more, but opted to stay quiet.

“Okay, well, I think I’ve lost my appetite for now.” Dustin stood from the table, “I’m gonna go back to Mike’s and tell them they were right.”

Rolling your eyes, you started to clean up. “Be safe, I love you.”

“Love you, too!” He shouted back just before he yanked the door shut.

As you started rinsing dishes in the sink, Eddie’s hands found your waist. “I think that went well.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t stay awkward for long,” You sighed lightly. “I guess Lucas and Mike did the hard part for us.”

“Guess so,” He drawled in agreement. “So, what now?”

“Now? Hmm…” Drying off your hands, you turned to loosely wrap your arms around his neck. “I guess now we do whatever we want, no more sneaking around.”

“I hope that’s not gonna suck the fun out of it for you.”

“‘Cause watching you Tetris yourself through my window is such a turn-on,” You scoffed.

He gave you a look of mock offendedness. “Good thing I won’t have to do it anymore, since you clearly don’t appreciate the athletic prowess it takes to climb through that window without waking your mom up.”

Halfheartedly rolling your eyes yet again, you let your fingers dip past the neck of his shirt, fingers grazing along the top of his spine. “How about you roll us a joint and then I’ll show you how much I appreciate your ‘athletic prowess’?”

“You drive a hard bargain, babe,” He sighed theatrically. “But you know it’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

“Obviously,” Lacing your fingers through his, you dragged him toward your room. “That’s why I offered.”

As the three boys gathered at Mike’s house again, he asked, “Wait, we were right?”

Lucas stood, pointing at him. “I TOLD YOU, MAN!”

Mike tried to argue, “I NEVER SAID–”

“I TOLD YOU!”

“GUYS, SHUT THE HELL UP!” Dustin interjected.

Lucas cleared his throat as the two of them settled back into their seats. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“So, you’re really okay with Eddie dating your sister? I mean, it’s not gonna make Hellfire awkward or anything, is it?” Mike questioned.

“I don’t know, it’s weird. It’ll definitely be nasty seeing them all lovey-dovey or whatever, but they’re still just Eddie and my sister. As long as they don’t act different, I won’t act different.” Turning on the TV, Dustin flopped onto the couch next to Mike. “Besides, I think part of me knew they’d hit it off– I’m like a natural matchmaker. They just have too much in common, ya know?”

part one | part two | tmic masterlist

tags: @adequate-superstar @akiratoro420 @bbciwp @trixyvixx @yujyujj @nope-thanks @broccolisoupy @spookybabey @comboboo @thecraziestcrayon @mommybaby-witch @imvirginia17 @therensistance @peacheskiwi @skyfullofsong123 @hcneyedsstuff @aysheashea @prestinalove @ungracefularchimedes @psychospore @bellaisasleep @untoldshortsofthefandoms @ficsaremylife @ohmeg @twirls827 @bellasfavoritesweatpants @sebastiansstanswhore @444aslut444 @ourautumn86 @dream-a-little-nightmare @extrainsanity @poniesandcupcakes @trln @cantreadbutcute @kennedy-brooke @navs-bhat @sluggzillaa @whatwedontdointheshadows @saayanaaa @depressedacidtest @unholyyylita @m-chmcl-rmnc @pullhisteeth @vivalasv3gan @a3trogirl @thesagewitchh @djoseph-quinn @darlingdixon

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#too much in common #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x henderson!reader smut #eddie munson x f!reader smut #eddie munson x f!reader #stoner!reader #18+ mdni

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lvrrgirlll · 3 months ago

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Tolerate It (series)

Synopsis: Life as Patrick Zweig’s controversially young girlfriend should have been a dream, but it was anything but. He was a broken man. You were a girl who knew all too well. Who’s to say whether you’ve got it wrong now…

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Paring: Patrick Zweig x read

Word count: 1.4k

Content warnings: smut, p in v, age gap relationship, bit of fluff, eventual angst (there are hints so far but nothing crazy)

Notes: This is my first ever fic and I really don’t know how to feel about it so idk, take that as you will and hopefully enjoy!! :) (also this is like half proofread so forgive typos lol, I am but a lowly college student who is extremely busy 24/7)

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Part 1: Getting to know you…

2029:

Cameras flashed uncontrollably as you sat at one end of a small, round table, Patrick seated at the other. His hands were folded across the table as he hunched over. Yours were in your lap. The two of you were…distant, though not too perceptibly so to outsiders.

“Mrs. Zweig! A comment please, how do you feel about your husband’s retirement after such a long career?”

2019:

You first met Patrick in a particular stage of his life he’s not quite proud of looking back.

Patrick has matched with you!

Patrick: “Hey babe, wanna get dinner drinks tn?”

Patrick had begun to ask you to dinner, before remembering he had no money, and couldn’t afford dinner, especially on a date, since he’d be expected to pay. He sighed after sending you the message, moving to swipe on other unsuspecting victims.

Seeing his message immediately, you considered your options. As a broke college student, lonely and with endless loans to pay back…it wouldn’t be so bad to have a drink with a hot pro tennis player right about now. Closing your laptop, deciding your English paper could wait, you picked up your phone to reply right away, not caring if you seemed eager.

Y/n: “Drinks tonight…sure, when and where?”

Patrick was surprised to see a reply at all, but especially so quickly.

Patrick: “Ritz hotel lobby at 8? I can send you the address”

Y/n: “Works for me. See you then.”

Looking back, the date should have raised several red flags from the start.

Firstly, the fact that a 32-year-old professional tennis player wanted to get drinks with a barely legal college student was a surprise in and of itself. That’s completely barring the fact that, being 18, you obviously couldn’t drink legally, not that Patrick or the hotel bartender seemed to care. The entire date, Patrick eyed you like a piece of meat, his hands caressing your knee and inching up your thigh as you spoke about your major and he feigned interest. And it should have especially raised alarm when he kissed you roughly and suddenly, murmuring that you both should go back to your apartment. He was lucky you had decided to skip out on dorm life.

“‘D’you do this with every guy you meet,” he asked as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his toned abs.

“No…” you breathed out, catching your breath after feverish kisses while he unbuckled his belt. “You’re different. Special.” He smirked then, a wicked, boyish grin, as if he was in on something you weren’t.

“Oh honey, you don’t even know yet…I’m not special. M’nothing…not worth your time anyways, I mean…” he let out an airy whistle “look at you.” He froze then, looking you up and down as you had stripped your cute but casual dress off. You only giggled in response.

“M’gonna ruin you…” he murmured under his breath, eyes darkening as he stalked closer. When he was finally stood right in front of you, you reached up onto your tip toes to kiss him passionately, your hands exploring his unclothed torso as he reached to your back to unclasp your bra. You let him, happily helping him out and then continuing your feverish kiss, reaching for the zipper of his pants. “Someone’s eager…” he half chuckled in between kisses.

“You’re one to talk,” you quipped back, smirking up at him briefly before he moved to trail kisses down your neck and to your chest. He pushed you onto the bed gently (to his surprise —he usually wasn’t gentle with hookups like this), mouth moving to your chest as he licked and sucked at your taught nipples. “Patrick…” you whined. He smiled at the way you said his name. You looked so pretty right now…beneath him, all weak just for him…

He stood up, finally relieving himself from the constraints of his clothes, leaving only his huge erection perked up in his boxers. You were intimidated…it’s not like you hadn’t had sex before, but you didn’t know if you could handle him. “P- Pat…,” you cooed timidly, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

“What is it,” he questioned back.

“‘Dunno if it’ll fit…” you mumbled, a little embarrassed but concerned nonetheless.

“Oh, don’t worry baby. It’ll fit. We just gotta take it slow at first…I’ll make it fit.”

And he kept his word. Pulling your panties to the side, he ran one finger, then two, through your slick folds. “Already so wet for me…” he whispered, looking up at you. He brought his fingers to his mouth, then, tasting you in an ever so erotic display. “You taste good…if only I could wait tonight.” He pulled his thick cock out, pumping it in his big hands a few times before leaning over you. “You ready? You can do it, just gotta start slow.” He offered a reassuring look through the clear arousal that was taking over him. You nodded in response, which led him to tilt your chin up, making sure you held his gaze. “Gotta use your words, sweet thing.”

“I’m ready, Patrick…more than ready. I want you bad.”

After that, he wasted no time, slipping the tip in, then leaning in little by little, till you were full to the brim. He bottomed out, holding himself stagnant inside of you for a moment so you could get used to him. It was hard for him to get used to you, though. The way you were squeezing him with your warm walls had him feeling like a teenager again, about to cum in seconds. He composed himself, though.

“Gonna start moving now…is that okay?” He asked, genuineness seeping through. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different with you…

“Mhm…I can take it,” you whimpered back at him, eyebrows knitting together at the stretch to take him. He started moving, slow at first, but then he picked up the pace. “Feels so good,” you gasped, gripping the bed sheets tightly in one of your hands as you moaned. Patrick moved rhythmically between your thighs, thrusting in and out of you at a now very quick pace.

“Shit…you’re so good for me baby. You take me so well…fuck— so good for me.” Patrick muttered breathlessly as he somehow managed to quicken his pace, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier as he hit that spongy spot inside of you. You didn’t know what it was about him, but after this, you couldn’t imagine yourself with any other man…

“P- Pat -fuck- I’m gonna…gonna cum.”

His eyelids fell heavily over his eyes as he looked down at you, jaw slack and breath heavy. “Me too baby. Come on, cum for me…you can do it doll.” You felt that tightness in your stomach finally snap as you moaned loudly, cumming around him, leaving a wet, creamy ring around his cock. He continued to pump in and out of you for a few moments, still chasing his high, before his hips started stuttering, and he came without another word. He felt like he could collapse on top of you, but he didn’t want to hurt such a pretty little thing. He caught himself, just barely, propped up on the headboard before falling down next to you on the bed. “Night babe…” he mumbled, eyes closed, pecking your shoulder quickly before drifting off to sleep. That tenderness alone was enough to send you reeling, but luckily sleep took over after such a hard come down. You could worry about your feelings in the morning.

That night had been the best sex of your life. Of course, Patrick got what he had wanted all along: a warm body and a warm bed. He spent the night aiming to leave in the morning without a trace, but as he got up, you awoke.

“Hm…huh? Patrick?” You stretched, reaching to rub the sleep from your eyes. “W- were you leaving?” Your voice was earnest and gentle, a tinge of concern filtering through. Patrick felt a pang of guilt, then. He couldn’t do this to you…not yet anyways. You had been so good to him. So obedient for him. He knew he’d regret it later, but against his better judgment, he reached down, moving your hair from your forehead and offering a gentle peck.

“Just gotta get going for my match baby…I’ll call ya later. We can do something else, okay? Hm? I’ll be back, don’t worry. ‘M not going anywhere…” he reassured.

You nodded silently, smiling up at him as if he had hung the moon and the stars. He knew then when he saw that look in your eyes that this would become a problem…but like most of his other problems, he never knew when to quit.

#challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig angst #patrick zweig fic #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #tolerate it #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengers angst #patrick zweig fluff #challengers fluff #challengers movie

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 23 hours ago

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Hawks x Y/N | A Friday Night Between Your Thighs 💋

I recently ran a poll asking "How're We Fuckin' Hawks Tonight?" And most of y'all voted for "He's eating you out," so here's a fic about it. Enjoyyyy <3 A18+ MDNI

Here's something important that absolutely needs to be known by all - getting eaten out by Hawks is always a fuckin' pleasure.

He gets home late Friday night after a long day, long week, long month. He's absolutely exhausted as he slumps through your apartment door and drops his jacket to the ground. He barely makes it over to the couch, falling face first into the plush navy cushions.

You coo and fuss over him, quickly pushing your laptop onto the coffee table and pulling his head into your lap. You card your fingers through his hair and within seconds his eyes droop closed. He's so, so tired, and laying on your lap feels like absolute heaven. He wishes he had more energy to spend hanging out with you or taking you out on his nights off - but right now all he can focus on is the gentle way your fingertips scratch against his scalp and down his sore neck.

You let him doze for a half hour - just enough to recharge but not too much to get him hooked into REM sleep. As he rests, you slowly extract yourself out from under him, laying his head on a soft pillow and covering him with a thick knit blanket. You take care to tuck him in, smoothing the crimson feathers of his wings down lightly as you go. He lets out the tiniest of groans in reply. His wings are sensitive, after all.

You move quietly to the kitchen to get some dinner going - a thick chicken noodle soup to drive the chill from his aching bones. When Keigo's head pokes up from the couch a half an hour later, you're already ladling a generous portion into his favorite bowl. His tired eyes crinkle at the corners as you stride towards him, two heavy soup bowls in hand.

"What did I do to deserve all this?" He asks with wonder as you lay down the bowls on the coffee table and pull out your TV dinner trays so the two of you won't spill on the upholstery. You hand him his bowl of soup and he smiles up at you adoringly. He's still wrapped up in the blanket - covered with it like a cloak over his head and shoulders. He looks like a character from the hobbit, sans bushy beard or fuzzy feet.

"I guess you just got lucky." You plant a kiss on his scratchy cheek before pulling your own bowl towards you. You grab the remote and flick on a comfort movie. There's no room for stressful plots tonight.

You both dig into your soup happily. Keigo asks for seconds, and then thirds. You even manage to scrounge up a sleeve of Ritz crackers that he absolutely demolishes. You love seeing him relaxed and happy - it's a rare sight. But here he is - beautiful and curled up on your couch with a full belly. It makes your heart sing.

He's already falling back asleep. That's no surprise - after a meal Keigo is always out like a light. You know it stems from his childhood trauma - he spent the beginning of his life hungry and afraid. Having a full stomach is such a comfort to him now, and makes him feel so safe and at ease. He always knocks out for a little right after dinner. You watch his eyelids get heavy and you note that he's still wearing his street clothes.

"Kei...let me go get something comfier for you to wear, hm?" You say sweetly, placing the dirty soup pot in the sink.

"Huh?" He blinks awake. "Oh, yeah, babe. That would be great." He smiles at you again and you feel so bubbly and warm. You drag your fingertips lightly across his wings as you pass the couch and he glimmers under your touch. You hurry back to your room and open up the drawer you've dedicated to Keigo's things. He's stashed a few outfits - jeans, t-shirts and the like - in the space alongside some sweats, extra boxers, deodorant and a tiny bottle of his favorite cologne.

You scoop out a plain black t-shirt and his favorite pair of well-loved grey sweatpants. A few months ago, the back pocket tore clean off. Keito had been pretty bummed about it - this was one of the first clothing items he had bought himself after getting to leave the confines of the Commission. He knew it was silly to hold on to a pair of sweatpants of all things...but he struggled to throw them out and let them go.

In a fit of creative inspiration, you were able to spend some time after work watching sewing tutorials on YouTube. After an hour of content, you had managed to clumsily sew the pants back together. You'd also added a tiny addition - a small heart shaped patch that would be featured prominently on his right ass cheek. When you had unveiling your handy work to your boyfriend, he had gone absolutely mad with excitement. He had kissed your face all over and giggled at the tiny patch addition. He loved that you'd managed to make his favorite pair of pants even more special, and of course he loved the excuse to model his tight hero ass around the apartment for you.

You bring out the fresh outfit and toss it to him on the couch. He immediately gets up, untangling himself from the blanket, and starts to strip.

"Keigo! Dude! The window shades aren't closed!" You shriek at his indecency. He tosses you a wicked grin over his shoulder as he pulls off his shirt, shimmying it up and over his wings. If there's one thing you'll never get tired of - it's seeing your boyfriend naked. His chest is toned and his abs are well defined. His waist tapers down into a tight "v" shape that makes your mouth water. He unzips his jeans and then bends over to pull his foot out of one leg, then the other. He straightens up and turns so you can take him in fully - he's standing in the center of the apartment in nothing but his fitted black boxers. The thin material stretches across his thick thighs in a absolutely delicious way that makes you blush. And, oh, his goddamn package...you can't even begin to find the words to describe how good his cock looks half hard and cradled in that expensive underwear of his.

"I could just stay like, babe. I don't need to put anything else on." He wiggles his eyebrows up at you suggestively. "Actually...I could lose the boxers, too, if that's what you'd want..."

"Kei..." You say breathlessly, looking him up and down. "I thought you'd want to go back to sleep."

He takes a step towards you, his deep golden eyes filled with a look of want. Suddenly he looks wide awake. Heat pools between your legs as his mouth pulls into a sly grin. He lets his gaze rake across your body, hovering across your breasts, your lips. He knows exactly what he's doing, the damn bird.

"How could I go to sleep when my amazing girlfriend needs to be taken care of?" He walks over to you, folding you into his warm embrace. His biceps flex impressively around you and once again you're in awe of how hot and fit your goddamn pro hero boyfriend is. He nuzzles his face into your neck and sits there for a moment, breathing in your familiar scent before placing a wet kiss on your flushed skin.

"My girl is so good to me...feeding me, making sure I'm cozy and well cared for." He starts to place a trail of hot kisses up your neck and behind your ear. When he reaches your hairline, he groans. "I want to return the favor before we go to bed. Gotta show you I can take care of you, too. Let me eat you out, baby?"

"Mmm, Kei." You can't help but moan at the offer. You shift your weight from foot to foot as arousal blooms in your panties.

"Yeah, baby?" He lets a hand drift lightly down your stomach and over your clothed pussy. He swirls his fingertips in a light figure eight motion around your clit - over and over until you let out a breathy moan. "You gonna let me take care of my pretty birdy?"

"Please."

It's all he needs to hear. A second later he's thrown you down on the couch and he's stripping you down. Your shirt, bra and jeans are instantly on the floor. He leaves your panties, throwing your legs haphazardly over his shoulders as he gets himself into a good position. You're already so turned on that there's a growing damp spot on the gusset of your white laced panties. Keigo breathes in sharply at the sight, biting his lip as he surveys your beautiful body. It's as if he's not quite sure where he wants to start.

"Keigo...I need you, baby." You moan out, bringing your hands up to cup his beautiful sharp face. He leans into the touch, eyes sliding shut for a moment as he just enjoys the way your fingertips feel against his jawline.

"I know, hun. I'm gonna make you feel so goddamn good with my tongue." He promises, reaching down to awkwardly push his boxers off and towards his thighs. His pretty thick cock spring free, kissing his toned stomach and leaving a messy smear of pre-cum on his abs. He takes his dick in one hand, stroking it slowly as he leans forward to kiss the soft plane of your stomach.

You inhale a sharp breath at the contact. His lips are hot and soft as they move across your belly, across your navel, and down towards the waistband of your panties. He takes his time, lavishing every inch of exposed skin he can find with his lips, tongue and teeth. He rolls the edges of his bite across the swell of your hips, and the sensation causes goosebumps to swell across your skin. When he runs his hot tongue flat under the waistband of your panties, you know you're done for.

He releases his cock from his grasp so that he can use both hands. It springs back into position, twitching lightly against his abs. You can't help but envision the snug fit of his cock deep in your cunt. It's one of your favorite feelings - the way he fits inside of you so well. The gentle lovemaking Keigo excels at that allows you to feel every glorious inch of his cock as he flexes and thrusts into you with steady rhythm.

"Time to take these off, I think." He says, hooking his thumbs under the lacy waistband of your panties and pulling swiftly down. The cool apartment air hits your pussy and you suck in a tiny breath at the change in temperature. "Don't worry, babe. I'll warm you up in a minute." He says knowingly, chuckling under his breath at your vague discomfort. He spreads your legs out a bit, staring down at your perfect pussy with an expression of awe.

"I'll never get tired of this view." He says, tracing a fingertip lightly around your folds. You bite your lip as you watch him play with you, zigzagging his fingers across your pussy without touching you in the spots that ache the most. He bends his head forward so he can start kissing up your leg, up your thigh, and into the crease between your leg and your pussy. You're dripping wet, now. Shit, you're so wet you'll need to clean off the couch later with carpet cleaner or something stupid like that.

"Keigo...Keigo please." You beg, staring up into his bright golden eyes with want. You're desperate for him - always have been, always will be.

He smiles down at you and the look is so open and genuine it makes you want to squeal. Keigo is such a damn romantic sometimes - when he fucks you, 90% of the time he wants to "make love." Rough sex is reserved for rare occasions - anniversaries, birthdays and needing to work through tension after hard missions. Keigo prefers to go slow and soft - he wants to make sure you feel his love in every thrust, every lick.

And so, when he finally brings his mouth down to your pussy to get to work, you're not surprised by the way that he takes his sweet time. He starts out at a glacial pace to let you acclimate to the overwhelming feeling of the flat of his tongue against your clit. He knows you're sensitive and get overwhelmed easily, so he likes to ease you into it as best he can. You're already overstimulated and don't think you can last too long - not when he's working at you so meticulously.

Keigo's tongue slowly swirls around your clit, trying to find the perfect rhythm to bring you to the brink of pleasure. You moan pathetically as he tries out a few different shapes - tracing the tip of his tongue back and forth across your clit and folds. After a few minutes, you relax into it, your butt sinking into the couch as he presses your legs further up over his shoulders.

He pulls his face away from your core and you moan at the loss of contact. He looks down at you with an intense expression, eyes smoky and filled with desire. For a moment, a thin string of saliva connects his face to your pussy, and you can't help but think it's the hottest goddamn thing you've ever seen.

"I'm gonna spell my name. Remind you who you belong to." He says in a low, husky voice. You stomach flips at that. He's never done anything like this before, and you wonder where he's taking inspiration from. He dives back in, and after a moment you start to decipher the "K" he's tracing over and over with his tongue across your pussy.

"Fuck!" You cry out when he licks an "E" and than an "I" across your poor, throbbing pussy. The "G" is no big deal, but the way he traces the "O" over and over and over across your clit has you bucking your hips into his face.

"Oh, you liked that last part?" He teases, repositioning himself a bit for better access. He leans back down and continues to trace the same delightful pattern across your clit until your legs start to shake.

"Kei...I'm so close." You say, trying desperately to get your limbs under control as they shake with pleasure. He doesn't stop what he's doing - he just keeps methodically swirling his tongue around you as the pressure inside builds.

He brings a hand down to grasp at the meat of your ass. He takes a cheek in hand and squeezes lightly, making you cry out again before slowly sliding a fingertip between your cheeks. He starts to circle your hole with a soft, wet fingertip as he eats you out. He's played a bit with your ass before - all just gentle touches and caresses up to this point. But now...now he's pushing and sliding and putting pressure on the spot in just the right way.

You feel your orgasm swelling inside of you, Keigo's fingers and mouth working in tandem to draw as much pleasure out of you as humanly possible. Your legs shake more than you thought was humanly possible, and Keigo's cock can be seen clearly twitching in response.

When you cum, you cry out his name (every form of it you know!). Keigo, Hawks, baby, wings, my love. You repeat each of these names with enthusiasm, worshiping the man who's head is between your thighs and taking no prisoners. The orgasm hits you hard and fast, ringing up from your quivering clit and deep into your core. You feel the release all over - in the twitch of your legs, the curl of your toes, in the way your eyes roll back.

"Keigo, babe, I love you." The orgasm rolls through you, making every square inch of you feel alive - you're practically pulsing with heat. Keigo licks you through it, keeping his face planted firmly in one spot as you rhythmically shift your hips to ride his tongue. You can't imagine a feeling better than cumming on Keigo Takami's pretty boy face. You groan out as you come down from your high. Keigo doesn't stop until you tell him to.

When you finally ask him to stop, it's because your clit is getting overly sensitive and needs a break. He nods and pulls his face away from you, grinning like an idiot. His cheeks and chin are damp with your slick, but he looks absolutely thrilled.

"Was that good, babe? Did you enjoy it?" He asks eagerly, shifting forward so he can join you down on the couch and wrap you in his arms.

"Kei, that was..." You don't have the words to describe the magic Keigo's just worked on your pussy. It was Transcendent. Magnificent. Life altering. All good terms and phrases to describe the way that you just ascended on the Number Two Hero's tongue. He nuzzles his face into your neck once more and pulls you close.

"Anytime you need, babe. I'll eat you out whenever. No questions asked."

"That's a big promise, Kei." You say, lifting a hand to his golden locks so you can scratch his scalp the way that he likes. "I might take advantage."

"Oh please." He practically begs, squeezing you lightly between his strong biceps. "I'd eat you out all day if I could. In bed when you wake up, in my office between patrols, in the bathroom at the bar when we're out with friends...babe, I wanna worship that pussy every second I can."

"You're crazy." You laugh, smushing a kiss onto his still damp cheek.

"Crazy for you." He sighs out, happy to feel your skin against his. The two of you are laying completely naked on the couch but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. He's still hard against you but doesn't put up a fuss about it.

"Want me to take care of that?" You ask letting your fingers skim across his half-hard cock. He shivers at the contact, his dick instantly pricking up at the feeling.

"Yes, please."

You smirk and bring your palm up to your mouth for him to see. You lock eyes with him - his golden irises shimmering as he watches you lick the palm of your hand up and down. You then lower the hand between the two of you and wrap it around his dick. His sharp intake of breath at the contact is music to your ears - you're going to absolutely tare him apart like this, you just know it.

"Does my babe like getting jerked off?" You ask softly, pumping slowly at his cock with your slick hand. He whimpers in reply. "Use your words, Keigo."

"Y-yes, Y/N. I fucking love it." He manages to get out between trembling lips. He slowly flexes his hips so he can thrust into your hand, but you cease your ministrations.

"No, Keigo. I call the shots with this." You say firmly, and his hips slow to a stop. Only when he's stopped moving do you resume jerking him off. After a minute, your hand starts to feel dry. You release his cock (much to his protesting) and bring it up to your mouth again. This time, you spit cleanly into the center of your palm. His eyes widen as he watches you spit twice more into your hand before bringing it back down to pleasure him. The saliva is exactly the lubrication needed, and he sighs gratefully as your small hand glides up and down his length.

"You know what this feels like?" You ask him, looking down at his hard cock admiringly.

"What?" He asks, breathless. He's unable to take his eyes away from your lovely face as you push and pull him through his pleasure.

"Feels like...Pro Hero material." You say, picking up your pace and spending a bit of extra time focusing around his tip. He cries out in appreciation - Keigo loves dirty talk. And praise. And essentially whatever you're willing to offer him in a sexy context like this.

It only takes another few good pumps to push him over the edge. You feel his whole body shiver in anticipation of his orgasm - his balls tighten, his cock is pulses. A moment later, he's splattering hot ropes of cum across your bare stomach. He's groaning out your name and giggling into the side of your neck as he spills his seed all over your soft skin.

"Fuck. You're perfect. So perfect, babe." He moans out as he finishes. He bats your hand away as his cock softens and everything gets a little too sensitive.

You lay there for a minute, wrapped up in each other on the couch as Keigo catches his breath.

"I wish you could come into work and do that for me between meetings." He sighs out, content. "That's exactly the kind of reset I need on tough days like this."

"Well your office door has a lock on it, right?" You grin - you love teasing this silly bird. "I don't see any reason why we can't just take a 'work break' together at your desk. And if I accidentally end up on my knees sucking and fucking you behind closed doors? That can't be the worst thing to happen at a Pro Hero agency." You say innocently, batting your eyes at him.

"Fuck. Stop being so hot Y/N. Now I've got an offfice kink or something." He chuckles, planting a wet kiss on your shoulder.

"Well, I'll break the illusion and be not-hot for a moment. I need to pee like a motherfucker." You try to say with a straight face, smirking as you curse.

"The mouth on you!" Keigo says, pretending to sound scandalized. But he releases you from his embrace, allowing your to scrabble to your feet and make your way to the tiny bathroom at the other end of the apartment.

You hurry off to pee and to grab a wet washcloth for yourself. You hastily wipe down your stomach - careful to smooth off all of the cum. After the quick wipe-down, you grab a fresh towel for Keigo and bustle back out into the living room. You toss him the towel and he uses a soft red feather to catch it mid-air. He cleans himself off and finally puts on the comfy outfit you had brought him earlier. The grey sweatpants hang comfortably off of his slim frame, the tiny red heart patch accentuating his juicy booty (or so you think, anyway).

"I think..." You say, surveying him with your hands on your hips. You're still completely naked, and the blinds are still completely open. But, fuck it. At this point if anyone has been watching you both through the window, they've already had a full fucking show. "I think that it's time for bed."

"I couldn't agree more, birdy." Keigo gets to his feet and plants a kiss on your forehead. "I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick and wash myself off, though. It was a long day at the agency and I think I could use a good scrub before I get in between those clean sheets of yours."

"Oh, good point. I appreciate that." You say, happy that you won't need to wash stickiness out of your sheets in the morning. You pad after him back into the bathroom where he flicks your shower to the perfect temperature with practiced skill. The room fills with steam and everything feels blissful. Your body feels loose and warm from your orgasm, and a long stream of hot water from your massage shower head sounds like heaven.

"Care to join me?" He throws you one of those devilish, flirty looks and you melt under his golden gaze. He throws all his clothes to the ground and steps into the shower, reaching out a hand to help you in behind him. He's so goddamn beautiful it makes you want to sing - you'll never tire of seeing Keigo naked. His toned body and honey gold skin shimmer in the low light of the bathroom.

You grin up at him, unable to picture a more perfect Friday night spent with your Pro Hero boyfriend. Soup, sex, shower, sleep. Honestly, what more could a girl want?

You step up behind him and into the hot, steamy shower.

"Always."

End.

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

This one was inspired by a poll I ran recently...

Y'all voted for "He's Eating You Out" so obviously I had to make that happen!

Hope you enjoyed this smutty little fun about our boy Hawks!

Want more fun, smutty fics? Feel free to check out my 🔥Master List🔥 - there's plenty of more where this came from!

Stay safe and be good to each other <3

XOXO,

RedRiotUnbreakableHeart ❤️

131 notes · View notes

adore-laur · 1 year ago

Text

RENDEZVOUS

— a steamy flashback from the dadrry universe about harry as your fiancé 💍

——

After another shot of vodka went down the hatch, you still didn't qualify yourself as drunk. Tipsy was the more accurate feeling since every shot you had taken in the last ten minutes hadn't quite affected your bloodstream yet. The fifth one was being poured already. Or maybe the sixth. It didn't really matter since letting loose was what bachelorette parties were made for.

The event was being held in a small theater in downtown San Francisco, occupied by you and your friends, to celebrate the last few weeks before you officially became a married woman. A drag show was the extravaganza for the evening, and it was currently the intermission, so everyone was out of their seats drinking and catching up with each other.

You and Harry had needed a getaway amid the final phase of wedding planning. The both of you were staying at the Ritz-Carlton for the weekend, and it was nice to take a breather from the stress of the big day coming up. In the weeks leading up to the mini vacation, you had decided it would be perfect to have your bachelorette party in the scenic city. Most of your friends lived in surrounding areas, so you sent the invites out and hoped everything worked out. It clearly did because everyone was buzzed and having the time of their lives.

Your throat hurt from loudly cheering on the drag queens who had just performed. The tiara on your head with a tiny veil attached was slipping off, and the bride-to-be sash across your body was getting wrinkled, but you couldn't care less. Happiness and love exuded from your friends who had come to carouse with you.

Harry had proposed a little over a year ago after he cooked a fancy New Year's Eve dinner and led you to the backyard at midnight to get down on one knee, popping the question with shaky hands and watery eyes. You were incredibly thankful it hadn't been a grand display in public. It had been just you and him at home under the string lights, with butterflies breaking loose in your stomach.

In planning the wedding, you had vowed to him that you wouldn't be a bridezilla. You'd allow him to have equal insight and let him completely take the reins regarding the food that will be served since it's his forte. Overall, the process hadn't been too draining. You worked well as a team, and he was always open to suggestions and last-minute changes of plans. The final touches would be put together once you came home from the trip. Then, it would finally be time to marry him.

"Did you leave Harry alone in the hotel room?" asked your friend, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Yeah, but I'm sure he'll find something to do," you said. "He can never sit still for too long."

She carefully fixed your tiara. "When's his bachelor party?"

"Next weekend. He's having it at the restaurant he works at."

"Not at the strip club?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

You laughed. "He's mature enough to understand that I find it suspicious when guys go there for their bachelor party. Some call it their last night of freedom. How weird is that?"

You had nothing against strippers, but you thought it was reasonable that you'd rather have Harry spend his night somewhere else to celebrate his, you know, commitment to you.

"You're marrying such a gentleman. It makes me jealous," she said with a playful nudge. She wasn't wrong, so you just shrugged smugly and sipped your fruity cocktail.

Gasps and excited clapping suddenly stole your attention. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at the stage, watching the red velvet curtains draw back once again. Shuffling to your table, you smoothed down the back of your dress and sat.

The lights dimmed as people who worked at the venue began rolling a black piano onto the stage. You wondered what it would be used for since the drag queens earlier had strictly danced and lip-synced to music booming from the speakers. Other instruments were also being brought out—guitars, drums, and even a saxophone.

Growing more confused by the second, you turned around and stared at your friends around the room to see if they knew what was happening. All you received were mischievous smiles.

Before you could ask questions, you were abruptly pulled out of your seat and led to the front of the stage as people situated themselves by their respective instruments. You leaned into your friend and asked, "What's going on? This doesn't look like a drag show is about to happen."

She smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Let's find out."

You didn't reply because the band started playing jazzy music as the stage lights turned on, revealing quite a modern setup for what you knew was definitely not a drag performance. A spotlight shone, and it began to move toward the left wings, where a silhouette of someone was waiting.

"Please give a warm welcome to Harry Styles!" introduced the saxophonist.

You just about choked on your Mai Tai.

Your vision finally focused on Harry as he strutted out wearing yellow trousers and a button-up under a suit jacket. A tiny microphone was clipped to his collar, and you couldn't even begin to guess what he had planned tonight. He gave you no inclination that he'd be here. No subtle hints had been dropped in conversations with him, and no sneaky clues had been given by your friends. It was actually shocking, considering he was usually awful at keeping secrets.

Everyone cheered for him; whistles and encouraging hollers were thrown his way as he held his arms out and walked toward center stage. You were too taken aback to join in as you watched him cut the band off with a gesture before facing the room with his hands behind his back.

Was his hair parted down the middle?

"Thank you, thank you," Harry said with a bow, his deep voice echoing throughout the theater. "It is so great to be here hosting a bachelorette party for the first time."

Wow. He had jokes up his sleeve, apparently. Was he about to do a stand-up routine?

The applause and praise continued as you shook your head in disbelief, letting a huge smile take over your face at the unexpected surprise.

"This is new territory for me," he said. I'm very excited to step back from my chef duties and do some comedy tonight."

There was no way he was going to do a comedy bit. You couldn't believe he crashed your party with a fancy suit and a routine ready to go. He was talking to your friend group in the audience like he was giving a Saturday Night Live monologue. You were going to lose it if he started playing the piano.

"You see, my fiancée and I go way back. We met about three years ago at a bar." He finally looked at you. "I ordered a lemon drop martini, and she ordered a strawberry margarita."

A stagehand brought out a clear martini and set it on the piano, and another one came down the stairs and placed a pink-colored margarita on your table. Your face heated at the simple yet thoughtful act.

"We talked for hours until I drunkenly asked her on a date. You know what she told me?" A plethora of whats were screamed from the crowd. "She said, 'Ask me again when you're sober!'"

Everyone laughed, and you hid your face in your hands. That wasn't even a joke; you had genuinely said that to him. You were blown away that he remembered such a tiny detail.

"Ultimately, I'm a very serious partner," Harry continued as he began sauntering toward the piano, "and nothing says serious partner like learning how to play the piano to impress my fiancée."

Taking a sip of your margarita, you glanced behind you. Some of your friends were recording him with their phones, and you were glad this could be something you could watch repeatedly.

Harry sat on the bench and exhaled. "Ooh, that feels good."

You had to wave one of the fans the drag queens gave out to cool down. He looked unfairly handsome, he was playing the goddamn piano, and he kept giving you secret looks that made you sweat.

"Now... I don't know if you've heard, but I'm not a boyfriend anymore." He stared straight at you. "I'm a fiancé now." Whistles from your friends caused him to proudly smile. "I'm also going to be dad," he casually blurted. "We're going to have a baby."

The entire room gasped, and you gaped at him with wide eyes. "We're not," Harry added after a short pause. "Wouldn't it be crazy if we were, though?" Your friends were now shaking you and battering you with questions. Harry smiled before his face dropped comically. "We're not."

He teasingly raised eyebrows and smirked at you as if to signify that you were actually pregnant, although you were drinking alcohol. Hopefully, everyone knew that you'd never be that stupid.

The girls were gawking at you, but Harry rolled his lips in and shook his head to remove the confusion. He continued playing the piano, and your cheeks hurt from laughing so much. He was doing such a great job, and you were genuinely trying to figure out how he had pulled all of this off.

"I love my fiancée; she's my best friend," he said smoothly. "She's hilarious, honest, caring, fuckin' beautiful"—he trailed off and furrowed his eyebrows—"and, uh... good in bed." You rolled your eyes as he puckered his lips at you, more cheers filling the room.

"Yeah, that's right." He blew out a relieved breath. "I'm so grateful she doesn't live with her mother anymore."

"Oh my God, Harry!" you yelled with a surprised laugh.

It was a more private joke that no one understood fully, but it was funny nonetheless. You had used to live with your mother when you started dating Harry, and you always had to be quiet when he'd come over because, in his early twenties, testosterone needed to be having sex with you at the most inconvenient of times.

He winked at you before resuming. "However, for me, it's not about how my fiancée is in bed, even though I'd consider myself very lucky in that department. It's about her soul and her heart. And in all seriousness," he added as the laughter died, "I truly believe her soul is my love language."

Coos and squeals echoed at his statement, and you shyly smiled. You were the one who had taught him about all the different love languages; he had told you once that he thought your entire soul was what his was.

"Maybe some of you aren't convinced I'm a serious partner. You may be asking yourself: Did he really take secret piano lessons to do this? Well, if in doubt, just ask the maid of honor."

Your head whipped toward your maid of honor, sitting at a table behind you. She waved with a proud smile, and you gasped when you realized he must've done piano lessons with her since you knew she had played the instrument for several years.

Harry hummed loudly while closing his eyes, bringing your attention back to him. "I love being here in San Francisco. So much history."

The band behind him cheered as Harry dramatically sipped his martini. You'd never seen him so in his element with something besides his job. The confidence in the delivery of his jokes, the comedic timing, the professional stage setup—it was something you'd never forget.

"I've learned so much this week. Here's a few secrets about the hotel we're staying at," he said gaily. "Did you know they gave us the haunted room because of how pale I am?" He shook his head with a boyish smile. "That is funny."

You chuckled at the awful joke because he was actually paler than usual. It was the end of January, and he hadn't gone outside much since it'd been cold and gloomy by the coast where both of you lived.

"The bed in there is so creaky that it sounded like that one night in Mexico!"

Shocked gasps and bursts of laughter rippled throughout your friends in the audience. It was a harmless joke about how you had all gone on a couples trip a while ago, and your friends had heard you and Harry getting down with it in the hotel room. It had been terribly embarrassing.

Harry laughed. "Everybody thinks we're a couple that has a lot of sex. We don't; that's why she sleeps in a different bed than me at home."

Okay, now that wasn't true.

"Except tonight!" he shouted cheekily while pointing at you. "I mean, I think I'm just about ready to take her home with how she looks right now."

The girls at your table nudged you, and you began to get flustered. He was giving you that look again.

Harry cleared his throat and stopped playing the piano. "All jokes aside, thank you so much to everyone for celebrating with her tonight. You've all been wonderful friends over the years, and I can't wait to see you all at the wedding. It'll be terrifying, but I'm so ready. Also, thank you for bearing with my terrible jokes. Have a good rest of the night!"

You applauded along with your friends, some of them throwing leftover confetti from the drag performance earlier toward him. He brought his hands together and bowed politely as the band played a closing song.

Harry's cheeks were as pink as your strawberry margarita when he walked down the stairs with one hand behind his back and the other adjusting his suit jacket. He locked eyes with you and pursed his lips, trying to hold back a smile. Everyone stood from their seats to greet him, and the band came down holding bouquets of white iris flowers, passing them out to each of your friends.

You met Harry halfway and instantly wrapped your arms around his waist as he tilted your head up for a messy kiss on the lips. He coaxed and smacked kiss after kiss out of you until your friends started making fake gagging noises from behind. He eventually pulled away and removed his hand behind his back to hold out a bountiful bouquet of red roses that matched the color of your dress.

"For my lovely fiancée." He gave you the bouquet and then turned your head so his mouth was by your ear. "I've got a taxi picking you up after this is done."

You nodded and ran your fingers across his stomach. "Sounds perfect. That was so incredible, Harry. And the piano? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't too much?" he asked, shyly rubbing a knuckle under his eyebrow. "I didn't know if you'd appreciate me crashing your girls night."

"Are you kidding? That was the best thing I've ever seen. I'm so proud of you."

Harry blushed, and you lovingly pinched his cheek. "Thanks. I was nervous because your friends always make fun of my jokes. I thought they wouldn't laugh."

"We were cracking up. You did so good," you complimented. "How did you keep it a secret from me? I had no idea."

"I'll never tell," he said with a cute shrug.

You lightly slapped his chest. "I'll get it out of you one day. Are you staying for the rest of the show?"

"It's your night, baby. Go enjoy it with your friends," he said. "I'll be waiting in the hotel room. You should stop by for a little rendezvous."

Your tipsy mind missed his attempt at a joke entirely. "We're staying in the same room, though."

"Bloody hell," he said with a laugh. "How much alcohol have you had?"

"Excuse me, not even a lot. Mind your business. I'm having a great time."

"I'm glad you're having fun. That makes me happy." Harry adjusted your tiara and then softly pecked the corner of your mouth three times. "I'll see you back in the room, okay?"

"For our rendezvous?"

"Our top secret rendezvous," he murmured against your temple. "Don't go around telling anyone, all right?"

"Sure thing," you replied while squeezing his sides. "You can go now."

An offended scoff escaped him, and he cradled the back of your head and leaned in. "Watch your mouth. I expect you to behave when you get back."

You puckered your lips and hummed contemplatively. "But it's my special day; you said so yourself. I can say whatever I—"

Harry cut you off by pressing his lips to your bottom one, biting it with his teeth before pulling back. "I love you so much, but that attitude isn't going to fly with me tonight."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, dad."

"I'm leaving before this gets weird," he said with a smile. "Be safe, have fun, and call me if you need anything."

"Now you literally sound like a dad."

"Shush," he said. "I love you. I'll see you soon."

You pecked his lips one last time, tasting the sour lemon residue from his martini. "Love you."

"Have fun, ladies," he called out to your friends. "Take care of her, yeah?"

They all nodded, and Harry hugged you before heading to the stage to shake hands with the band. Soon after he was gone, the lights in the theater dimmed again, and the curtains opened for the final portion of the show. You headed back to your seat, feeling exceptionally giddy.

The rest of the party went by in a flash. Wigs, pop songs, and glitter invaded your brain, and now you were ready to return to the hotel. The tone he'd used earlier had made a shiver run down your spine. Low, insinuative, and almost impatient.

It was a tone that suggested you were in for a treat when you got back.

——

The key card swiftly slid into the slot. Two chirp-like beeps sounded, indicating that it was unlocked. Opening the heavy door, you stumbled inside the hotel room in the black heels you had already started to unclasp in the back of the taxi. There was confetti stuck to the bottom of them, and it nearly made you slip on the hardwood floors. That, and there was also a trail of rose petals and tea light candles weaving throughout the presidential suite that you didn't remember seeing when you had left earlier.

You giggled to yourself as you followed the trail to the bedroom. Oh, Harry. You had almost forgotten he was here.

When you walked through the doorway, the king-size bed came into view. So did your fiancé. Harry was sitting pretty on the silk sheets with a flute of champagne in his left hand as he looked out the window at the San Francisco skyline. He was wearing the same outfit from his surprise act not too long ago, but his hair had become messier, and his eyes were glassy from the bubbly liquid you noticed was already half gone from the bottle on the nightstand.

You crawled toward him on the bed, setting your bouquet down. "Hi. I'm back."

His gaze was focused on you. He granted no response as his lips took a sip of the pale and fizzy drink he held so delicately, the gold engagement band on his ring finger gleaming from the moonlight illuminating the room. A low groan escaped his mouth when you straddled his thighs and applied pressure to his already hard cock. He wasn't saying anything, but you knew exactly what would get him to speak.

"What's got you so hard, baby?" you asked softly, tutting. "Were you thinking about me?"

His lips twitched as he finished the champagne and set it on the ground beside the bed. "Like you don't fuckin' know. Look at yourself, darling. It's honestly a shock that I wasn't on my knees for you at the theater."

Your hands rubbed up and down his thighs. "I had a feeling you'd like this little number."

It had been a struggle to get through the door to leave since his touch had been all over you the second you put on the red satin slip dress.

"What about me? Do you like my outfit?"

Such a narcissist, you thought to yourself. You ground against him, and he let out a breathy moan. "I do. Apparently, no boxers are part of the get-up."

Harry closed his eyes and smirked. "I might have no boxers on, but there's something else you might find. I went and did some quick shopping while you were gone."

Your slowed thoughts tried to catch up to what he could have been hinting at. "Shopping, huh? What did you buy?"

His large hands kneaded your ass. "Take a look."

He leaned forward and guided your hand to the button of his trousers. You quickly flicked it undone as he removed his suit jacket and began undoing the button-up. His body lifted on the bed so you could slide the garment off easier, and he hissed when it brushed past his cock.

Slowly but surely, his legs underneath were revealed, and your face heated to a thousand degrees. Fishnet tights. His leg hair and tiger tattoo peeked out from under the crosshatch material stretched tight against his skin. The redness of his cock looked painful from its restraint under them.

"I might've bought a little something too," you admitted as you scratched his skin through the thin fabric.

"Yeah?" He jerked his hips when your fingers grazed the head of his cock. "Show me, then. Go on."

You sat on your knees and lifted your dress to reveal the baby pink garter around your upper thigh. "It's your favorite color."

Harry licked his lips as his fingers delicately rubbed the lace. "I see that, sweetheart. Anyone particular on your mind when you bought it?"

"Was there anyone on your mind"—you snapped the waistband of his fishnets—"when you bought these?"

He bit his lip. "You're the only one I think of. The only one I would wear these for. I would crawl on my knees to you wearing them if that's what you wanted."

"Is that so? Quite the visual."

"I'll do it if you want me to." He paused, a smile slowly creeping across his face. "We can practice the garter toss for our wedding."

You made a noise of protest. "We are absolutely not doing that in front of our families. It'll be so humiliating."

"Don't have to, because we can do it right now," he suggested. A nip was given to your neck before he climbed off the bed and grabbed a chair.

Your eyebrows arched. "What are you doing?"

"We're doing this the traditional way," he explained with a nonchalant shrug. "I have to go under your dress and take it off."

"Will you be nice, or will you tease me?"

"Which do you prefer?"

You swung your legs over the bed and sat in the chair. "I prefer the way that gets you inside me as soon as possible."

"Well, I'll let you know once I'm between your thighs," he said, kneeling on the carpeted floor and waving his hands for you to spread open for him.

"No tickling, or I'm staying in another room," you warned as you slid off your heels and parted your legs.

Harry started crawling toward you with his tousled hair and day-old stubble, only wearing his fishnets and unbuttoned dress shirt. He never broke eye contact with you until he reached where you were sitting.

Your satin dress was then lifted over his head. You could instantly feel his hot breath against your legs, his lips grazing every patch of skin he could find. He left an open-mouthed kiss over your underwear that was already damp, and you moaned when his facial hair rubbed against your inner thigh.

You suddenly felt his teeth grab the garter as he pulled it down to your ankle. He took it off the rest of the way with his hand, bringing it over your shoe and moving out from under your dress. He stuck it between his teeth again and removed his button-up. Green eyes stared at you, and you clenched your legs under his intense stare. His tattooed torso was on full display. He was so, so beautiful.

Harry grabbed the garter and slid it on his bicep before saying, "Stand up."

You got up and switched spots with him, standing in front of him while he sat in the chair. He crossed his legs, his thighs thickening even more under the fishnets. You walked over and parted them so you could straddle him. The chair was thankfully wide enough to fit both of your knees on either side of him. You could almost feel his cock throb as you started desperately grinding against him to offer relief.

"Baby, slow down. Shit, slow down," he said quickly, his hands gripping your waist. "I need to last. You'll make me come right now if you keep doing that."

Slowing down, you took your time with each grind on his thigh. The pressure of the muscle felt like heaven as your core clenched around nothing. "Is that better?" you asked, raising your dress to see how his body reacted underneath you.

"Yes," he choked out, his neck straining. "I need to be inside you so bad."

"How bad?"

"So bad. I'm fuckin' throbbing for you. Please get on the bed."

You squeezed one of his balls through the fishnets, his hips bucking. "Where does it ache? Tell me how to make it better."

"Get on the bed," he gritted. "I'm not going to ask again."

There was the dominance you wanted. You nipped his earlobe and crawled off his legs. He immediately stood, hissing as he palmed himself through his tights. You helped him take them off.

"Top or bottom?" he asked while closing the curtains. "My fiancée's choice."

"Neither. I want it from behind."

"Say less." He turned around, gripping his cock and squeezing it once. "On the bed. Now."

You quickly slipped your dress and underwear off and knelt on the bed, facing the headboard. Harry got in position behind you, his cock resting on your lower back. He moved your hair to one side and whispered, "On all fours."

You placed your forearms on the bed and arched your back so he had a good angle. "Open your mouth," he commanded. You tilted your head up and to the side as he leaned in to spit in your awaiting mouth. His saliva pooled on your tongue, and you swallowed it down willingly. "Good girl."

Harry then reached his arm out to hold onto the headboard. The engagement ring on his finger caught your eye, as did his veiny hand that tightly gripped the burgundy wood.

The first thrust was divine. Searing pressure filled your walls, and Harry whimpered into your neck at your instant clench around his cock. He continued deeply thrusting into you as he took the garter off his arm and put it around your wrists so that they were restrained in front of you. Your hips burned. Harry's other hand squeezed your breast.

"Go faster," you said as his hand trailed down to your stomach, his long middle finger lightly grazing your clit.

He pounded harder, his skin slapping as the headboard creaked from the force. He was hitting all the deep spots, his pelvis meeting your ass each time. Your hands gripped the sheets when he glided his fingers up and down your dripping core. His head was nestled in your neck, muffled groans and pants leaving him when you pushed up your hips with each new thrust.

He removed his fingers that were coated with your arousal and spread his palm on your lower stomach. "Can you feel me there?"

You nodded fervently, crying out when a deep trust had you literally feeling him in your stomach. "Holy shit, Harry. I feel you. Please don't stop."

He pressed down and rubbed your stomach, the knot from your orgasm growing and bubbling up quickly. In one swift movement, he brought you to a sitting position as his cock continued stretching your wet walls. His thighs were touching yours, and you could feel them tense and tremble as you got closer, clenching hard around him.

"I'm going to get your name tattooed on my thigh right here," he said, taking the garter off your wrists and moving one of your hands to touch his right thigh.

You were too submerged in ecstasy to reply to his random confession. A couple more thrusts had you blindly reaching back to grab his hand so you could come. He held it tightly as you unraveled, arching against him from the pleasure leaving you.

"That's my girl," he said in your ear. "My love, my love, my love. So gorgeous, coming for me like this."

Your ears were ringing, and Harry eventually spilled inside you while you still clenched from your remaining orgasm. You felt his warm release shoot inside you, his hand still holding yours and his body falling on top of you as he groaned hotly against your cheek. Heavy breathing was coming from both of you. Harry finished coming but kept his cock inside you, with throbs and twitches happening every so often.

"If we weren't engaged already," he started, "I'd propose to you right now because that was the best I've ever felt. Wow. My body feels all tingly."

You groaned, his dead weight on top of you making it hard to breathe. "Get off me. You're sweaty."

Harry rolled over and stared at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach. The dim light illuminating the room and the perspiration glistening on his skin accentuated the carved outline of his abs, and you couldn't help but trace them with your fingertips.

"Shower?" he asked.

"Please."

He got up and carried you toward the bathroom. Everything in there was white marble, and the brightness hurt your eyes. The shower was small but comfortable enough to fit both of you. You already took one in the morning, but it would feel nice after a long, eventful night. It would also help you sober up as much as possible so you don't suffer through a terrible hangover tomorrow.

After laying down a towel and setting you atop the sink, Harry turned on the shower. He took off both of your engagement rings and then stood in front of the mirror. He inspected his stubble while he waited for the water to heat up.

"Should I shave?"

"Why?" you asked with a sharp tone that had him immediately raising his hands in surrender.

"All right," he mumbled with a teasing smile. "Blimey, woman. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What are you even saying?" you asked languidly. "I hate it when you speak old-timey British to me."

"Are you cheesed off at me now?"

"You're literally speaking gibberish." You hopped off the counter. "I'm getting in the shower. Goodbye."

Harry followed you and dove under the hot water, trapping you in a hug from behind. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" The soft skin of his stomach against your back had you melting into him.

"I don't want you to divorce me before we get married," he explained, kissing your jaw. "I'm just playing it safe."

"Harry, you're the only person who can annoy me and make me endeared at the same time."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Yes," you replied, picking up the shampoo bottle you brought and handing it to him. "It makes me want to marry you right now."

He spurted a dollop of shampoo into his palm and began massaging it into your scalp with gentle and soothing motions. "I can't wait to marry you, either. Gonna treat you like a gentleman."

You lulled your head back, resting it on his collarbone. "You already do."

"I'll do it even more when I'm your husband, though. Make dinner for you every night and take you out on the town." He gravitated one hand toward your stomach. "Give you so many babies."

"Not so fast," you interjected with a dreamlike smile. "No babies anytime soon."

Harry filled the shower cup with water and poured it over your sudsy hair. "I hear you. Just know that I'm ready whenever you are."

"Let's get married first. I want you all to myself for a while."

"You always have me. That'll never change."

You turned him around so you could wash his hair next, opting for the same shampoo since he liked to steal it for himself anyway. After a prolonged yet comfortable silence, you asked, "Were you serious about tattooing my name on your thigh?"

"I'm dead serious," he replied. "I might even do it at my bachelor party. I work with a guy who's coming, and he does tattoos in his free time."

"But why on your thigh? It seems like a risqu�� place for it."

Harry turned his head and gave you a blank stare. "Would you rather me get it in a corny place like over my heart?"

You laughed, lathering shampoo in his curly hair. "No, not really. I guess you're right. It's kind of a secret spot for only us to know."

"Not unless I wear shorts all the time."

"Yeah, but thankfully, you wear pants every day at work. I don't want your coworkers to see that."

"Why not? I can't show you off anymore?" he teased, reaching back to pinch your side. "Wow, you propose to a woman, and suddenly she wants to be anonymous."

"Shut up," you muttered through a smile. "I honestly don't care. Just please don't get it inked in an ugly font."

Harry moved under the shower head, closing his eyes and slicking his hair back. "Well, it's a good thing I was going to ask if you'd write it out for me."

"Seriously?"

"No," he said in a deadpan manner, spitting out some water that had gotten in his mouth. "I'm thinking Comic Sans."

Poking the soft skin under his belly button, you said, "You think you're so funny now because you did a five-minute comedy routine."

He didn't provide a retort, but you saw him grin as he washed the rest of the shampoo from his hair. His nose was scrunched while he scratched his scalp and cleaned the foamy residue off his face.

After a peaceful moment of nothing but the sound of the shower water beating down, Harry opened his arms and brought you in for a hug. "I love you. You know that?"

You kissed his collarbone. "Where did that come from?"

"Dunno." He shrugged and cradled your head with his hands. "It hit me that we're getting married in a month."

It had been hitting you as well. You'd been waiting so patiently for the special day to arrive. "I love you," you said quietly. Thank you for tonight and every night. You make life worth living."

"Are you trying to make me cry?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

It fell silent as you stared longingly at each other with growing smiles. Harry slowly started getting closer to your face, his dimples carving deeper until his eyes crossed from how near he was. His forehead dropped against yours, and you rolled your lips in when he attempted to steal a kiss from you.

"How about another rendezvous, but this time we get in bed and fall asleep?" you suggested, reaching around him and shutting the shower off. Sporadic drips and exiting warmth greeted you.

He pouted. "Only if you kiss me."

"We've done enough of that today."

"You're really not going to kiss your fiancé after I just told you I'd give you babies? That's dire."

You laughed and admired a water droplet cascading from his pointed nose. "If you blow dry my hair for me, I'll reconsider."

Flinging the shower curtain open, Harry yanked a fluffy towel from the hook on the wall, then gently wrapped it around your body before grabbing one for himself and tying it low on his hips. The blow dryer next to the mirror didn't have a long cord, so you sat on the counter for easier access and squeezed any remaining wetness from your hair into the sink. Meanwhile, Harry covered the top of his head with a towel. He looked like the Virgin Mary.

You gave him a comb, and he took the blow dryer with his other hand, turning it on and gesturing at you to ensure it wasn't too hot on your skin. For the next ten minutes, the sound of the loud dryer filled the space. It would have been a stressful sound in any other situation—trying to dry soaking wet hair from the pool before dinner reservations or untangling knots from yesterday's sleep. This time, it was relaxing. Domestic. A moment in time.

The soothing scratches Harry gave to your head as he combed through every citrus-scented strand could have put you to sleep. The hotel room's air conditioner was cold and crisp, but occasionally, he'd lower the dryer so it blew warm air on your arms.

Before you knew it, the dryer clicked off, and peaceful quietness surrounded you. Harry's hair dried much quicker than yours, so he took off the towel on his head and tied some of his damp curls up in a ponytail for the night.

His hands planted themselves on either side of your legs. "Kiss time," he whispered, his arms taut.

You slid off the counter, finding yourself trapped by his body—not that you minded. Grabbing his left hand, you raised it to your lips to kiss his ring finger, then put his gold engagement band back on.

"My mouth is up here."

You grinned. "And? What about it?" Harry annoyingly pushed his forehead into your cheek, grumbling something incoherently. You pushed it away and asked, "What did you say?"

"I said I think I'll die if you don't kiss me," he repeated dramatically.

"What kind of kiss do you want?"

He once told you that he had favorites for different situations: a nip, tug, peck, tongue, or the type where you both smile so big that the kisses become messy and mixed with giggles. The latter was your personal favorite.

He hummed, his nose wrinkling as he pondered. "The one where you do all the work."

You laughed softly. It wasn't necessarily a joke he was making; he genuinely enjoyed it when your lips moved against his. Sometimes, he just wanted to be kissed silly. It was never awkward, nor did it feel like a chore. He was the most kissable person to roam the earth, so resisting was hard.

"Okay," you said, draping your arms over his shoulders. "Only for a little bit, though. I'm exhausted."

Harry nodded and lifted you, setting you on the counter again. Your legs circled around his hips. "I'll return the favor tomorrow," he said.

The towel on his waist was hanging on for dear life. His eyelids were lazily drooping from tiredness, and his skin was flushed from the steam. How could someone look so pretty in hotel bathroom lighting?

Your hand on his cheek gently guided him to your mouth. His lips were damp and plush from the shower, parting naturally with each of your doting kisses. With his nose nudged against yours, pleased hums came from his throat as you alternated between his top and bottom lips. Kissing him never gets old. It could be soft or rough, long or short, brought about by love or annoyance. It was a cure all the same.

After a slow and innocent onslaught of kisses, you pulled away before you ended up making out with him until morning. Bruised, aching lips could wait.

Harry whined in protest. "That was only, like, five seconds."

"Guess what?" You trailed your fingertips along his neck. "You have the rest of your life to kiss me."

He yawned while shaking his head. "That's not enough time. Give me forever."

"I'll try," you said fondly, sliding your engagement ring back on.

You would until children of your own were born, which required you to share that love. Until your children's children withdrew even more of it. Yet, despite that, Harry would always be the first person you had given your heart to completely. He had never taken advantage of it. He had never made you doubt his love for you. It was the kind of love that was immortal. It would never die out and would remain the greatest feeling you'd ever felt in this life and the next.

If evermore was attainable, you liked to believe it was made possible by loving him.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles #rendezvous #adore-laur

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yesterdayiwrote · 3 months ago

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Trick or treat gewis edition pls?🧡

This is part of a (currently) abandoned WIP, and so I will reward you with a longish (albeit unbeta'd and unedited) excerpt under the cut...

This was my Tour Manager George/Music Superstar Lewis AU...

Waking up with a headache was never a great start to the day.

Waking up with a headache naked was always an even worse way to start the day.

George clutched his forehead tightly, pressing his face deeper into the soft pillow and willing the dull throb behind his eyes to dissipate sooner rather than later.

He groaned softly, the room filling with the distant sounds of honking horns, revving engines and rush hour traffic, his mind racing faster as he contemplated waking up and facing reality.

His phone vibrated on the nightstand and George groped around blindly, cursing under his breath as a discarded bottle of Dom Perignon rolled onto the carpet, luckily already drained of its contents. He peered at the screen, hundreds of notifications paling into insignificance as he read the latest text from his boss, reminding him of their meeting scheduled later that day.

George rolled onto his back, finally taking in the sight of the room around him, snapshots of the previous night flooding back to him, leaving him with an impending sense of dread as his memories assembled into a somewhat more lucid sequence of events.

He sat up slowly, rubbing roughly at his eyes with his fingertips, letting out a soft groan as he confirmed his worst fears.

The Presidential Suite of the Central Park Ritz Carlton looked like a crime had been committed within it, ransacked in the midst of some kind of smash and grab robbery gone wrong. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, in a Hansel and Gretel-esque breadcrumb trail from the door to the bed. One set noticeably more expensive looking than the other.

A half drunk bottle of Grey Goose stood on the coffee table beside two shot glasses, one tipped over, spilling liquid across the glass tabletop. Three more bottles of champagne sat unopened and amongst them all stood four shining Grammy Awards. A sign of victory and success and the culmination of years of hard work. It had been worth celebrating.

If only it had been his name on them.

XNDA was at the top of his game right now, finally reaping the rewards of hours of blood, sweat and quite literally tears. Weeks away from home and loved ones on the promotional trail, long nights in recording studios and on video shoots, smiling through the lows to ensure every interview was his best. When he'd stood on stage at Madison Square Gardens the previous night, glowing under the lights as he accepted the Album of The Year award for his debut album +44 (along with Best New Artist, Best Progressive R&B Album and Best R&B Performance ), finally accepted and validated by his peers, George couldn't have felt prouder.

He'd never set out to be a personal assistant, but his organisational skills and his eye for detail had made it a perfect fit for him. It never felt like a chore, instead he felt privileged to be part of the inner circle. In awe of the other man's abilities, but an integral cog in the machine making sure everyone else got to appreciate them too.

To him he wasn't XNDA, global music superstar and icon in the making. To him he was just Lewis. They were friends but more than that they were a team. A deep, complex understanding of each other that had been borne of hours on the road in enforced company. Learning to work together but also learning how to support each other. They had boundaries, although George was somewhat concerned that what had transpired after Lewis invited him into his hotel room to celebrate and delivered a sweet, heartfelt and maybe somewhat tipsy thank you speech to him, had maybe crossed those. He hoped not irreversibly.

George slid slowly from between the soft sheets, rolling his neck and relishing in the soft click. He felt a scratching sensation across his stomach, glancing down in confusion. A tut of disgust escaped his lips as he peeled a torn condom foil from his abdomen, his skin still sticky with dried champagne and, he was sure, "other residue".

He padded softly across the floor, scooping up his discarded boxers from where they were hooked across the back of the armchair, unable to hide his smirk as a vignette of the previous night reappeared in his mind. Deep in the throes of...passion? Lust? Ill-advised drunken stupor? He wasn't quite sure which yet, but the gorgeous sight of Central Park and New York at night had served as a beautiful backdrop that even his hangover couldn't quell the memory of.

George collected his other remaining clothes, balling them up into his arms as he tiptoed across to the bathroom, stepping over at least two used condoms on his way. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at the bed and sighed, taking in one last look at Lewis still sleeping peacefully in the sheets and knowing that when he came back out, last night had to be consigned to history and it was back to reality.

It had to be. For his sanity at least.

He locked the bathroom door behind himself and groaned, dropping his clothes down on the tiled floor, resisting the urge to drop down and join them. The shower cubicle on the other side of the room was ridiculously large, in keeping with the rest of the room, and he fiddled with the water taps, trying to get the temperature just right.

He caught sight of himself in the large mirror, his hips mottled with the soft bruise of fingertips. His collarbone littered with the purple mark of hickeys. He was pretty sure he had a turtle neck in his suitcase, provided he could get to it without anyone seeing.

The shower had done nothing to ease his mind, seemingly incapable of slowing the racing thoughts through his brain or of banishing them entirely. The dull throb in his forehead persisted and he wasn't sure anymore if it was a hangover or just the sheer amount of over thinking his brain was doing.

As he pulled the previous night's clothes back on, the soft wrap on knuckles against the door broke him from his procrastination.

"George?" Lewis' voice was soft, laced with an evident concern. "Are you in there?"

George swallowed down a smirk. Any other day he'd have shot back with a sarcastic jibe, but right now it didn't seem the time. He fumbled with the lock and pulled the door back, plastering on a smile.

"Hey," He croaked, the sight of Lewis in his boxers suddenly far more distracting than he'd realised previously. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and began tapping on the screen, bringing up the day's itinerary. "You'll be happy to hear I planned ahead for you winning." He announced, his smile widening as he walked back into the room. "We have a late start. Nothing planned until 1. Toto's in town as well and wants to meet up so I booked Carbone. You have the interview for radio at 3 and then we fly back to London at 7 but need to be at the airport by 5."

"George."

Lewis' tone had changed, more stern than before. George turned back to face him.

"We need to talk about last night." The older man sighed, stepping across the room but leaving a noticeable gap between them.

"Do we?" George mumbled, dropping his arms to his sides, his feet suddenly becoming incredibly interesting. Lewis tutted, sinking down onto the end of the bed.

"Yes." He insisted firmly, seemingly undeterred about having this conversation dressed only in a tight pair of black Calvin Kleins. "Neither of us were exactly sober last night and I don't want to think I overstepped or..." He tailed off, twiddling his fingers together. "I need to know that I didn't..."

George suddenly realised what he was getting at.

"Oh... bloody hell... Lewis, no." He muttered, stepping closer and closing the gap, the words rushing out of his mouth in his haste to diffuse any misunderstanding. "I'm totally fine with everything that happened last night. You have nothing to worry about." He mumbled, his lips pulling into an awkward smile. "I had fun."

It felt dangerous to admit the full extent of how much he'd enjoyed it. It felt like career suicide to admit he'd maybe even... wanted it? He still couldn't process quite where those thoughts had come from

Lewis glanced up at him with a nod, his lips slowly pulling into a matching devious smile. "Yeah, I did too." He swallowed heavily. "I don't think we should do it again though." He added frankly.

"Oh god no. Definitely not." George agreed with a nervous chuckle, happy to agree to whatever scenario would make things the least awkward. Just two friends doing something dumb together. No complications.

"Okay, well... that's good." Lewis nodded, rising to his feet and grabbing a towel from the sideboard and making towards the bathroom. He stopped suddenly, turning back. "Oh, before I forget." He bit his bottom lip. "I'm really sorry to do this, but I'm going to need you to sign that." He sighed, gesturing towards the desk, a piece of paper laid out with a pen placed neatly on top.

George stepped towards it, his heart sinking as he saw what it was, recognising it instantly. An NDA. He'd stood by enough times as he'd watched other people sign them. He'd smiled awkwardly at all manner of people, trying to hide his own discomfort as they'd signed it all away for just one night with Lewis. He'd just never figured he might be one of those people himself.

"Yeah, sure." He mumbled, waving a dismissive hand in the air. He wanted to seem as cool about the whole thing as possible. "I'll sort it out."

Maybe it was going to be awkward after all.

#gewis #There is more of this and I only discovered the other day I had saved it #I still love the concept I just got lost with the way I was taking it and was struggling to bring it back around...#Maybe one day I'll rescue it

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goodomenscalendar · 4 months ago

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A bottom!Crowley Good Omens zine. This is an 18+ zine, so no minors will be accepted. - @thwartingwileszine - Twitter -

Ineffably Grey Zine | Pre-orders open Oct 18th

From the Grand Opening in 1898 to modern times, follow this Demon and his Angel on their adventures, and the routines that surely follow at a table for two for An Evening At the Ritz! All proceeds donated to The National Center for Transgender Equality. - @ineffablygrey - Twitter - Instagram - BigCartel -

The Ineffable Society: Langhorne, PA Meetup | October 19th

A free-to-attend Good Omens fandom meetup in the States. Just outside Philadelphia, PA. All ages welcome; under 18 must attend with guardian. Masks required in our Event spaces—help keep your fellow fans safe! - @theineffablesociety - Twitter -

Good Omens Spooky Bang | Posting begins Oct 28th

A spooky Good Omens bang to kick off the autumn season! Whether it's Aziraphale pumpkin-picking, a pumpkin spice latte coffee shop AU, or Hell hosting a Halloween bash, you're invited to the Spooky Bang! Featuring both SFW and NSFW content. - @spooky-bang-good-omens -

Ineffable Secret Angel Event | Sign-ups TBD

When you register for the event, you will be randomly assigned to another participant, who will not know they have been assigned to you. You will then create fanart or write a fanfiction for this person, which you will present to them as a winter gift! Join the Good Omens Reference Library Server to participate! - Info Post - Discord Server -

On The Horizon

Keep an eye out for these works-in-progress in the coming months!

Good Omens Frames | @gomensframes Good Omens Monster Bangers Bang | @gomonsterbangersbang

#good omens #good omens events #october #zine #bang #fandom events #prompt event #other #meetup #apologies for missing september!!!!!#i know there was a LOT going down that i ended up missing because of Life Things #but i hope i have sufficiently filled your October calendars to make up for it!#i will probably edit this in the next few days bc i cant help but feel like im forgetting something #2024 #good omens zine #good omens bang

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aziraphales-library · 10 months ago

Note

Hello beautiful librarians! Thank you for keeping me sorted with fic to fill the long gap between now and series three. (As I'm writing this S3 hasn't been commissioned yet but who knows, maybe by the time you post it will be?!)

Anyway, I'm looking for some recs for spicy fic, Aziraphale/Crowley pairing, where one of them is wearing lingerie / stockings and the other is taking their time to appreciate it fully before ravishing them. Any gender presentation, any "downstairs effort", as part of a larger fic or just a smaller delicious scene. Anything is welcome! I just saw some lingerie type fanart and I need moooore! Big thanks in advance!

Hi! We have a #lingerie tag. Here are some more fics to add...

The Way That You Hold Me by AngieWords (E)

"Have you ever had any thoughts about my other...forms?" Crowley is interested to find out how Aziraphale will react to exploring a different corporation together. Aziraphale is very interested indeed. Or: Crowley gets nostalgic for his femme-presenting days

Underdrawing by spunknbite (E)

Lace. Just a hint of it: white, peeping out from under the waistband of Aziraphale’s trousers. A finely woven pattern of sprigs of roses and briony linked together with intricate diamond thread work. There was something vaguely Victorian about it, suggesting a handcrafted wedding veil or perhaps the contents of a hope chest. The lattice clung tightly to the pale skin beneath it, pearly lace on pearly skin, creating an almost tattoo-like appearance as if the design was threaded onto his very flesh in only a shade lighter than his own tone. Well, fuck.

Pin An Angel Up by Dibs_Drabbles (E)

Aziraphale was a lingerie model for a newlyweds' magazine, under the guise of Miss Azra Fell. Despite her short-term career, Miss Fell was granted her own special edition magazine, featuring her and only her. The angel had kept it hidden in plain view, quite oblivious to the chance of a certain demon stumbling upon it. And that certain demon was very much thrilled with what he found. - Aziraphale modelled for a lingerie magazine back in 1950, Crowley finds them and thus uncovers a whole arsenal of kinks to explore for the two of them.

Spread Your Wings by foolishlovers (E)

In the glamorous world of high fashion, Crowley shines as a household name. Unfortunately, so does supermodel Aziraphale, who repeatedly lands bookings for the same jobs. When a photoshoot mishap traps them in a studio overnight, their simmering animosity escalates to its peak. Literally.

Tryst at the Ritz by almaasi (E)

Aziraphale nodded, and said, sweetly, “After dinner, Crowley, you and I, we’re going up to a private, luxury suite, and we’re going to make love.” Crowley blasted red wine across the table in a fine spray. (A fic in which Crowley and Aziraphale get a wiggle on, in the Biblical sense.)

Dangerous like Spun Sugar by Nejinee (E)

Crowley really wasn't prepared for any of this. She was a demon of hell, a fallen angel, and also - evidently - a fucking idiot. -- Or, how Crowley had never cared about the inherent sexiness of lingerie until Aziraphale started talking about her own lingerie.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable wives #ineffable partners #adult omens #lingerie #mod d

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sagesolsticewrites · 3 months ago

Text

Pyaar Dosti Hai • Part 2

We get a glimpse into the home lives of Benny and Vika as they begin navigating this post-war world… and, perhaps, a new friendship.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: mentions of PTSD, some negative self talk, I think that’s it? Please let me know if I missed anything!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

@winniemaywebber @blakelysco-pilot 🫶

Masterlist | Part 1

Benny wakes with a groan, stretching out across the pristine white sheets of the hotel bed. There’s a rustling down by his feet, accompanied by a similarly satisfied whine, that he knows to mean Meatball’s awake too.

“Mornin’ buddy.”

He sits up slowly, reaching down to scratch between the husky’s ears as he takes in the room, sunlight now streaming in through the windows, softened by the sheer curtains draped over them.

It’s a fairly small room, somewhat crowded with the dresser, a small armchair, a lamp, and an electric fan arranged around the room, the small dining table and two chairs crammed into a corner next to the sparsely stocked bar. But something about it was… homey. Comfortable. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but something about this place makes him want to stay just a little bit longer.

A sudden jingling wrests him from his thoughts as Meatball stands, stretching and shaking his head as if to clear the sleep from it before leaping off the bed and looking at his owner expectantly.

”Right,” Benny nods through a yawn, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, “We’ve got a train to catch.”

He strolls slowly through the halls of the hotel, not having had a chance to appreciate it properly the night before. Soft gold carpet cushions his steps, the burgundy walls decorated with simple paintings of nature, forests and jungles and greenery contrasting nicely with the warm tones of the interior. Sunlight streams in through windows on either end of the hall, lit the rest of the way by golden lamplight. It’s no Ritz-Carlton, but it’s a cozy place, and he can tell the work that’s been put into it is no small thing.

Meatball’s ears perk up as they near the lobby, and Benny pulls him to a halt just inside the hallway as a voice reaches his ears.

“Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me,

anyone else but me,

anyone else but me…”

Turning slowly around the corner into the lobby, he’s met with a sight that has his heart doing odd fluttery things in his chest: Vika, singing softly to herself in the deserted room as she flips intently through paperwork at the front desk.

Her dark hair is tucked away behind her ears, gentle waves spilling over her shoulders in contrast to the drab grey of her dress, brown eyes scanning idly over the words and numbers before her as a ballad spills effortlessly from her lips.

He scarcely dares to breathe, lest he interrupt this impromptu performance, but it seems Meatball has other plans as the husky trots further into the lobby, collar jangling as he tugs impatiently at his leash.

Vika’s focus is pulled from the ledger in front of her, the song on her lips coming to an abrupt halt as she looks up to see Benny and Meatball lingering just inside the lobby.

Clearing her throat, hoping the embarrassed flush she feels rising to her cheeks isn’t too visible, she plasters on her best, politest customer service smile.

“Good morning, Benny, Meatball.” she adds, her smile turning a touch more indulgent as the husky walks a bit faster towards her, “Did you enjoy your stay?”

“We did,” Benny grins, hefting his bag higher onto his shoulder as he approaches the desk, room key in hand, “This is a real nice place you’ve got here, Vika.”

“Thank you,” she smiles, an odd feeling of validation filling her at the praise. It’s also nice, she notes fondly, that he waits for her to take the key, placing it gently in her hand— unlike some other customers who just shove it across the desk towards her.

“So… Andrews Sisters fan?” He ventures after a moment.

“Hm? Oh,” her smile turns shy, just a touch embarrassed as she turns back from placing the key back in the cabinet behind the desk, “Yes. That one’s been stuck in my head since yesterday.”

“There are worse earworms, trust me. I’d much prefer that to hearing Bucky sing Blue Skies for the tenth time in one night.”

“Bucky?”

“Ah… Major Egan. Served with us in the 100th.”

“He sounds… interesting.”

“He is,” Benny chuckles, “But whatever you do, don’t mention Blue Skies or the Yankees around him. He’ll be insufferable. And lord help us if there’s a band around for him to commandeer.”

“Noted.” Vika nods with a little mock salute, adding, “Not the best singer, then?”

“He’s… enthusiastic, that’s for sure. Much better pilot than a singer, though.”

A flicker of a smile crosses Benny’s face, though a shadow seems to have fallen over his demeanor, and Vika’s eldest daughter fix it fix it fix it instincts spark to life.

“I wanted to be a singer when I was little,” Vika finds herself saying.

Why is she telling him this? Juliet is the only one outside of her family who’s ever heard her talk about it, but something about Benny makes her feel… at ease, like she can let the perfect immigrant daughter mask slip the tiniest bit. And this feels like a safe topic, one that might bring that sunny smile back to his face.

“Silly dream, I know,” she scrambles to add nonetheless with a little laugh, “I’ve always loved music, but the hotel was always a more practical option. And I love helping my parents.”

“Well I for one think you would’ve been an excellent singer,” Benny smiles, “But seeing as you’re the one who helped Meatball and I get a place to stay for the night, I'd say the hotel is working out pretty well too.”

“You and Meatball are welcome anytime,” Vika grins.

“We might be back sooner than you think— at least I will be, anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Job hunting,” Benny explains, “Haven’t found anything in Philly yet, so I’m bringing the search to the city.”

Vika goes to reply, but before she can wish him luck or ask what kind of jobs he’s looking for, the side door opens and an older Indian man walks in, dressed in his usual suit and simple red tie.

“Good morning, beta— oh! Good morning, sir, how can we help you?”

Vika’s father slides in behind the front desk, his greeting to his daughter cut short upon seeing Benny.

“No need, sir, I’m just checking out.”

“This is Benny DeMarco, Papa,” Vika says, “He’s a friend of Juliet’s fiancé.”

Her father’s worn face brightens almost instantly at the mention of Vika’s dearest friend.

“Oh, a friend of Juliet’s! Pleasure to meet you, sir.” He extends a hand over the desk, “I’m Jashvant, owner of this establishment, and—” Vika can’t help the fond smile as he adds proudly, “—Ruthvika’s father— oh, who is this?!”

“Meatball, say hello.”

Meatball barks a greeting, and Mr. Patel laughs.

“Very nice to meet you as well, Meatball! One moment— Vika, I think we still have some treats in here from when Varnika tried to sneak in that stray, yes?”

Vika’s cheeks burn as her father digs through the drawers, chattering all the while to Benny about how one of her cousins tried to sneakily adopt a stray dog that had been seen outside the hotel one chilly winter.

“It was so sweet, my Vika singing lullabies to that little puppy…” her father sighs as Meatball eagerly accepts the proffered treats, “I keep telling her she needs to do more with a voice like that, but—”

“I’m perfectly happy here, Papa,” Vika gently cuts in, “Benny has a train to catch, we don’t want him to be late.”

“Oh of course!” Mr. Patel blinks, then smiles, “It was very nice to meet you, Mr… DeMarco, yes? Come back anytime.”

“Very nice to meet you as well, sir,” Benny grins with a respectful nod, then throws up a small wave in Vika’s direction, “Bye Vika.”

“Bye Benny,” she beams, waving in return, “Bye Meatball.”

“Kevo saras manasa. Shun te jaldu pachho avashe?”

“Bolo English, Papa!”

(“What a nice man. Will he be back soon?” / “Speak English, Papa!”)

Benny catches snatches of a conversation as he slips out the door, recognizing the soft voices of Vika and her father, but not the language. Still, there’s no mistaking the fondly exasperated tone of Vika telling her father something she’s no doubt had to tell him many times.

Which reminds him…

“No running off this time, alright?”

Meatball, who had been eagerly straining at his leash, lets out a disappointed huff, but obediently falls back to Benny’s side.

The train ride home is largely uneventful, even with Meatball peering eagerly out the window at the passing scenery. Benny rests his head against the window, watching the green blur of the landscape, and lets his mind drift back to the night before.

“You’ve been looking at her like that all night and you expect me not to notice. Talk to her, Benny.”

Val’s voice was utterly unamused as she glanced pointedly over at Vika chatting with the other girls at the table.

“I don’t know what to say,” Benny admitted, determinedly not looking at Vika in his periphery, “I just…”

“Make something up!” Val huffed, impatient but not unkind, “Just say something to start the conversation.”

“I’d love to get to know her,” he’d said after a moment, his voice soft, “But I don’t want to scare her off. Or… I don’t know, bore her? I don’t really have much going for me right now, Val.”

Former pilot, no job to speak of… he still had nightmares about Bremen and his time in the Stalag. Not exactly ideal boyfriend material.

“Don’t say that, doll.” Val frowned, switching abruptly to English, “I’ll spit in your eye.”

His lips had twitched up into a smile at her defensiveness on his own behalf.

“Thanks, Val.”

“Anytime, DeMarco,” Val smiled, just a shade softer than her usual grin.

“But I swear,” she pinned him with a mock glare as she plucked her French 75 from the bar, “if you don’t at least try to talk to her before the end of the night…”

He held his hands up in surrender, lifting one into a quick salute.

“Yes, ma’am.”

With a final smile at Ev, Val drifted back to the table, which had erupted into cheers and laughter at something Vika said.

Something squeezed in his chest, seeing Vika light up under the girls’ attention.

She was pretty when she smiled like that.

The simple thought popped into his head so quickly he hadn’t even realized he’d thought it until it was already drifting to the back of his mind.

Even worse, it was followed by a fantasy of him being the one she bestowed that bright smile upon.

He shook his head to clear it, knocking back the rest of his drink in the hopes it would knock some sense back into him and gesturing for another.

He couldn’t bring himself to try and talk to her. Not yet.

Not long after, Olive had drifted over to the bar in search of a refill.

“So… Meatball brought you right to her?” she’d said, gaze flicking over to Vika then back to him.

It had taken him a moment to figure out what she was talking about… but Benny supposed Meatball had led him right to Vika in a way.

“Running into a girl because of that dog… sound familiar?” Olive smirked.

“Don’t say it…” Benny groaned with a good natured eyeroll, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Second time’s the charm?” She singsonged, hazel eyes twinkling.

Now that she’d mentioned it, he did see the similarities between his meeting Vika and how the sound of Meatball’s barking had led Olive back in time 70 years to land at his feet on the hardstand at Thorpe Abbotts.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet, Ol.”

She’d frowned at his tone shift.

“What do you mean?”

He kept his gaze fixed on the lacquered wood of the bar.

“Bremen…”

He forced the word out quickly, quietly, lest the other boys hear. The last thing he wanted was to bring the mood down at such a celebratory occasion.

“The Stalag… I’ve got a lot of shit to work through before any girl would want to come near me.”

Olive’s frown deepened, a concerned furrow appearing in her brow.

“Of course you’ve got shit to work through, Benny,” she’d said gently, “we all do. We just made it through a war, for goodness’ sake.”

“But,” she continued, “that doesn’t mean we can’t try to start something new while we do. It doesn’t have to be romantic yet; it’s just making a new friend.”

“Been a while since I’ve done that,” he’d said with a halfhearted chuckle, letting the burn of the whiskey down his throat float him past Olive’s use of ‘yet’.

“Just try,” she said simply, “I can already tell you two will get along just fine— already are, judging by the way you two walked in here chattering away.”

And she drifted back to the table, settling back into her seat next to Vika and leaning down to give Meatball a scratch under his chin.

Sighing, Benny focuses lazily on the passing landscape once more.

No matter how much he’d enjoyed his brief time with Vika— no matter how inexplicably drawn to her he felt— he had to turn his focus back to himself. He needed time. He needed the nightmares to stop. He needed a job.

But first, he needed to get back home to let his mother fuss over him some more.

She was waiting for him on the porch of their little house when the taxi pulled up, and he could already feel the familiar bustling energy of a house filled with his siblings— not dissimilar to the buzz in the air on the hardstands before a practice flight.

“Have you eaten yet?”

The familiar greeting— more common than “hello” in his family— would normally make him roll his eyes, assure his mother that yes, he had eaten, and would she please stop fussing so much?

But now, after everything… each time she asked, he just smiled, assuring his mother that if she made it, he’d eat it.

It wasn’t just that he was getting used to proper meals again after a year and a half of subsisting on watery broth, wilted vegetables, and whatever minuscule amount of meat they could scrounge up (taking care not to think about where exactly the meat had come from after the rabbit incident). Each bite of a warm, home-cooked meal from his mother made him feel that little bit closer to who he was before the Stalag, before Bremen.

His mother ushers him inside after a long hug, grumbling under her breath about how he was too skinny, still too skinny.

“So? How was the party?” She finally asks as she piles a plate high for him, Meatball tracking her every move with wide eyes.

“It was good,” he says, “It was good to see everyone. Brady seems… really happy, and Juliet’s just as sweet as he said she was.”

She cocks an eyebrow as the plate is set in front of him, eyes raking him up and down.

He freezes for a moment, unsure of what the sudden inspection is all about.

“You met someone there.”

“I… sort of, I guess? I—”

“It wasn’t a question.”

He presses his lips together in an attempt to hide the smile at her familiar breezy deadpan.

“Was she nice?”

He progresses to biting the inside of his cheek to hold back the wide grin that wanted to explode onto his face at the thought of Vika, of telling his mother all about her.

“She was,” he says finally, reaching down to pet Meatball as he casually acquiesces to her interrogation, “She was one of Juliet’s school friends. Her parents actually own a hotel upstate, that’s where I spent the night. Nice place.”

“What’s her name?”

Ruthie. Ruthvika.

“Vika.”

His mother’s expression remains impressively steady at the unfamiliar name, though something like surprise flickers behind her eyes.

“Well,” she says, lips twitching up into the smallest of smiles, “I look forward to meeting the girl who’s captured my boy’s heart.”

“Ma!”

Heat rushes to his face, embarrassment flooding his body.

“We’re not— we’ve had two conversations, it’s not— she doesn’t—”

“Whatever you say, dear,” she nods, sounding profoundly like she wasn’t believing a word he said.

“What’s this I hear about a girl, little brother?”

He turns towards the far-too-gleeful voice of his older sister with a roll of his eyes.

“There’s no girl, Marge.”

“Tell that to the blush on your face,” she giggles, gesturing with a finger to his burning cheeks.

“Margie…”

She must detect something in his voice— a pleading, a desperation for this topic to be over and done with— because her smile softens, and she ruffles his hair as she moves past, like she did when he was a kid.

“Don’t let Ronnie hear,” is all she says, eyes flicking up to where their youngest sister’s room would be, “she’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten enough of that already,” he says, eyes flicking to his mother, who’d resumed her place at the stove.

“It’s a crime to want my son to find a nice girl and settle down?”

“I don’t wanna rush anything, Ma.”

“And,” he adds, brushing past his mother’s raised eyebrows, “I’d like to at least have a job before I settle down.”

“Still no luck?” Marge asks sympathetically.

“Not here,” he shrugs, “There were a few things that looked promising in New York, I might head up there to see about some of them.”

“Near where this Vika is?”

“In the city, Ma.”

His mother finally notes the hint of genuine frustration in his voice, and turns to him apologetically.

“Alright, alright…” She says, visibly softening. “Your father might have a few things for you to do until you can take a look at those jobs.”

Benny smiles, slipping a bit of food down to Meatball so the husky would stop whining under the table.

“Thank you.”

The next few weeks are occupied by busywork courtesy of his father, a clothing designer, and occasionally assisting with the business side of things at Merit Clothing Company. Sooner than he’d imagined, though, he was back in the city with interviews scheduled and— to his mother’s dismay— apartments to look at.

“Apartments?” She blinked when he’d updated her on his plans.

“Ma, the ride into the city is well over an hour from here” he’d said gently, “It’s fine for a visit, but not for my commute every day.”

She’d nodded in understanding, though he could see a shadow cross her face briefly.

He understood. He’d been home only a couple months now, and the idea of leaving again was more than a little terrifying.

“But hey,” he’d said as he pulled her into a hug, injecting his voice with a light, teasing tone, “If I don’t get any of those jobs, I’m all yours for who knows how long.”

“None of that, Bernard,” his mother chided, giving him as stern a look she could while still keeping the embrace of her son intact, “If they don’t hire you they’re all fools, and I wouldn't have wanted you working there anyway.”

Her brusque encouragement had prompted a laugh, and Benny gave her a final squeeze in thanks.

“Vika!” Ranjan Patel calls to her daughter, “You remembered to tell Rahim Uncle—”

“About the broken faucet in 217, yes!” Vika calls back, her voice softening as she re-enters the kitchen to continue helping her mother with dinner.

“And—”

“Yes, and the problem with the light in 109.”

“And you—”

“Yes, I got the laundry done for 104, 115, 207, and all the rest,” Vika recites, mentally checking off the rooms as she speaks. “You don’t need to remind me, Mammi, I know how to do this.”

Her mother smiles, and opens her mouth, but Vika beats her to it.

“And I made sure Khalen and Nikhil got their homework done.”

Not that they’d made it easy, she thinks.

She’d helped all of her cousins with their homework, as usual, but she knew her mother would be asking about Priya Auntie’s sons in particular— the boys were getting to the age where they refused to listen to anyone about anything, even their favorite cousin.

”Thank you, beta,” her mother nods, “I know your auntie will appreciate the help.”

“Of course, Mammi.”

Vika tries not to think about how Priya Auntie— one of her mother’s dearest friends— had insisted her sons skip their chores at the hotel “just this once” so they could have some time to themselves until Vika came to help them with their schoolwork— a phenomenon that seemed to happen more and more often. Never mind that Vika had never gotten such luxuries when she was in school; she’d come home and it was either homework or chores right away, no leisure time for her.

But as usual, the boys in her family were held to a different standard.

Vika’s ears perk up as music begins to drift in from the living room. Her eyes shoot to her mother, pleading, praying… dinner was almost done, anyways, and she’d worked so hard today…

“Go ahead,” her mother says in Gujarati, waving her off indulgently.

“Thank you!” Vika squeals, wiping her floury hands on her apron before casting it off and racing to the living room.

“I was wondering when you’d find your way out here,” Vika’s father chuckles from his place at the record player as she tumbles onto the couch next to him in a decidedly unladylike manner.

“What are we listening to today?” Vika hums, trying to see the writing on the worn record sleeve in his hands.

“Guess,” her father says teasingly.

“Papa…” she whines, “Just tell me!”

He just shakes his head.

“I’m surprised you didn’t know it when you ran out here,” he says, “It’s one of your favorites.”

At that, Vika properly tunes in to the music, and beams.

“Heer Ranjha!”

One of her favorites, indeed.

She hums along for a moment, singing softly to herself until her father speaks again, having settled next to her on the worn sofa.

“Have you shown this one to Juliet yet? I think she’d like it.”

“Of course she would, it’s our Romeo and Juliet.”

Exchanging a smile, they fall silent again, listening along to the tale of Heer and Ranjha; how the two meet when Heer’s father offers Ranjha a job herding his cattle, and Heer is mesmerized by his flute playing when she finds him in the fields after his work. How the two fall in love and meet in secret for years until Heer’s uncle catches them and forces her to marry another man— one better suited for her class than Ranjha, who is left to wander heartbroken, eventually becoming a hermit and wandering the land until he finds Heer again. When he does, the two return to her parents, where they agree to their marriage— only on the wedding day, Heer’s uncle poisons Heer with a sweet, as punishment for her behavior. Too late to save her, Ranjha eats what’s left of the poisoned sweet and dies by her side.

A wide range of emotions— sorrow, joy, wistfulness— are still reverberating through Vika after the song ends when her father breaks the silence in the room.

“Do you have any thoughts on getting married, beta?”

“I—” Vika blinks, “What?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says hurriedly, sensing the hint of alarm, “I’m not trying to rush you, Vika. I was just wondering. I know your mother has her own ideas for you—”

Her mother’s ideas involve an arranged marriage, similar to the one between herself and Vika’s father.

“— but I…” her father continues, dark brown eyes gentle, “I would like to see you get to fall in love. Not how your mother imagines it, with love growing after the match, but… like it is here, in this country. Where young people find a connection, and it blossoms into something beautiful.”

Vika’s heart aches at the thought— she wants that, she wants it so badly. She yearns for what Juliet has with John, for that easy camaraderie, that spark.

“I think I want that too, Papa,” she admits quietly, leaning into his rail thin frame.

Then, hyperaware of her mother just in the next room: “But if an arranged marriage is easier…”

Sure, it wouldn’t be ideal, but surely she’d be able to form a friendship at the very least with whoever she’s matched with, and wasn’t friendship the foundation of romance?

The corners of his mouth turn down in sad understanding, but he nods.

“I just want you to be happy, my Vika,” he says softly, patting her hand, “no matter what.”

Vika smiles, unsure of what to say to that. She doesn’t like seeing her father sad, but as she’s frantically flipping through responses trying to find one that will fix the solemn mood he’s fallen into, her mother’s voice erupts from the kitchen, calling them to dinner.

And that’s the end of that.

A week later, Vika’s eyes drift to her watch for what feels like the thousandth time that day, groaning internally when she sees she still has half an hour until Priya Auntie comes to relieve her.

Today’s been painfully slow— something she’ll be looking back on longingly during the next rush, she knows, but right now all she is is bored.

She glances around the desk once more, but no: all the paperwork is done and organized, and there’s only so many times she can dust the furniture in the lobby.

She officially has nothing to do but stand here for the next thirty minutes.

A bark yanks her gaze up towards the front doors, and she couldn’t stop the smile spreading across her face if she tried.

“Benny!” She blinks, surprised to see her friend (are they friends? she wants to be) step inside, Meatball beside him as always.

“Hi again,” Benny says as he approaches the desk with an easy smile.

“Um… welcome back,” she says with a soft laugh, “I know you said you’d be back sooner than later, but…”

“Three weeks a bit sooner than you were expecting?” He teases, and Vika does not pay any mind to the little skip of her heart at the sparkle in his eyes. Absolutely not.

“I’ve got some interviews lined up in the city,” he explains, adding that he’ll be on the lookout for apartments while he’s there.

She nods, wishes him luck, but something nags at her… he knows how far their hotel is from the city, doesn’t he?

“I heard you give excellent discounts,” he says, winking so she knows he’s teasing, “And Meatball missed you.”

As if on cue, a bark comes from just below the desk, and Vika leans over to see the husky’s tail wagging a mile a minute.

“I missed you, too,” Benny adds almost shyly as her attention returns to him.

He… missed her?

Maybe they were friends.

“You’re sure he didn’t just miss the treats?” Vika asks, smiling as she reaches for the bottom left drawer.

“It’s good to see you both.”

She hopes he can hear the sincerity in her voice, see it in her gaze as it returns to him once Meatball’s happily taken the treat dangling from her fingers.

There’s a quiet moment, a soft smile passing between them, until Benny clears his throat, shifting his gaze to the desk briefly as he adjusts his hold on his bag.

“I probably should’ve called to check if you had any rooms available before I got here, but…”

“We do!” Vika says, a bit too quickly as she produces the familiar piece of paper. She goes through the motions, asking how long he’ll be staying and checking a ledger periodically as she scribbles a few things before turning it to face him. “Same room as last time… if that’s alright.”

“It’s perfect,” Benny smiles, moving to sign, but then—

“Wait…”

“Is something wrong?” Vika frowns, “I can find a different room if you’d like—”

“No, it’s not that,” he assures her, “It’s just— you know I was teasing about that discount, don’t you?”

He pushes the paper back towards her, pointing to the price

“Friends and family, remember?” Vika reminds him, sliding the page back to him, adding as he opens his mouth to protest, “I insist, really, Benny.”

“Well… thank you,” he says graciously, if reluctantly, switching topics.

“Any recommendations for a bite to eat around here?”

“Oh!” Vika blinks, before listing off a few places nearby, mentioning that the diner just down the street is one of her favorites.

“I…”

She hesitates, but then plows ahead.

“I’m done with my shift in…” a quick glance at her watch, “twenty minutes, if you’d like me to show you? Only if you want to, of course.”

The way Benny’s smile widens at her suggestion brightens the whole lobby.

“I’d love that,” he beams, “Um… just let me get settled in,” He gestures to his bag, “And I’ll meet you back here?”

Vika nods, doing her best to contain her own smile.

“See you soon.”

She can’t resist calling his name just once as he goes to find his room, key in hand.

“Yeah?” He calls, Meatball turning back at the sound of Vika’s voice too.

She smiles.

“It really is good to see you again.”

Benny smiles.

“You too, Vika.”

#… I told y’all it was a slow burn #👀🤭#benny x vika #oc: vika patel #oc: ruthvika ‘ruthie’ patel #pyaar dosti hai #benny demarco x oc #masters of the air #mota oc #mota x oc #benny demarco

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lucidlivi · 2 years ago

Text

Chosen For Pleasure (XII)

Series Masterlist/Warnings

Tag List: @ladysparkles78 @suckitands33 @little-x-wolf @stoneyggirl2 @creative-writing92 @jc-winchester @mrsjenniferwinchester @lessons-of-red @jamerlynn @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67 @deans-baby-momma @willow-sages @ritz-hell-hotel @perpetualabsurdity @mhessellund @itzabbyxx @chriszgirl92 @abbybarnesstuff @larrem88 @commonsenseishard @impalaspixie @notsogoofyjelly @hzllxhoundxx @taylortots-world @k-slla @heavenlyackles @spnfamily-j2 @buckybarnes-1917 @foxyjwls007 @spnbaby-67 @readingsins @lauraashley93 @antisocialcorrupt @anixiiee @jackles010378 @alternativeprincess @rosecentury (I love that half the battle of writing my updates is writing the tag list! I'm so grateful for all the love you guys have shown me and this fiction! If you would like to be added please send me a message or an ask so I can easily look back on them, there are too many names for me to keep track of!)

a emotional roller coaster of a chapter, you ain't ready..

"is that.."

"Elle."

oh you've got to be kidding.

"Jensen?" I questioned trying to get his attention.

He has yet to take his eyes off the blonde, as she clung to an older gentleman talking to another couple.

I instantly felt jealousy burning through my entire body.

"Jensen." I snapped.

He finally tore his eyes away, meeting my own.

"are you okay?" I asked hesitantly.

He took a deep breath before plastering a smile on his face. I could tell it was fake.

"yeah, I won't let this ruin our night." He said.

Why didn't I believe him?

Jared once again gave him an apologetic look. Jensen took my hand, walking in the opposite direction of Elle.

Jensen gripped my hand tightly pulling me through the crowds of people.

"J hang on." I said stopping us.

He turned to me hesitantly.

"you're not okay, I can see it." I spoke.

"I'm fine." He was quick to defend.

"why don't I believe you?"

Jensen ran a hand over his jaw letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I let that girl ruin my life for a long time, I don't want her to ruin tonight too. I'm here with you, I want to enjoy tonight with you." Jensen said emphasizing the word you.

I felt like we were just sweeping the issue under the rug, but I would be lying if I said I didn't want to enjoy the night with him too.

"okay." I breathed reluctantly.

Jensen offered me a smile as he snagged two champagne glasses off a serving tray being passed around. I sipped it hesitantly as my eyes traveled around the room, looking for the blonde girl. Jensen led me over to a table where Jared and Genevieve sat with other members of the cast. I offered Gen a smile as we took the spot next to them. Jensen conversed with Jared and Misha as if he wasn't bothered by the situation at all.

So why was I?

I felt like we were just pretending, something I'd never been good at.

I tried my best too though, I chatted with cast, sipped champagne and even picked at the fancy dinner. I felt myself start to loosen up, even if just a little bit.

"may I have this dance?" Jensen asked extending a hand out to me.

"of course." I smiled placing my hand in his.

Jensen led us over to the dance floor, a slow song coming from the band on stage. He wrapped one arm around my waist, his other hand held mine as we swayed back and forth to the music.

"you really do look beautiful tonight." Jensen smiled.

"you clean up well too." I laughed.

It was silent for a moment until I spoke up.

"I apologize if I freaked you out earlier with my confession." I whispered before biting my lip.

"I'm not freaked out, flattered actually." he quickly spoke.

"flattered?"

"a sweet girl like you being in love with a fuck up like me, I don't know what I did to make that happen." he spoke quietly.

"Jensen you don't seriously think you're a fuck up do you?" I asked grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me.

"oh I think I'm completely fucked up." He said with a painful laugh.

"I think we're all a little fucked up." I said.

"I'm just thankful you put up with me."

"yeah well I've always liked a bit of a challenge." I smirked.

He laughed as he pulled me closer, wrapping both arms around me. I felt completely at peace slow dancing with him. It was as if we were the only two people around. It just felt so right being with him. For once I forgot about everything wrong about us and just focused on the right here right now. I held on to him tightly as if as soon as I let him go he'd float away.

I was completely and irrevocably in love with this man.

I sighed as the song ended, longing for the moment to last. Jensen leaned down, placing his lips to my forehead in a gentle kiss.

"I'm happy you're here with me tonight." Jensen spoke.

We walked back towards the group. I wore a real smile for once tonight.

"I need to use the restroom, I'll be right back." I said kissing Jensen's cheek gently.

I was thankful there was no wait in the bathroom. I quickly did what I came there to do before going to the sink to wash my hands. I wiped off some excess lip gloss and glanced at myself one last time in the mirror.

I could suddenly feel someone come up beside me. I saw blonde locks out of the corner of my eye. I didn't need to look at her to know who it was.

Elle.

I took a deep breath mentally cursing the world.

"with the billionaire Jensen Ackles, lucky girl." she spoke uncapping lipstick and swiping it on her over lined lips.

I hesitantly turned my body to face the last person in the world I wanted to see.

"Elle, but I have a feeling you already knew that." she introduced.

"no, you know what I don't think your name has come up." I said crossing my arms.

"If only I believed that, I just had to meet the girl that Jensen was so smitten with."

"well now you have, and now I'll be going." I growled turning to leave.

I didn't want to be in her presence another second.

"he looks amazing tonight, maybe I'll have to go say hi."

I stopped in my tracks at her words. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides. I really wanted to knock this girl out right now.

"as if he would even talk to you." I growled turning my body back towards her.

"I think you underestimate the power I have over him. If I wanted him to, he'd come running back to me in a heartbeat."

I felt my heart shatter at her words. I knew she was just trying to get under my skin, but part of me wondered if she was right.

"yeah well he's not a toy you can play with and drop when you get bored." I growled.

"of course not, I did love to play with him though, you know he is the best kisser."

I could feel the rage building inside of me with each word she spoke.

"oh wait I forgot, you wouldn't know, my bad."

"are you trying to intimidate me, cause it isn't working."

"intimidate you? oh no, I just want to know who my competition is." Elle said before departing from the restroom.

Competition? What the hell was she talking about?

I quickly escaped the bathroom making my way through the crowds of people. I could feel my chest tightening as my breathing became sporadic. I needed some fresh air. Jensen immediately noticed my departure as he pushed through the crowd after me.

I kept walking, even as the night air hit my face. I had to get out of there.

"wait, (y/n) please stop." Jensen called running to catch up with me.

I kept walking, ignoring his protests. He finally caught me, making me turn to face him.

"I want to go home." I said choking back the tears that threatened to spill out any moment.

"what did Elle say to you?"

"nothing just drop it." I growled.

"no I'm not going to drop it, what did she say?"

"Jensen please."

"I thought we weren't keeping secrets from each other? I thought we'd moved past all this?"

"don't you get it, we can't move past all of this until you move past her!" I yelled throwing my hands in the air.

"what the hell are you talking about?"

"do you still love her?" I asked, letting a few tears slip.

"what no of course I don't love her." Jensen scoffed.

"is that why you won't kiss me?"

Jensen looked as if I had just slapped him in the face.

"no that's not why, I thought you understood." Jensen growled

"I thought I did too, but now I'm not so sure." I whispered turning my body away from him.

"don't do this please." Jensen begged coming to stand in front of me.

I let another tear slide down my cheek as I stared at him.

"please just take me home." I whispered.

Jensen looked hurt as he opened the door to the limo allowing me to slide in. It was silent as Cole drove us back to Jensen's, a van that contained the extra security guards led the way.

I don't know why I let her have this power over me.

Actually I did.

It was because I was terrified that she was right. I was terrified that if she called, he'd go running. Jensen said it himself, he was prepared to spend his life with her. Elle had manipulated him once, something told me if she really wanted she could do it again.

"you know we're going to have to talk about this at some point." Jensen said, lifting a wine bottle to his lips taking a swig.

I didn't respond, just continued to stare out the window.

"I don't care about Elle anymore, not since I met you. God you're all I think about. Why can't you see that? You're everything to me." Jensen spoke.

I let the tears fall freely from my eyes. I hesitantly glanced at him, but he was already staring at me.

"I don't kiss you because I'm afraid that once I do, you'll realize how much better off you are without me, and I can't stand to lose you. (y/n) I'm so in love with you." Jensen whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

I cried as I wrapped my arms around him. He squeezed me tightly, as if he were afraid of letting me go. It was everything I had ever wanted to hear from him. He loved me.

"Jensen, I could never be better off without you. No one has ever made me feel even a fraction of what you make me feel." I said placing a hand on his cheek.

Jensen leaned his forehead down on mine, looking at my lips. I could tell how nervous he was.

"if we do this, no going back." Jensen whispered, his lips dangerously close to mine.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Jensen's lips brushed mine slowly. I felt my pulse increase. I had waited for this moment, dreamt of it.

"Mr. Ackles, you should come look at this." Cole spoke up from the front seat sounding worried.

Jensen pulled away quickly. I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding.

"stay here." He ordered.

I watched as Jensen and Cole got out of the limo, the security guards dispersed around the property. I could see them looking at something but I couldn't see what. Jensen looked distressed. I disobeyed him, getting out of the limo.

"oh my god." I gasped.

Jensen and Cole stood in front of my car. It had been destroyed. I saw the tires had been slashed, and the windshield smashed in. I could see key marks on the hood as well as various dents. I didn't even recognize it as my car with all the damage done to it.

However the most haunting thing was the words He's Mine spray painted in white along the side.

Riley.

"I'm getting (y/n) out of here, find her Cole." Jensen growled.

Jensen grabbed my hand pulling me to one of his cars. He quickly opened the door, so I could get in before running around to get in as well. He started up the car, speeding out of his garage and down the road.

"where are we going?" I asked fearful.

"somewhere nobody else knows about." He spoke.

He pressed down on the accelerator speeding up even more. I looked at him as he gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white.

"Jensen slow down, you're scaring me." I said gripping the door handle and slinking back in to the seat.

"I told you to stay in the car." He growled.

"Jensen please." I begged.

He glanced over at me, seeing I was incredibly scared. He quickly took his foot off the accelerator, slowing down.

"I don't know how she got in, she shouldn't have been able to get in the garage, I'm so sorry." Jensen apologized taking one of his hands off the wheel and grabbing my own.

I took a deep breath squeezing his hand.

He kept driving, not letting go of my hand. I looked out the window to see we were getting far away from the city, and heading up a mountain. It was at least another hour before Jensen finally stopped the car. I saw we were way in the woods at what appeared to be a cabin.

"it used to belong to my aunt and uncle." Jensen whispered.

"she won't find us here?" I asked worried.

"no, I promise." Jensen said getting out of the car, coming to open the door for me.

I got out, falling straight in to his arms.

"I'm scared Jensen." I admitted.

"I know baby, I'm so sorry." Jensen said running a hand through my hair.

I stood in his embrace for awhile before looking and meeting his eyes.

"I'm supposed to be protecting you, if anything ever happened to you because of me, I'd never be able to forgive myself." Jensen whispered.

I saw in his eyes that he was scared too. Not so much of Riley, but scared that she could have gotten to me.

"Jensen I love you." I said leaning my forehead against his.

"then kiss me."

Author Note:

AHHHHHHH IT'S HAPPENING! I REPEAT IT'S HAPPENING! I'm done playing with your feelings tonight, but make sure you come back so I can play with them some more cause we just getting started.... please show some love in the form of a heart, comment, reblog, and a follow! I appreciate all the love!

xoxo

Liv

Part (XIII)

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles imagine #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #jensen x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #jensen ackles preference #supernatural smut #supernatural #jensen x you #jensen x y/n #jensen and jared #spn #jensen ackles series #jensen ackles smut

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