#your words and your work mean the world to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

valeisaslut · 2 days ago

Text

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. one

────────────

credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

────────────

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

← 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜 →

────────────

⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: You didn’t mean to find her. Not really. But the music is loud, the drinks are strong, and somehow you’re caught in her orbit. A glance turns into a touch, a whisper into something more. The night blurs in heat and tangled sheets, a secret meant to stay buried. But when morning comes and your phone won’t stop buzzing, one thing is clear—last night isn’t staying hidden. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 8,4k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: smut, top!ellie, sub! reader, strap-on sex (r!receiving), oral sex and fingering (r!receiving), hair pulling, praise, pet names, modern au,mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, cursing, violence, afab!reader, MEN AND MINORS DNI, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

────────────

There’s a strange feeling in the air tonight— dense, electric, charged with the kind of energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse quicken without reason. The kind of feeling that only comes before things change. Before a shift so subtle, so inevitable, you don’t see it coming until it swallowed you whole.

Maybe it’s fate sharpening its teeth. Maybe it’s destiny rewriting itself in real time. Or maybe it’s just the way the universe works, pulling you towards something, towards someone, whether you’re ready or not.

You don’t know it yet, but the world you know —the one you’ve mastered, the one that bends to your will— will start slipping through your fingers. The lines you swore you’d never cross will blur into nothing. Not all at once. Just enough to make you wonder if losing it might be the best thing that ever happened to you.

Or the worst.

Either way, by the morning, nothing will ever be the same.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The limousine glides to a stop at the curb, the low purr of the engine nearly drowned out by the deep bass thrumming from behind the club’s velvet-roped entrance. Outside, the city glows. Neon signs flickering against the blacked-out windows, paparazzi cameras flashing like tiny detonations in the dark.

Your dress is custom—something sleek but bright enough to catch the low, moody lights of the club. A perfect deep shade of red, sculpted to hug every curve, paired with heels so high they should be illegal. Your stylist had insisted on the look, calling it “effortlessly sexy”.

But as you step out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your bare shoulders, the silk brushing against your legs, it feels more like armor than fashion.

Your heels click against the pavement. Diamond-studded earrings catch the flashing lights as your name spills from the lips of paparazzi, murmured like a prayer behind metal barricades. Security holds them back, but their cameras? Their cameras never miss.

You inhale deeply, forcing a smile as your friend Olivia loops her arm through yours, her perfume sweet and familiar as she leans in, voice smooth with amusement.

“Ready to have some fun?”

You nod, but the truth settles low in your stomach.

You don’t know what you’re looking for tonight. A distraction, maybe. A release. Something to remind you that your life is more than a series of curated, picture-perfect moments. More than something to be consumed.

The doorman doesn’t even glance at the list before letting you both in. Past the crowd, past the rules. Straight into the kind of luxury most people only dream about.

Inside, the club is a different world—bathed in gold light, dripping in excess. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, their reflections fractured in the glassy surfaces of designer champagne flutes. The air is thick with an intoxicating haze of perfume and liquor and the music is a hypnotic heartbeat, moving through bodies like an electric current.

A server appears before you even have to ask, pressing a drink into your hand. It’s cold against your lips, smooth and sweet with just enough of a bite to remind you that it’s expensive. You let it linger on your tongue, relishing the way the warmth spreads through your chest.

Everyone’s looking at you. You can feel it. The stolen glances, the whispers behind manicured hands, the way conversations pause when you walk by. The attention used to unnerve you.

It still does.

But you slip into the role effortlessly. Chin high, lips curved in just the right amount of detached amusement, the slit of your dress parting just enough to tease, the subtle sway of your hips deliberate.

You don’t stop to acknowledge anyone, but you already saw lots of recognizable faces. Eyes track your every move. They want to talk, to be close, to claim even a second of your attention.

You let Olivia lead you through the pulsing crowd, past velvet ropes and watchful bouncers, into the VIP section—where the real power plays out. The air here is heavier, thick with the kind of confidence that only comes with knowing you belong.

Not even half an hour passes before she nudges you, her perfectly manicured fingers gripping your arm as she tips her head towards a booth across the room.

“Oh, shit,” she murmurs, her eyes flickering with amusement, with something else. Intrigue. Mischief. “Isn’t that the girl from The Fireflies?”

You take a slow sip of your drink, pretending to be unaffected—heavy on the pretending.

“Really? Ellie Williams?”

“Yeah” Olivia exhales, shaking her head, lips curling into a smirk. “Goddamn, she’s hot as fuck.”

Something shifts. A charged pause. The air seems thicker, humming with something you can’t quite name.

You tilt your head, finally allowing yourself to glance over.

And there she is.

And yeah—she’s indeed hot as fuck.

Ellie is sprawled across the leather booth like she owns it—like the whole damn club bends to her presence. The black fabric of her shirt hangs loose on her frame, the top few buttons undone, teasing just enough of the freckled skin of her chest to be unfair. The sleeves are pushed up, exposing tattoos that wind down her forearms, ink bold against pale skin. Silver rings glint on her fingers as she idly swirls the whiskey in her glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light.

She’s not alone—the rest of The Fireflies are scattered around her. Dina is perched on the armrest beside her, scrolling through her phone, half-listening to whatever Jesse is saying, who’s deep in conversation with someone you don’t recognize. But Ellie? She’s elsewhere. Detached. Letting the whiskey burn slow in her throat as the bass-heavy music thrums through the club. Until she looks up.

Until her gaze collides with yours.

And then—when she realizes who she’s looking at—something shifts.

She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t break first. Instead, she keeps staring—not in a fleeting, casual way. She’s studying you. Sizing you up. The smirk tugging at her lips is slow, knowing.

Like she’s been expecting you. Like she’s been waiting for this moment.

Like she knew you’d both end up here eventually.

Your fingers tighten around your drink as you exhale, pulse thrumming against your skin.

Ellie takes a lazy drag of her whiskey. In one slow, deliberate movement, she spreads her legs a little wider, drapes an arm across the back of the booth, and raises an eyebrow.

The tension between you stretches—thin as wire, hot as an exposed filament—buzzing as the glances keep coming. Stolen, lingering, and never accidental.

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs. You’re playing it cool, but the thrum of adrenaline in your veins says otherwise. You can feel her eyes on you even when you look away, even when Olivia keeps talking in your ear, words blurring into the low hum of music and conversation.

And then, she grabs your wrist. “Come on,” she urges, eyes glinting with mischief. “We didn’t come here to sit around.”

You let her pull you onto the dance floor, slipping into the current of bodies that move around you, the music curling around you like smoke. You move easily, letting the rhythm sink into your bones, letting the world blur.

But you keep looking back.

And Ellie—Ellie is still staring.

Her gaze is heavy-lidded, dim light catching in green irises, turning them darker. She lifts her glass to her lips again, slowly, whiskey kissing her mouth as she watches you move.

She looks like she’s enjoying the show.

So you give her one.

You dance, letting the music drown out everything else—the flashing lights, the faceless bodies. The bass thrums through your bones, heartbeat syncing to the rhythm, but no matter how lost you let yourself get, you can still feel her.

Ellie hasn’t moved. Not yet. But her presence is suffocating, pressing into you from across the room. She’s relaxed—almost too relaxed. Like she’s pretending this isn’t affecting her.

But the way her jaw shifts slightly, the way her grip tightens for half a second before she hides it behind another sip?

Yeah. It’s affecting her.

So you push it further.

You let your movements get a little slower, a little more deliberate. Your dress clings in all the right places, the dim lights casting shadows over your skin, and when you open your eyes again, you catch the exact moment Ellie loses her composure.

It’s the way her tongue swipes across her bottom lip. The way her fingers drum against the table, restless, like she’s debating something.

The way she exhales sharply, sets her glass down, and finally moves.

She stands, pushing off the booth with that same lazy confidence, but there’s a new sharpness to it now, a purpose. She murmurs something to Dina, who only smirks, flicks a glance at you, then waves her off.

She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t weave through the crowd—she cuts through it, a slow, steady force, people shifting around her without a second thought.

"Alright, superstar" Olivia drawls, her grin nothing short of wicked as she catches your eye. "I’ll leave you to your… situation."

You barely get a chance to react before she downs the rest of her drink, runs a slow hand down the fabric of her dress, and locks onto a guy leaning against the bar—tall, sharp-jawed, the kind she loves to toy with.

"Oh, I see..." you murmur, arching a brow as you watch her shift her weight onto one foot, feigning nonchalance, even though you know better. "Text me later—if you even remember how to type by then."

Olivia leans in, pressing a quick, sticky-sweet kiss to your cheek, her perfume blooming warm against your skin.

"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do" she purrs, voice light, eyes glinting.

Then she’s gone, slipping into the crowd, leaving only the faintest trace of laughter in her wake.

And just like that, you’re alone.

Well—not exactly.

You feel her before you even see her.

The shift in the air. The weight of a gaze. The way the energy of the room tilts—like gravity itself is bending towards her, like she commands the space around her without ever needing to claim it.

Your pulse stumbles.

Ellie moves like she knows she belongs wherever she stands. She doesn’t even have to touch you; just her presence alone is enough to sink beneath your skin, coil around your ribs, settle deep in your stomach.

Her scent—smoke, leather, and the sharp bite of her cologne—wraps around you as she leans in, voice dropping low, teasing.

"You always put on a show like that, or was that just for me?"

Her breath ghosts along your cheek, close enough to taste the warmth of whiskey lingering on her lips.

You don’t answer right away. You let it sit, let the tension pull tight between you. A slow inhale, the ghost of a smirk playing at your lips as you rake a hand through your hair, finally turning to meet her.

And fuck.

Up close, Ellie is lethal. The kind of beautiful that feels like a setup, like a loaded gun placed in trembling hands. Her green eyes gleam, sharp and unreadable. Her gaze flicks down to your tits for half a second, barely noticeable—but you notice.

“That depends.” you murmur, voice smooth, honeyed. “Did you like the show?”

Ellie huffs a quiet laugh, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek, and shit that does something to you. She leans just enough for the space between you to practically vanish, the heat of her breath against your skin.

“I don’t think like is the right word”

Oh.

The music pounds around you, but it’s background noise now—distant, unimportant. Because all you care about is the rush of your own heartbeat, the scrape of Ellie’s voice, and the way she’s watching you like she’s already got her next move planned.

You raise a brow, letting your fingers trace the rim of your glass before taking a slow sip. “Oh yeah?”

Ellie’s gaze drops to your mouth. She smirks. That same lazy, knowing smirk from across the room, only now it’s worse. Now it’s right there.

“Yeah,” she says, voice edged with amusement, with challenge. “I think I need a closer look.”

Your stomach tightens.

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Mmm. I don’t know. You seemed pretty comfortable back there.”

“I was,” she admits, eyes gleaming. “But you were distracting.”

“Distracting?”

She muses, lips twitching. “It's hard to focus on anything else when you’re in the room.”

Jesus Christ.

You should say something witty, something smooth, but it seems that your mind is short-circuiting and working against you. So you settle for something else that doesn’t require snarky comebacks.

You don’t break eye contact as you set your drink down and reach for her whiskey glass, plucking it from her fingers like it belongs to you.

Slowly, you bring it to your lips, tilting your head back to take a sip. The burn of the whiskey is immediate, rich and smoky, but you barely register it. Because all you can focus on is Ellie watching you—watching your mouth, your throat, the way your fingers wrap around her glass.

“It’s good.” You murmur, licking a stray drop off your bottom lip before offering it back.

Ellie takes it without a word. Her fingers brush against yours—just for a second, just long enough to feel deliberate. Then she drinks, lips meeting the same spot yours just touched. Indirect kiss.

Ellie doesn’t react, not outright. She just watches you over the rim of the glass, half-lidded, unreadable, before swallowing the last sip. She nods toward the backs of the bar, where the booths are tucked away in the dim neon haze, shadows swallowing the edges of the room.

“C’mon.” Her voice is low, sure. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

It’s not a question.

You should hesitate. You should throw something sharp her way, something teasing, a push to match her pull. But you don’t.

Not when the warmth of her touch still lingers against your skin.

So you just follow.

After grabbing fresh drinks, you slide into the booth, expecting Ellie to take the seat across from you. But she doesn’t. Instead, she slips in right beside you, close. Casual, unhurried, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Her thigh presses against yours, warm through the fabric of her jeans. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she leans back against the worn leather seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

She takes a slow sip of her drink, the ice shifting with the movement, her other hand resting on her thigh—dangerously close. Close enough that if you shifted even a little, if you so much as exhaled in the wrong direction, her fingers would graze your skin.

You take a sip of your own drink, matching her energy, leaning back just enough that your shoulder presses against her arm, your movements measured.

“You comfortable?” she muses, voice dipping low.

“Yeah,” you turn your head as you answer smoothly “Are you?”

Ellie chuckles, shaking her head, her eyes flicking over your face like she’s figuring out a puzzle she already knows the answer to.

“Oh, I’m real comfortable.”

She tilts her glass, ice clinking, watching as you drag your fingers along the condensation on yours.

“So…” you hum, drawing out the word and trying to chat a little “What’s next for the great Ellie Williams?”

Ellie exhales, tilting her head back against the booth.

“Studio time. Late nights. Same shit, different album.”

You nod, taking a sip. “Bet it’s gonna be good.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? You a fan?”

You lift a shoulder in a shrug, playful. “Maybe. Or maybe I just said that to be nice.”

Ellie scoffs, shaking her head. “Bullshit.”

You laugh, looking at her over the rim of your glass. She studies you for a second, eyes sharp and knowing, then leans in, her voice taking on a teasing lilt.

“What about you, pop princess? More shows? Another album?” she quips. “...maybe a fake PR relationship?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.

“I don’t do those.”

Ellie gives you a look—unconvinced. “Sure.”

A beat of silence, thick with something unspoken.

If only you both knew

Then, her hand moves lower, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your shoulder. The touch is featherlight, almost absentminded, but you know better. Her other hand slides down slowly until her palm settles on your thigh, just above your knee. You feel the warmth of it through your skin, a quiet claim. Almost possessive.

She’s testing you. Seeing if you’ll pull away.

And you don’t.

“You nervous?” she murmurs, feeling as goosebumps raise in the skin she's touching.

You exhale, meeting her gaze with a challenge. “Not even a little.”

Ellie hums like she doesn’t believe you. Her fingers tighten just slightly against your thigh, pressing firmer, the weight of them making heat coil even lower in your stomach.

“Then finish your drink.”

Your brow lifts, matching her grin. “Why?”

She tilts her head, green eyes dark, half-lidded, unreadable.

“’Cause we’re getting out of here.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

You know exactly where this is going.

So you knock back the rest of your drink in one smooth motion, the warmth of the alcohol sliding down your throat, mingling with the heat pooling low in your stomach. The sensation is almost dizzying, but not as much as the way Ellie hungrily watches you.

Her fingers remain on your thigh, unmoving except for the lazy brush of her thumb against your skin. A barely-there touch, but still there. When you set the glass down with a soft clink, Ellie smirks.

"Good girl."

Your stomach tightens, but you keep your expression composed, refusing to give her the reaction she wants. Instead, you lean into her touch, letting your thigh press more firmly against her hand.

And then, just as effortlessly as she slid into the booth beside you, she moves again—standing, slipping out of the seat with an easy grace. Without hesitation, she reaches into her pocket, tosses a couple of bills onto the table, and tilts her head towards the exit.

“My hotel isn’t far.”

Your lips curve, eyes glinting with something playful, but you don’t stand up. Not yet. “Are you always this forward?”

Ellie chuckles, slipping her hands into her pockets, her smirk deepening. “Only when I know what I want.”

You hum, gaze flicking between her lips and her eyes, drawn in by the way she looks at you—steady, unshaken, expectant.

“And what is it that you want?”

Ellie doesn’t hesitate or waver. Her gaze drags over your face, then lower, sweeping over every inch of your body. That look alone answers every question you could possibly have.

She’s eye-fucking you.

“I think you already know.”

Her voice feels like a dare wrapped in velvet.

She shifts just slightly to let her fingers brush against yours—not quite holding, not quite taking, just enough to make you shiver. To remind you that you’re the one who has to make the next move.

“Last chance, pop star.” Her thumb grazes the inside of your wrist. “You coming or not?

No time to blame the alcohol, the music, her, or even yourself. None of it matters. Not when she’s this close. Not when you’ve already decided—fuck everything.

You don't answer her with words.

Instead, you let your fingers slip fully into hers, a silent answer in the way you squeeze her hand. With unhurried confidence, you rise to your feet, stepping in close, letting her feel the warmth of your body against hers.

Ellie watches you, her smirk deepening, her grip tightening ever so slightly, like she’s making sure you’re real. And then, without another word, she turns, leading you towards the exit, her pace steady, certain— she already knows exactly how this night is going to end.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The elevator ride is painfully slow.

Ellie leans against the mirrored wall, the yellow glow of the overhead lights casting soft shadows along her sharp jawline. You can feel the heat of her gaze, the weight of it pressing against your skin.

“So…” she drawls, tapping a slow rhythm against her thigh. “Have you ever done this before?”

You arch a brow. “Been in an elevator?”

Ellie huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “No, smartass. Snuck away in the middle of the night with someone you barely know.”

You hum, pretending to think as you glance at her from beneath your lashes. “Depends” you say. “Do you count as someone I barely know?”

Ellie exhales sharply, something between a laugh and a scoff as she steps closer until there’s barely a breath of space between you.

“You think you’re funny,” she murmurs, voice just above a whisper.

Your pulse thrums. “I know I am.”

She studies you for a moment, head tilted, before her lips twitch into something smug. “Alright then” she muses, tilting her chin towards the soft ding of the elevator reaching the highest floor.

“Let’s see if you’re still funny in a minute.”

You step inside, your heels clicking softly against the marble, the sound swallowed by the sheer vastness of the room. Ellie follows, closing the door behind you with a quiet click.

The Four Seasons suite is nothing short of breathtaking—the kind of luxury that feels effortless, curated. The living area is sprawling, tastefully minimal, yet undeniably expensive, all clean lines and plush textures. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city stretches out in a sea of glittering lights, skyscrapers piercing the night sky.

The air is cool and heavy, carrying the faint scent of cedarwood, perfume, whiskey, and something distinctively her. A half-finished whiskey bottle and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts sit on the bar. In the adjoining room, a decadent king-sized bed stands with its pristine sheets rumpled, as if she left in a hurry.

She doesn’t move right away. She just watches you, standing a few steps away, hands in her pockets. She’s giving you a moment to take it all in, to change your mind.

"You sure ‘bout this?" she murmurs, voice lower now, more serious. Less teasing.

Your lips curve, slow and certain. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

Ellie exhales a quiet chuckle, running a hand through her auburn mullet before stepping closer. The room feels smaller now, the space between you dissolving into nothing.

“Yeah” she mutters, gaze flickering to your lips. “Didn’t think so.”

And she kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s filled with longing, of knowing about each other without ever really knowing each other, of stolen glances, headlines and rumors that led to this. Her lips are warm, slightly rough from cigarettes and the way she’s been smirking all night.

You match her, hands finding the front of her black shirt, gripping the expensive fabric between your fingers, pulling her closer. Ellie groans against your mouth, low and amused, like she knew you’d be like this— she was just waiting for you to prove it.

She backs you up slowly, guiding without breaking contact, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sink down, breathless, heart hammering, and Ellie follows, bracing herself over you, one knee between your legs, hands settling on either side of you.

Her hands roam, slow but sure, like she’s mapping you out, memorizing every inch of you beneath her fingertips. The room hums with the soft sound of your breaths, the distant city noise barely audible past the pounding in your ears.

Her lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat. A quiet exhale escapes you when her teeth graze your pulse point, and she smirks against your skin like she’s won something.

Ellie moves with purpose, like she’s savoring every little reaction you give her. The way your breath stutters when her lips graze just below your jaw, the way your fingers clutch at her shirt, pulling her closer, needing more.

The air between you is electric, charged with something you are too far gone to name, but definitely heavy. Her hands press against your sides, fingers flexing like she’s grounding herself, like she needs to remind herself to take her time, try to draw this out.

But then you move—tilting your chin, brushing your lips against her pulse point—and Ellie falters, just for a second. A sharp inhale, a quiet curse under her breath.

She’s kisses you again, deeper this time, more urgent. And you know something inside her has finally snapped.

Her hands grip at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to send a thrill up your spine. Her weight presses against you, firm, unyielding, and you arch into it, meeting her halfway. There’s no space left between you now, just heat, friction and the dizzying sensation of losing yourself in her.

She pulls back just slightly, just enough to look at you, to study your face in the dim light. Her thumb brushes over your cheek, softer than before, more careful. Her pupils are blown wide, her breathing uneven.

And then—just when you think you have her figured out—she shifts, her breath hot against your ear, pressing her knee harder between your thighs.

“Tell me, princess” she murmurs, voice dipped in something dangerously close to amusement. “Still playing the part?”

It would be so easy to keep up the game, to smirk and tell her that she’s the one who’s falling for it. But Ellie’s knee moves again—just enough to steal the thought right out of your head—and you let out a soft gasp instead of answering.

Your fingers tighten in her hair, and she groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating through you. It’s heady, dizzying, the way she knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly how to unravel you.

“That's what I thought…”

Her fingers finally find the zipper at the curve of your spine, slow and deliberate, the ghost of a touch sending shivers down your skin. She pauses, eyes flicking up to yours, searching, waiting for your approval.

“Yes, please,” you breathe, barely above a whisper—soft, wanting.

You didn’t mean for it to sound that desperate, but God, you are.

Ellie’s smirk deepens into something downright wicked, her eyes dark with satisfaction. “Fuck…” she mutters, mostly to herself, like she wasn’t expecting you to sound like that, and she wants to hear it again.

Then—slow, torturously slow—she tugs the zipper down, the sound of it impossibly loud in the quiet space between you. The dress pools at your waist before slipping further, guided by her hands, like she’s unwrapping something precious.

And when it finally falls away, leaving you bare save for the delicate lace of your black panties, Ellie exhales a quiet curse, eyes raking over you like she wants to commit every inch of you to memory.

She can’t quite believe you’re real. But you are. And you are here, beneath her, almost naked and looking up at her like this. Her hands skim up your sides, fingers splaying over your ribs, dragging heat in their wake. There’s something almost reverent in the way she touches you, like she’s been waiting for this longer than she’d ever admit.

“You are even better than I imagined,” she murmurs, voice thick, dark and dizzying. Her gaze flickers back up to yours, and the corner of her mouth tugs into a knowing smirk. “And trust me, gorgeous—I imagined a lot.”

It’s like she’s learning, memorizing. And it’s because she is. This is a moment she wants burned into her mind, something she won’t let fade when the night is over.

“You’re still dressed…” you murmur, running your hands up the fabric of her shirt, fingers tracing over the smooth, expensive material.

Ellie smirks, tilting her head slightly. “Wanna fix that?” Her voice is teasing as she leans in, pressing a peck to your lips, barely pulling away before adding, “Be my guest.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your fingers move to the buttons of her shirt, starting slowly at first, savoring the way the fabric parts beneath your touch, revealing inch by inch of her skin. But patience has never been your strong suit, and before you know it, your fingers are working faster, making quick work of the last few buttons.

Ellie chuckles softly at your eagerness, shrugging the shirt off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a second thought.

Your breath catches, taking her in—her toned arms, her freckled chest, her abs, the ink sprawled across her skin, the way the dim lighting casts shadows over every sharp edge of her body.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the way you’re looking at her. “Like what you see?”

You swallow, lips curving into something between a smirk and something much softer. “Yeah,” you admit, voice quieter, breathless. “I really do.”

She smirks, all too proud of herself, before lowering her mouth to your body, lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest. Each press of her mouth sets your skin on fire as she moves lower, finally reaching your breasts.

Her tongue flicks over a hardened nipple before her lips close around it, sucking just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Her other hand moves to your other breast, fingers squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive bud between her fingertips with a precision that makes your breath hitch.

A moan escapes you before you can stop it and Ellie groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. She knows exactly what she’s doing, her movements natural, fluid.

You know she has done this more than a hundred times—but right now, with the way she’s touching you, kissing you, looking at you—it feels like you’re the only one.

And the worst part? She’s barely even started.

“You’re unreal,” she mutters against your skin, voice thick with something reverent, almost amazed. “You sure you’re not the one playing me?”

Your breath catches, a slow smirk forming even as your body betrays you, pressing closer, craving more. “Maybe,” you tease, voice barely above a whisper. “Or maybe I just like watching you lose control.”

Ellie exhales a quiet laugh, but there’s something darker in her eyes now—something wild, untamed. She leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw, your throat, before settling just below your ear.

“Then I guess we’re both in trouble.”

Ellie’s fingers trail lower as she reaches the waistband of your panties. With a slow smirk, she hooks her fingers into the lace and tugs them down, the fabric slipping over your thighs in one smooth motion. The cool air kisses your heated core, and she exhales sharply, her gaze flickering downward—taking you in, almost ridiculously soaked for her. Just for her.

“Damn…” she murmurs, voice thick with something between amusement and hunger. “Look at you.”

“Fuck, Ellie...” Heat rushes to your face, her fingers ghost over your thigh. She’s barely touching you, barely doing anything at all, and yet—your body is already responding, arching subtly towards her, silently asking for more.

Ellie chuckles, low and knowing. “You’re so easy to read.” She leans in, lips grazing your jaw, her fingers still dancing just at the edge of your glistening pussy. “And so, so needy.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and when she finally moves—finally gives in to what you both want—you can’t stop the breathy moan that slips from your lips.

Ellie grins against your skin, pleased. “That’s more like it, baby. Keep moaning for me like that.”

Her fingers move like pure sin, circling your clit with practiced ease, each motion precise, calculated. Designed to ruin you, untame you. Your moans spill out freely, and you can feel her eyes on you, dark and burning, primal.

The sight of you like this—bare, undone, completely at her mercy—makes something in her tighten, makes her want to see just how far she can push you.

So she doesn’t give you a second to prepare. One moment, she’s watching you with that signature smirk, and the next—her mouth is on you, tongue sliding through your folds like she’s been starving for this.

“Oh god! Ellie!” You choke on a gasp, hands flying to the sheets, twisting them between your fingers as her tongue works against you.

Ellie eats you out the same way she plays her guitar—expertly, effortlessly, like she was made for this. Every flick of her tongue is deliberate, every slow drag filled with a deep, unrelenting intensity, she’s savoring you, she wants to make a masterpiece out of your pleasure.

“So sweet…” Ellie groans against your cunt, the sound sending vibrations that make your whole body jolt. Fuck, she thinks, feeling the way your thighs twitch, the way your breath stutters, how quickly you fall apart for her. It’s addictive.

She pulls back just enough to spit on your pussy, watching the way your hole clenches around nothing. A quiet chuckle rumbles in her chest, fingers dragging lazily up your slit, collecting everything you’re giving her.

“You’re fuckin’ messy, babe." She murmurs, half in awe, half just to tease.

Before you can even think to respond, her tongue is on you again, dragging slow and deliberate licks over your swollen clit while two fingers ease their way inside, stretching you open.

You inhale sharply, your thighs instinctively trying to snap shut around her, but Ellie is quick, her free hand pressing against your hip, keeping you right where she wants you.

She curls her fingers just right, feeling the way your walls flutter around them. She watches you from beneath heavy lids, drinking in the way your head tilts back, lips parting, how every needy sound you make is just for her.

Her lips curve against your heat before she bites down on your clit softly—just enough to make your breath hitch, your fingers tighten in her hair. Her fingers move in tandem, thrusting slow but deep, curling just right against your spongy spot to make pleasure coil tighter and tighter inside you.

You can’t even form words, only breathy, broken sounds slipping past your lips. Your body moves on instinct, rolling against her mouth, chasing that high she’s so effortlessly pulling you towards. Ellie groans at the way you react to her, the vibrations sending a new wave of heat spiraling through you.

“Takin’ it so perfectly, princess,” she muses, her voice rough with satisfaction. One hand smooths along your thigh, grounding, teasing, keeping you exactly where she wants you. The slick, obscene sounds of her fingers and mouth working on you grow louder, matching the frantic pace of your pulse.

You’re so close, you can feel it—electric, unbearable, curling low. Like a thread waiting to snap.

“I—hah!—Ellie, I’m gonna—” Your voice breaks as pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and dizzying. Your body tightens, trembles, pleasure snapping through every nerve as you cry out, gripping onto her like she’s the only thing anchoring you.

Ellie doesn’t pull away immediately, working you through it, her mouth still lazily exploring, drawing out every last aftershock until your thighs are trembling around her. Only then does she ease back, slow and deliberate, her fingers slipping from you with a quiet, wet sound.

You barely have time to catch your breath before she lifts them to her lips, her eyes locking onto yours, utterly shameless. She slides them past her lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.

“Too good to waste” she mutters, the rasp in her voice making heat flicker in your belly all over again.

You watch her with a dazed expression, your mind still lost in the aftershocks, chest rising and falling as you try to remember how to breathe.

This is almost too good to be true.

And thank God it is.

Ellie watches you with half-lidded eyes, her breath heavy, chest rising and falling as she takes in the sight of you—disheveled, skin glistening, lips parted as you gasp for air. She knows she’s wrecked you, and fuck, she loves it. Loves the way you look at her, like she’s the only thing that exists in the world right now.

“Shit babe, you soaked the bed…” she murmurs, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips as she drags her fingers up your trembling thighs. “Do I turn you on that badly?”

Your head barely nods, your body still buzzing, heat pooling in your stomach again even though you haven’t fully come down. “Mhmm.”

Ellie huffs out a quiet chuckle, pressing her lips against the inside of your knee before pulling back just enough to unbuckle her belt. Your breath hitches as she unfastens it, sliding her jeans and grey boxers down her hips, revealing the deep purple strap nestled between her thighs.

And It’s almost unfair how good she looks like this. Shirt unbuttoned, muscles flexing as she strokes the length of the toy once, watching you with amused eyes.

And let's just say, you are shocked.

How the hell did you not notice it before? It’s thick, long, and attached to a harness that presses snugly against her lower abdomen—bigger than anything you’ve ever taken.

Your gaze flickers between her face and the toy, your thighs pressing together involuntarily. Ellie notices, her smirk widening. “Something wrong, baby?”

You swallow, your voice coming out weaker than you want it to. “N-no.”

Your breath stutters, eyes widening. “Nervous, pretty girl?” Ellie quirks a brow. She clicks something at the base of the strap, and suddenly, a sound vibrates with a low hum.

You shake your head, but the anticipation, the way your legs shift, betrays you. Ellie just smirks, gripping your knee and spreading you open.

“It’s okay” she says, and for a moment, her voice is softer “You can always tell me if it’s too much.”

A thread of something unspoken lingers between you, but then she’s pressing the tip against your soaked entrance, teasing, watching your breath hitch, and any softness vanishes into something much darker.

She pushes in—slow, stretching you inch by inch, letting you feel every single second of it.

You let out a sharp cry, your fingers flying up to grasp at her shoulders, nails digging in. Ellie groans at the sight, her pupils blown wide, her fingers flexing against your thigh as she stills for just a second, letting you adjust. “Shit…” she rasps, voice thick. “Taking me so fucking well.”

Your walls flutter around the length, the feeling making your whole body shudder. “F-fuck…” you whimper, the sound breathy, desperate.

Ellie grips your face with one hand, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to look at her. “Tell me how it feels.” she demands, her thumb brushing over your parted lips.

“Good—so fucking good—Ells…” you gasp, your voice breaking as she bottoms up, letting you feel the thickness of the toy against your walls. Then, she shifts, gripping your hips tighter, pulling you flush against her as she sinks deeper, her thrusts picking up pace.

“Yeah?” Ellie breathes, watching the way your body trembles beneath her. “Gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to think straight,”

Your head tilts back and your eyes dart shut as you moan, pleasure sparking through you like wildfire, but Ellie isn’t having that. “No.” she grits, leaning down, her breath hot against your ear. “Look at me.”

She grips your jaw, tilting your face back toward her, her lips just inches from yours.

“I want you to look at me fucking you.”

The way she says it—so raw, so commanding—has you clenching around her, has your legs shaking as she fucks you harder, deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you that makes your mind blank.

Your eyes flutter open, and what you see nearly ruins you. Ellie, flushed and wrecked with desire, watching you fall apart beneath her, completely at her mercy.

Her smirk returns, slow and knowing. “That’s my girl.”

“F-fuck, right there—Ellie, please!” you babble, your voice breaking as she adjusts the angle, pressing your knee up to your chest so she can sink in even deeper and hit that spot that makes you fall apart. Your fingers claw at her back, clinging to her as if letting go would shatter you completely.

Ellie groans, sweat slicking her forehead, the vibrations from the toy sending shocks of pleasure through her own body. She’s close, she knows it, but she wants you there first. Needs to see you unravel beneath her, to make you tighten around her.

Your moans turn into choked sobs of pleasure, your body going rigid as the coil inside you snaps. “I—shitt—I’m gonna—!”

And then it happens. Your back arches, your legs shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm crashes through you, your vision going white. The sheer intensity of it rips a cry from your throat, your nails digging deeper into her back as your body spasms.

“Jesus fucking christ…” Ellie curses, watching the way your release splashes everywhere, coating her toy, dripping down between your thighs and her lower abdomen. “Did you just—fuckk—did you just squirt?”

And just like that, with one last deep thrust, she shudders, her own orgasm overtaking her as the toy grinds against her in just the right way. “Oh god, I—”

Her muscles go taut, her forehead dropping against your shoulder as her breath leaves her in a sharp exhale. She rides it out, her body trembling against yours before she finally stills, catching her breath.

She’s careful as she pulls out, the slick sound making both of you shiver. A low whistle leaves her lips as she looks down at the mess between your legs.

You can’t form words, your body still convulsing, overstimulated and spent. Ellie watches you, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “Goddamn…” she murmurs, grinning lazily as she flops beside you.

“You really did soak the bed.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the smell of coffee.

The second thing you notice is that your body hurts—a deep lingering soreness that reminds you exactly how last night went down. And let’s just say, it was a long night.

You stretch lazily against the sheets, tangled almost beyond saving, blinking against the light filtering through the curtains. The room is a mess, whiskey glasses half-empty on the nightstand, your dress discarded in a careless heap on the floor, the air still heavy with the scent of sex.

The steady hum of the shower echoes from the bathroom. You exhale, running a hand through your hair as you sit up, the sheets slipping down your bare skin covered only by your lace panties. Your fingers find the nearest whiskey glass, bringing it to your lips—only to find it empty.

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. Of course. Ellie Williams never does leave you anything to sip on but trouble.

And then she walks in.

A towel slung over her shoulders, fresh boxers hanging low on her hips, a white tank top clinging to her still-damp skin. Her auburn short hair, darker from the shower, is pushed back in that frustratingly effortless way.

Your breath catches.

Maybe it’s the afterglow, or maybe it’s just her—but she looks too good. Unfairly good.

Ellie glances at you, grabbing her coffee cup from the table. “Damn, you survived.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Barely.”

Your body feels wrecked, and you’re painfully aware of exactly why. But there’s no time to dwell on it—your fingers fumble for your phone on the nightstand, and when you check the time, your stomach drops.

Shit. You were supposed to be at the studio an hour ago.

With a sigh, you throw the sheets off and swing over the edge of the bed, standing on shaky legs. Ellie watches, her smirk widening, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

You shoot her a glare. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” She leans back against the dresser, legs spread, mug cradled loosely in her hands, eyes dragging over you in that slow, unhurried way. She’s memorizing every mark she left, every inch of bare skin now illuminated by the light. “Just appreciating the aftermath.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm anyway. Before you can shoot back a response, she tosses something your way—a soft bundle of fabric. You catch it midair, unfolding it. A T-shirt. Hers, obviously.

“This is all I’m getting?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

Ellie flops onto the edge of the bed, pulling on her jeans, that fucking smirk never leaving her lips. “What, you want a medal too?”

“No, dumbass. Pants.” You gesture to your mostly bare legs. “Or am I supposed to just strut out of here in nothing but this?”

Ellie hums, head tilting like she’s actually considering it. “I mean… yeah? Could be a serve.”

You glare. “Ellie.”

She grins, taking another slow sip of coffee. "Alright, alright. You can borrow something.”

You huff, pulling her shirt over your head, the fabric soft and smelling like her. “Generous.”

She snickers, getting up to rummage through her bag. A moment later, a pair of jeans lands on your lap. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

You unfold them and immediately groan.

“Oh, come on,” you grumble, holding up the jeans.“These are massive. I look like I raided my dad’s closet.”

Ellie, still perched against the dresser, tilts her head, eyes dragging over you in that slow, lazy way that makes your stomach flip. “Nah,” she muses, taking a sip of her coffee. “If you were wearing your dad’s jeans, they wouldn’t make me wanna fuck you all night again.”

Your breath catches—just for a second—before you recover, scoffing as you lob a pillow at her face. She dodges easily, laughing, while you mutter under your breath, pulling the jeans on. They hang ridiculously low on your hips, and you have to roll the waistband several times to make them even somewhat wearable. With a huff, you snatch a belt from the chair, looping it through and cinching it tight.

By the time you’re slipping on your shoes, Ellie is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, her smirk growing by the second. She’s watching you with that barely concealed amusement, like she’s holding back from making some smartass comment.

You narrow your eyes. “What?”

She nods toward your legs, lips twitching. “Nothing,” she says, voice dripping with amusement. “Just… loving the fit.”

You glance down at yourself—the borrowed jeans, the oversized shirt, and all of that paired with heels. The entire disheveled aftermath of last night wrapped up in one ridiculous outfit. It’s not your fault she wears jeans three sizes too big and still manages to look good.

You shoot her a glare, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re stealing my clothes.” She takes another sip of her coffee, watching you struggle with your belt. “Might as well start charging you rent.”

You roll your eyes and head for the door, but just as you reach the threshold, her voice stops you.

“Hey.”

You glance back over your shoulder, eyebrows raised in silent amusement.

Ellie, standing in the doorway, tilts her head, her lips curling into a playful grin. “Hope to see you around, superstar.”

You return the look, shrugging as you take a step backwards into the hallway. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Ellie chuckles under her breath, shaking her head in mock disbelief.

“Absolute fucking menace”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The air outside bites at your skin as you step out of the hotel, the morning sun glaring too bright for your tired eyes. Your phone buzzes in your hand—a quick reminder that your driver is two minutes away.

You glance down at yourself: your own clothes abandoned somewhere in a hotel room you never bothered to retrieve, and Ellie’s oversized t-shirt draped over your frame, hanging just a little too big, screaming that it isn’t yours. Great.

You roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the ghost of last night’s lingering touch, the memory of her hands gripping your waist, her lips trailing over your skin. You told yourself it was just fun, a wild one night stand with a hot rockstar to take the edge off.

But now, you can’t help but feel that your body still hums with the echo of her touch.

You don’t notice the subtle flicker of movement—a camera shutter clicking once, twice, in a quiet, practiced rhythm drowned out by the city noise.

The soft thud of the car door seals you off from the world, and as you settle into the seat, you catch your own scent—a heady mix that unmistakably smells just like her. You rest your head back and inhale slowly, grounding yourself as the car pulls away from the curb.

But you don't know that across the street, a photographer flips through his shots, zooming in on your face.

You don’t know that in just an hour, your name will be trending worldwide—paired inseparably with hers.

And you don’t know that later, back in the hotel room, Ellie is still standing by the window, scrolling through her phone. She pauses, eyes narrowing as a fresh notification pops up, a text from her manager— with a TMZ headline.

Your name.

Hers.

“Shit.”

────────────

← 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OMG OMG OMG THAT SHI WAS INTENSEEE. its so long im sorry lmaooo. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

265 notes · View notes

oopsiedaisydeer · 1 day ago

Text

ʙᴀʙʏ

fluff, mutual pining, light angst, teasing, silly, idiots in love, friends to lovers, pet names, crush, shy matt, slightest hint of subbish matt

based off this request!

word count - 1.1k

Matt had never been one to outwardly express his feelings. Most of the time, he kept things to himself, especially when it came to his friends. But lately, there was one thing he couldn’t seem to shake. Your casual, silly use of a particular pet name. Baby.

It wasn’t intentional, he knew that. You’d been calling everyone in the group by silly, affectionate pet names for weeks now. To you, it was just a fun, harmless way of talking, but to Matt? Well, it was starting to mean something more than that.

And it wasn’t just Matt who had picked up on it, everyone else had too. You were the type to throw out affectionate terms for all your friends, but when it came to Matt, everyone knew there was something different, more intentional, careful, loving about the way you said it to him.

He’d tried to brush it off at first. After all, it was just a nickname, right? You called everyone “baby” or “sweetheart” or even “babe,” and no one thought anything of it. But there was something about the way you said it, so easily, so naturally, that made Matt’s heart do an involuntary flip every time you said it to him.

“Hey, baby, could you grab that for me?” you asked one day, tapping him lightly on the shoulder as you reached for the remote, your voice teasing and light.

Matt froze for a second, almost choking on air. His eyes flicked over to you, then down to the object you were pointing at, struggling to keep his cool. It was just a remote, but in that moment, it felt like his entire world had stopped moving.

“Uh, sure,” he muttered, trying not to show the way his chest fluttered at the nickname. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours just slightly, and his heart raced even faster. His brain kept short circuiting, imagining that the way you said “baby” to him was like a little secret only the two of you shared.

Later, you all sat in the living room, lounging on the couch as usual, when you leaned your head on his shoulder. “You’re so sweet, baby,” you whispered, and Matt swore he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. It wasn’t the first time you’d done something like this, but it still sent his mind spinning every time.

It wasn’t lost on anyone else, though. Nick, watching from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with one of your other friends. You were completely unaware of the effect you were having on Matt, and Matt, well, he was just trying to keep it together.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Matt’s voice was quieter than usual, a bit more hesitant as he leaned in toward you. You glanced up at him, noticing the nervous edge to his expression.

“Sure, what’s up?” you asked, a kind smile on your lips as you expected him to say something about the movie, or the snacks, or anything else.

He glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaning in a little closer. “Uh, just... please don’t call me ‘baby’ anymore,” he said, his voice low, but there was a little hint of something, was it discomfort? Maybe even... nerves?

You blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean? It’s just a nickname, Matt.”

He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck like he was working up the courage to say something. “I know, but...” He hesitated for a moment, looking over at you before his eyes dropped to the floor. “I just... I don’t want it to sound like I’m taking it seriously. It’s... it’s just... I don’t know, it feels like you’re saying it to everyone, and I don’t want it to lose meaning.”

His words made your heart race in a different way, but you were still a little confused. “But I’m just being silly with everyone,” you said, shrugging. “I mean, I call you ‘baby’ like I call the others. No harm in it.”

Matt bit his lip, his fingers twitching slightly as he looked up at you, his gaze more intense than usual. “It… it affects me,” he mumbled quietly. “It’s just... when you say it, it kind of... I don’t know... it makes me feel things. And I want it to mean more than just a joke. I... I want it to be something just between us.”

A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you realised what he was trying to say. Your heart fluttered at his admission, feeling the warm flush spread across your cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, he liked you more than you thought. Or maybe, just maybe, you liked him more than you realised.

You leaned in closer to him, your voice soft as you teased, “So... you want me to call you ‘baby,’ but only when it’s just the two of us, huh?”

Matt’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks turning pink as he looked away for a second, clearly flustered. “Yeah, I mean... if you want to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’d like that.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. “Well, in that case...” You leaned into him more, cuddling up to him with a playful smirk. “You’re the only one I want to call ‘baby.’”

Matt’s face broke into a shy grin, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. “You got it,” he whispered, a bit more confidently now.

From across the room, Chris leaned back with a grin, nudging the others. He exchanged a knowing look with the rest of the group before they all collectively sighed.

“Fucking finally!” someone muttered, their voice full of relief and amusement.

Matt froze, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink as he realised the others had been watching the whole time. You chuckled softly, looking between Matt and your friends, your heart fluttering with the knowledge that things were finally going somewhere between you two.

Matt shot a glare at the group, but his grin couldn’t hide the happiness bubbling up inside him. “Shut up,” he muttered, but the playful edge in his voice was unmistakable.

Feeling bold, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a second before pulling away with a teasing smile. “Love you, baby,” you whispered, that familiar nickname feeling even more intimate now.

Matt’s heart skipped a beat, his entire face flushing as he turned to you, his hand resting against his cheek where you’d kissed him. “Shut up,” he mumbled, but his smile couldn’t be contained.

creds to rose for the dividers !! @bernardsbendystraws <3

a/n: im kinda loving this kinda hating it

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart @cowboylikenat @recordeeznuts @camzeecorner @sturniolo101 @courta13 @sweetshuga

till next time !!!

186 notes · View notes

bananayuyu · 2 days ago

Text

Walker, Stalker

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.6k

Summary: The captain of the soccer team and the strange new girl who'd just moved in next door. Who would have thought that you and Yunho had the same fucked up fantasies?

Warnings: MDNI, smut, reader is short, size kink kinda, voyeurism, masturbation, sex toys, collars, stalking, degradation, mean yunho, unprotected sex, cnc vibes, please don't read if that isn't your thing!

A/n: this is inspired by that video above of Yunho walking and also this instagram post that had me losing my damn mind. @yuyusbabygirl thanks for making me insane. I hope you all enjoy <333

The air was cool and crisp the day you moved into your new dorm, campus nearly empty for spring break. As your beat up sedan pulled up to the curb you sighed, taking in the rare moment of silence.

It had been a harsh two weeks following your expulsion. And in all of the hiding and lying, you'd worn yourself thin. But what were you to do, tell the truth? If anyone here now, or anyone there then, heard the true reason for your transfer, you knew you'd never be able to show your face anywhere. Your accomplice had promised to keep his mouth shut too, promised to keep this whole thing a secret just as you had. And you had reason to believe him; his job was on the line, not just his reputation.

By then you were a jaded sophomore, already over everything about college; the power dynamics, the social expectations, the politics and bureaucracy that hung over all the professors. You'd learned too much about that, getting involved with him. It had been a bad idea, of course. But you had an insatiable need to fulfill certain fantasies, and try as you might you were never able to make the rational choice when it really mattered.

Moving in all on your own made for a tough day, but you were thankful for the solitude. Your friends and professors at your last school had been constantly asking you why for weeks; I thought you hated that school? All it's really got going for it is it's sports program.

You should have been more sad to leave them all behind; yes, you should have been, but your brain didn't seem to work the way it should, and you'd never been very attached to anyone. No one in the world could understand your true desires; and though you always tried to live as normally as you could, you'd realized this last year there was little point in truly trying to suppress it. The suppressing had only made it worse, which led to the shit storm you'd just passed through; you were determined not to make that mistake again.

The week passed in relative peace; with campus nearly empty you could walk about and get used to your new space, the new routes you'd have to take to your classes, the drive to the nearest grocery store. You'd heard mixed things about this place, but the cooler, wetter weather here meant that trees and bushes grew in abundance, and the grass by the student union building was actually soft enough to lay on. Your birthday was about to come, at the end of the week, and you resolved to buy yourself a little gift to celebrate. You'd done well to escape that potentially disastrous situation; you deserved a little treat for being so positive about the ridiculous move you'd just had to make.

You woke the morning of Friday with anticipation coursing through you, your legs and core already tingling with delight. The package wasn't set to arrive until the afternoon, so you busied yourself with what you could; going for another walk to double check your new routes, stopping by the store again to buy yourself a little cake to have with dinner. No one knew you were turning twenty today, but you didn't mind; you were going to celebrate tonight in your own way, in the way you liked, and that was all that mattered.

When you arrived back at the dorm in the mid afternoon the parking lot still looked relatively empty save for a few cars that you'd not yet seen. You had been so alone these few days, already growing used to it; but that was to change as soon as you entered the front doors and headed through the kitchen towards the stairs. As you walked past the refrigerator door slammed sharply; you jumped and peered back, locking eyes with a tall and broad man, his brown hair floppy and messily pushed back, his grey hoodie adorned with the school's bright green logo.

The eyes he fixed you with were dark and domineering, but he obviously looked surprised, seeing a new face here. The building wasn't tiny, but it wasn't huge by any means; you'd always imagined dorms to be massive enough for relative anonymity, but the one you'd been selected for housed only about twenty people, few enough that he'd certainly know everyone well by now. You snapped your eyes away from his quick and made for the stairs, your small cake clasped between your hands, your whole body trembling for some unknown reason. Maybe these few days you'd gotten so used to solitude that simply seeing another human ws scaring you; but really, if you were honest with yourself, it was something about the look in his eyes, the way they looked intense and dead all at the same time.

It was roughly an hour later that there was a knock on your door; opening it you found his face again, eyes still piercing yours when they met. Up close he looked massive, towering over you so much you had to look nearly straight up to see him, his shoulders so wide you couldn't see them all with the door only partially ajar.

"This came for you," he said, holding up your package, and your heart about fell out of your ass.

"Oh, thanks," you responded, swallowing hard, your mind racing with the knowledge of what was inside and his huge hands that somehow reached around the entire box. Your eyes fixed on the package as you grabbed it from him; your hands brushed, and a jolt of static snapped between your fingers. You jumped back, breath knocked out of you, before you stared back at him. He was staring at you too, eyebrows low, but his lips were turned up in the whisper of a smirk. You couldn't read him at all; you gaped as you watched him walk back to his room, the one right next to yours, and close his door without another word.

As you placed the package down it was obvious in an instant; there were multiple lines of tape that had graced the cardboard box, residue lines that were unmistakably in different spots that the current tape. Had he fucked with your package, had he opened it? You shook your head, feeling crazy; it was probably just a mistake that had been made at the warehouse, and the package had to be opened and taped up again. You didn't understand what it was about this guy that was shaking you so deeply. You were tired of feeling on edge, that was all the last few weeks had been. You needed to finally relax, that had been your plan for tonight; you pushed your worries from your mind and ripped open your package, immediately forgetting them all as you stared at the beauty in front of you.

A collar, with tiny spikes on the inside, that tightened if you pulled on the leash. And a stunning eight-inch dildo, purple and sparkly, a massive suction cup on the end. You'd had a routine down for months but had thrown out all your old toys during that period of suppression; now it was time to start building your collection again, and taking care of these sexual needs yourself. Your cake sat tantalizing you on your desk; but it would have to wait, you needed to try out your new toys.

You tied the leash to the back corner of your bed, making sure the rope was quite short; already the process was bringing you to the dark and sultry place your head liked to be, and you could feel yourself getting wet even before you'd grabbed the dildo, suctioning to the wall at just the right height. You started licking it, teasing it, getting lost trying to take it down your throat as far as you could; after gagging it was soaked with your spit, and in an instant you ripped off all your clothes and turned around, securing the collar around your neck carefully and tugging on the leash to make sure all was secure.

Then you positioned yourself in front of it; lining up your soaking entrance with the dildo you sunk onto it slowly, groaning at the stretch it was giving you, a sensation you hadn't felt in far too long. You liked feeling like you were splitting open from the inside, liked when it felt a bit painful, like it was too much for you to take. As you rocked forward your body weight pulled at the leash, squeezing the collar against the side of your throat deliciously, relenting slightly as you thrust back again. You started keeping a rhythm, the collar squeezing on the upswing, the dildo hitting your cervix the other way. This was what you'd needed to relax; the mix of pain and pleasure was numbing your mind just right, and as you continued to thrust your pleasure grew, your moans gentle as you tried your best to keep your volume down in this building you were no longer alone in.

You ripped several orgasms from yourself, over and over again, before you heard it. You'd lost count at that point; you were about to have another when you heard the unmistakable sound of metal creaking outside your window, and flashed up your eyes to see a grey hoodie moving past the glass, someone clearly on the fire escape outside. It all happened so fast, it didn't seem real; you didn't want to lose the pleasure you were feeling, so you started up your movements again, this time keeping your eyes trained in that direction. You'd lost it momentarily but the orgasm was building again; your mouth was slack open as you breathed hard, trying still to keep your noises soft, the tension in your core building even harder than it had earlier. This was bound to be a hard one, you knew it, and just as it started to wash over you, just as your legs began to tremble and your whole body erupted in flames of pleasure, you saw his face at the side of your window, his intense dead eyes meeting yours. Unable to stop yourself you came; right here infront of him, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and as soon as you pulled off he vanished, his face disappearing from view.

It was undeniably awkward the next time you saw him in the kitchen, later that night, putting the left over half of your cake in the fridge. He was still in his hoodie, still looked exactly the same; you'd showered, changed, tried to wipe yourself clean of the slight debauchery of your evening. Compared to some of the things you'd done in your life it was nothing, but you were so scared of getting kicked out again, you had tried to recalibrate your understanding of where the line should really be.

He just stared at you again. No greeting, no hello, those dark eyes never leaving you as you walked past. You too, said nothing; what could you say? You were so convinced of your own insanity that you were questioning if you had really seen his face. Maybe you'd just wanted to, had hoped he'd be there watching. He was by all accounts your type; you like them huge and tall, like them to scare you and intimidate you.

Over the next weeks you learned just how intimidating he was; when he stalked around campus he could part a sea of other students, no one daring to step in his way. His shoulders swaggered and his head hung down a bit, and all it gave off was a sense of complete confidence and superiority. He dressed nice, was clearly doing well for himself. It took some time, but soon you learned he was captain of the school's soccer team, played right back, was feared by everyone, and was all that any girl around seemed to want to talk to you about.

You didn't even have to be subtle about your questions; people wanted to offer up everything they knew, from minor injuries he'd had, how the last game on the road had gone for him, who his parents were, his class schedule, everything. People on campus basically stalked him, you realized; which wasn't exactly uncommon these days, especially as he posted on socials enough to provide the dots to be connected. But to everyone he seemed uninterested in them; he barely followed anyone else, only his family and a few other boys on the team, and was never seen to be leaving comments on anyone's posts. He didn't give a fuck to know everyone else; that he'd made clear over his four years here, and as he was set to play professionally come the fall, everyone figured his attention was laser focused on his sport.

It would have shocked them all to know what really had started to fill his evenings; you had a regular schedule of masturbating, that he'd figured out right away, and it was all too easy for him to sneak out on the fire escape between your windows and catch a glimpse of you, complete ecstasy on your face as that collar bore down on your neck, your eyes rolling back. Behind your building a line of massive pine trees lay like a wall, and out here he could touch himself without a soul seeing, so long as none of the other students in this building looked out windows that faced this direction. He didn't know what had come over him, other than you'd unlocked that dark disturbed part that he'd hid away years ago; that first day he'd seen you in the kitchen he was awe-struck, your body impeccably curvy, your height minute compared to his, the slightly frightened look in your eye going straight to his crotch.

When he opened your package later and inspected the contents, his mind spun at the thought that not only was the girl who moved in next to him unbelievably hot, she was a glutton for pain, from the looks of it. Unfulfilled fantasies ran through his mind, fantasies he'd always known were wrong, disturbing. But your frightened little presence had him constantly thinking of them; he couldn't help it, he needed to know more. He'd always been one to use his computer skills for his own gain; it took a while, but he finally tracked down the name of the new girl just assigned to this dorm building a week ago, and with that he was up and running, searching far and wide to find anything he could about you.

Nothing about your family or friends was findable; you'd barely ever posted pictures with other people, but he could tell from the jump that there was something off about you, something strange about the way you'd just shown up here during spring break. He'd found the name of your old school easily; but breaking into their system would be a project, and with classes and practices of the upmost importance now, he'd have to be patient to find out why'd you'd left. Ordering you a little present, however, wouldn't take much time, and soon enough he was standing at your door and knocking again.

Not a word had passed between the two of you in weeks; just fearful and tense glances, or the fierce look you gave if you caught him in your window. You were used to it by now, and appreciated the intrusion; it added to your little escapades, and while you took time building up your toy collection again, you were grateful for it.

You opened your door as you had that first day, slowly and deliberately. As soon as you spotted him your eyes widened a bit, your grip on the handle tightening, your face turned up to look at him.

"This package came for you," he said, almost identical to your first interaction. He had to hold back laughter at the look of pure confusion that crossed your face; you hadn't ordered anything, and were positively vexed. But soon you saw the the package was addressed wrong; this address, but his room number, and the name Jeong Yunho.

You swallowed, grabbing the package from him and nearly slamming your door shut. Inside you sat on the floor, heaving. What the fuck he was playing at, you weren't sure. If this was a joke, he'd surely be knocking on your door again now, right? You set the package down and pushed it away from you, trying to collect yourself. More than ever your demeanor was one of panic and unassuredness; even with your daily ministrations you hadn't been able to completely calm yourself. You needed more, you needed to order more actual packages for yourself and get yourself off the way you needed.

You left it until evening, until your homework was done and your body was begging you to satiate it's needs. You opened it gingerly; a new collar sat inside, bright pink with a bell on it, and a long line of pink rope. As you lifted it you found a page of instructions; under that, what looked like a small box-cutting knife.

Follow these instructions, were the only words written in pen; everything else was printed, words explaining how to tie your own wrist restraint and tighten it down by pulling with your feet. You peered over at the knife, at the collar, and you could see plain as day what all this meant. For a moment you felt an almost sobering sickness come over you; the fact that this wasn't making you go and report him immediately was all the indication you needed that you hadn't really changed at all. It was in your nature, to like this kind of attention; attention you shouldn't want, attention that was wrong and invasive and all together disturbing.

You set the box aside and went to sleep that night without a bit of sexual pleasure, Yunho sticking his head around your window only to find your room dark and your small form curled up underneath your bed sheets.

He panicked, a bit, that night. Maybe it had been way too far, of course it had been way to far; what a crazy thing to do when the two of you had barely spoken any words to each other. You clearly were a bit kinky, but maybe he'd read it all wrong; maybe you weren't as depraved as him, maybe that little spiked collar didn't really hurt as bad as he thought it did. You made it a remarkable week without masturbating; your longest record in many years, and it had his edginess slowly building. You swore you could see it on him when you passed him in the kitchen or the hall; even once out by the fountain, as you walked towards the fine arts building, you saw his jaw set in tension as you walked by him, eyeing him only for a moment before turning your head away and smirking, acting with all your might like you weren't affected by him one bit.

You were only waiting to make it more fun for yourself, in the end. That Saturday you broke, doing just as the instructions had told, and as you pumped your hips back against that purple dildo the little bell on your collar rang and rang, loud enough that you worried a house mate might hear and come knocking about it. As soon as he heard rustling in your room he was up and outside; watching the whole scene unfold, watching you mess up the knot three times before finally getting it right. You eyed him nearly the whole time this time, and he didn't even reach into his pants, instead enjoying the view for all it was and stamping it permanently in his memory to use for as long as he could.

When you'd finally finished, the sun well and truly set and the air cool outside, you looked at him pathetically, the knife in hand. How you were going to get the knot off yourself, you weren't sure; even with the knife it was a struggle, for the angle your hand needed to reach was virtually impossible. You tried several times over, but failed each time; his smile grew and grew, and it was the first time you'd ever seen any expression on his face other than that of pure anger. His lips curled up at the corners slightly, his cheek bones popped; he looked positively terrifying and it made you actually whimper in response, your eyes darting away. You tried for the next hour to get the ropes cut off, but there was no way you could; you went to bed that night without peeing, your wrists still bound. There was no way to get dressed, no way in hell that you'd be leaving this room even if you could. You'd finally started to spark up a few casual friendships with two girls who lived downstairs, and on the off chance that they or anyone saw you scrambling to the bathroom, you decided to stay in.

Your sleep was fretful, but more for how turned on you were than anything; you couldn't stop putting your bound hands between your legs, feeling how fucking wet you still were, coming somehow again and again. It must have been early morning when you finally fell asleep; and then it was only a few hours later when he snuck into your room, your eyes barely opening and your consciousness barely there as he sliced you free of the restraint, running back to his room with the knife and rope in hand. All you'd felt was a large hand on yours and your restraints falling away; later when you woke you had no recollection of it, confused when you tried to find the rope and knife and couldn't see them anywhere in your small room.

Your wrists were badly bruised form it all; you'd had to wear long sleeve shirts for weeks even though the weather was heating up. The packages continued too, and you realized he was very selective with when he gave you them, only coming when the two other boys who lived down the hall from you were gone. Both were on the soccer team as well, so he knew they were at their study group for Japanese, one they never missed because the grad student who ran it was one they both had the hots for.

It was weeks of debauchery; more gifts, more collars and dildos, once a beautiful, bright pink shiny vibrator that must have cost hundreds of dollars. That became your favorite; along with the collar with the bell, which you combined with your spiked collar for the pain, you stuck that vibrator between your legs and rubbed yourself forward and back, coming harder than you had in ages. It was almost getting you there to that point you needed to be; but you still always made him wait, still never used these new toys too soon after you'd received them. His frustration was clearly only growing; a few times he'd left short notes in the boxes, I own you or Your secret is safe with me, slut. But you never responded to them, never said a thing. You eyed him if you passed by, by chance; but by then he was starting to try to strike up conversation with you. You never responded, only looked at him with those pathetic scared eyes and maybe scratched at your arm, pulling back the fabric of your shirt to reveal your bruises, or wore a low cut top and pushed your tits together "accidentally," eyeing him afterwards.

Suddenly the term was almost over, and you couldn't believe it; you weren't doing amazingly by any means, but you were set to pass all of your classes, as long as you didn't bomb any finals. It was a stressful week but you made it through, barely thinking of Yunho and his gifts, not having time for it.

"How are your finals going?" he asked you when you passed him on the stairs; you only ran away, sprinting up to your room, closing the door quickly. Later a note slid under your door; stop pretending like you can run from me. You only chuckled at it, slipping inside and taping it in your journal. He loved to be threatening in his notes or with the looks he gave you, but you were pretty sure at this point he didn't have the balls to actually do anything about it. On the whole it was probably a good thing; summer was about to come, and you'd stay to complete extra credits, but he'd be gone for good and graduated, and you'd never have to worry that he'd get you in trouble all over again.

"The final soccer game of the season is this Saturday, you should come!" your two friends told you as you sipped coffees in the student union building, your last final behind you.

"Wait, tomorrow Saturday?" you asked, and they nodded.

"I know you don't like to come out on the weekends but they're so fun, and the dance team performs during half time, they have fireworks usually for the last game of the year too. And there's always a big party afterwards at the huge frat by the stadium, Wooyoung texted me yesterday about it," one said, voice bright as can be.

"Wooyoung?" you asked.

"Wait, you seriously don't know who Wooyoung is?" she asked you.

"No, should I?" you said, trying to keep the sarcasm from your tone.

"He's the one who lives in the room next to Yunho's, just down the hall from you," she said, and it brought forth the image of long shaggy black hair and chiseled abs, the boy loving to walk around half naked whenever he had the chance.

"Oh, yeah, of course," you laughed, smiling at her.

"You should come to the party, seriously, it's so much fun," your other friend added.

"I don't love frat houses-"

"This one isn't like most of them, seriously, it's very nice and the parties are always actually fun," she said, cutting you off.

"I'll think about it," you chuckled, thinking of the healing bruises on your neck, your last bout with your collar having been a bit on the rough side. What you'd wear to the game and party to cover it all up, you had no idea.

But by Saturday you'd thought enough about it, and with the stress of finals behind you, there was enough of your brain trying to push you towards the health and normality of being involved in college life that you decided to go. You'd wear your favorite green hoodie; it wasn't officially school merch, but the color was close enough, and it covered the fading bruises on the side of your neck well enough. Paired with short spandex shorts and your white tennis shoes, you looked preppy and in spirit enough to fit in. The bus to the stadium was uncomfortably packed but your friends knew the best seats; they ushered you through everywhere with ease because they came for every game, and thankfully didn't make you sit in the student section like you'd expected.

Down near one of the corners you had a wonderful view, and as the players started to exit the tunnel the stands erupted in rumbling, everyone stamping their feet against the metal bleachers and waving school flags high and proud. Most of the players ran out; but then you spotted Yunho with a number nine on his back, walking in that way he always did, his shoulders swaying, his eyes fixed to the ground some distance in front of him, his jersey hanging off his lean broad frame in the most tantalizing way. His swagger from his angle was too much to handle; his back to you, you knew he had no idea you were there, would never expect it. He looked massive next to the other players; you didn't know much about the sport, but looking down now it seemed like soccer wasn't typically played by tall guys. His frame was a scary sight to the other team, it was obvious; as the game started it seemed they all dreaded when they came into contact with him, and as the minutes rolled on by you couldn't help the visceral reaction you were having to seeing just how good he was.

After a while, a whistle was blown; players started walking off the field as the dance team walked on, and your friend answered your look of confusion by telling you it was halftime. Like before most of the players ran back to the tunnel, but Yunho walked behind, talking with one of the coaches. He was facing you now and you stared at his face, flushed a bit but set in such a stony look of concentration. Suddenly he turned his head as if to stretch his neck; he caught sight of you, and he stopped momentarily in his tracks, doing a double take. His coach seemed to asked him what he'd seen; he looked away quickly and waved his hand while undoubtedly saying it was nothing. But the whole second half he was shooting daggers your way; now that the two teams had switched sides he was mostly facing you, and somehow even so far away you felt yourself shivering under his glare, the intensity of it not lost no matter how big the distance between you was.

Fine, you'd said, agreeing to go to the party. Your friends were so excited as you'd never been out with them before, and you too were excited if you really were honest, having missed letting loose a little, getting in the spirit of the true college experience. You had sworn you hated it all a few months ago; but that was before and during expulsion, when everything was blowing up in your face. As strange as it had felt you'd enjoyed the game, and as your friends showed you the way across the street, you were baffled by just how many people were walking that way with you, this house no doubt very large.

You all waited for a while in the backyard, the house apparently not ready for action just yet. Behind the frat was a large forest, and already people were drinking beers they'd snuck from the stadium, the air buzzing with anticipation. Finally the back doors were opened; there stood the entire soccer team, most still in part or all of their jersey's, and the group in the backyard cheered for them, their effort tonight apparently something worth celebrating. You weren't even sure if they'd won; you were preoccupied, and knew so little about most sports that it was hard to keep up. But you were having fun, the whole point of the evening.

It got off to a comfortable start, and you were feeling good with these two girls, giggling about your lack of knowledge as you sipped a seltzer, your first drink out in too long. Inside the house was beautiful, and though it was filled with many people you weren't being bothered. You fell into a calm state, almost forgetting any reason to be worried; that was until you spotted Yunho plodding down the stairs, clearly having showered, his hair only slightly damp and his clothes fresh and clean.

You were sure he hadn't spotted you, as your height often kept you hidden in groups. But you couldn't have been more wrong; as soon as he made it to the floor he was walking towards the kitchen, then back to greet everyone in a slow dance of moving closer and closer to you and your little group.

"Can we move outside?" you asked them, sensing the danger, his head sticking up above most of the rest of the crowd. He wasn't being obvious by any means, but you could see it; he was sneaking glances at you, was keeping an eye on your whereabouts the whole time.

"Yeah, you feeling hot?" one asked you.

"Yeah, and I can't take my hoodie off, I didn't wear anything under it," you joked, using the excuse she'd just put in your lap to cover up the real reason you wanted to move. As you three snaked between people you caught his eye only briefly; it was a blunt and scary look, and you could almost see the fires lighting in his brain, his anger at your movement so obvious. But you were just doing what felt right; just following your gut, following the instincts inside you.

Once outside you resumed sipping your drinks and chatting away; a few other people had already had the same idea as you, though everyone stuck to the paved area out back, the forest now dark and spooky with the sun fully set. Things were peaceful again for a moment, the air still and quiet out here, only the distant call of some bird disturbing the silence.

But then he exited the house too; now he was stalking towards you, unmistakably, his eyes fixed on you as he swayed the way he always did, his steps deliberate and strong and fast, his gaze as dead and dark as you'd ever seen it. Before you could register what was happening he grabbed you by the arm; your seltzer flew off into the bushes and you scrambled to keep up with him.

"I'm tired of these fucking games," he growled, his grip tight and painful.

"What games?" you whispered, running along to keep up with his huge strides, your eyes wide as you looked at him.

"You know what fucking games," he said, voice low and dark as you both stumbled onto the grass, the forest coming into view in all of it's darkness and mystery.

"What- what are you doing?" you asked, trying to pull away from him now, the grip starting to feel truly painful even though the sleeve of your hoodie was protecting your arm.

"What the fuck do you think?" he spit, spinning you around and hitting your back against the trunk of a tree, his features almost obscured in the faint light from the house behind.

"I- I don't know," you cried as he pinned your wrists together with one hand, holding them in front of you as he caged you in against the tree.

"Don't pretend like you didn't know what you were doing tonight," he growled, face only inches from yours now.

"I d-don't know what you m-mean," you stuttered, your body trembling hard now, your chest rising and falling fast as your breaths became almost hyperventilation.

"Coming to my last game? The most important game all season? Distracting me on the one day I needed to be perfect??"

"I had no idea, I-"

"You love to act all innocent, don't you?" he said, looking down at your outfit, something he'd seen so many freshman girls wearing.

"I'm not trying to," you responded, your blood pumping through you fast, your body alight with adrenaline. You tried wrenching your hands free; you felt strong, but it was no match for his strength, and he only doubled down on his grip, nearly crushing your wrist bones. "Ow, ow," you cried, trying to use your body weight to your advantage, only hurting yourself in the process.

"I bet that's turning you on, isn't it?" he spit, running his free hand over your parted lips, your eyes wide and your whole body cowering from him.

"N-no, not at all," you all but whispered, trying to steady your breathing.

"You're not a good liar, you know," he growled, face closer and closer to yours, before his lips smashed over yours and he fully crushed you against the hard bark of the tree, ravaging you.

Your breath was knocked from your throat in an instant; your body was tingling with excitement, every bit of you so happy that he'd finally broke, finally taken matters into his own hand. You hated to be the one responsible; you liked that this was his fault, that whatever messed up shit was about to unfold was his responsibility. You continued to twist and pull at him, but only enough to egg him on more; really you wanted this, your thin shorts already soaked, your hips bucking against his thigh that was pressed between your legs.

"See, I knew you liked it," he said, pulling back harshly, biting at your bottom lip. You let out a squeal of pleasure at that; it was hard enough that now you tasted blood, and the sharp metallic taste was making your head spin even more. You had no words to retaliate with; he chuckled in knowing he'd won, spinning you around and pulling at your shorts, pushing them down your legs just far enough to see your flushed pussy glistening at him, barely illuminated.

"Wait, not out here, they can all see-"

You were cut off by his cock slamming into you, the feeling more painful that pleasurable at first, and you let out a guttural scream, Yunho's hand coming up to cover your mouth as he pulled back and pounded into you slowly again.

"I know what you did with that professor, doll. I know you like when people are watching," he growled in your ear, hips slamming into yours repeatedly, your cunt struggling to adjust to the size of him. He was somehow bigger than that dildo you'd been using; how you were taking him without any warm up you had no idea. Your wetness was no doubt helping, but the severity of the feeling was leaving you almost limp against the tree, as you clung on to the bark for dear life and tried with your might not to collapse.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted behind you, hand still on your mouth, the other pushing on your back and holding you against the tree in front of you. It was only another few strokes and you were coming undone; squeezing down on him sharply, your legs shaking and making it even harder to stand. The pain inside was now met with a sweet warmth, your whole body erupting in shakiness as the pleasure rolled through you. Your eyes rolled back, and then closed; you forgot entirely where you were in the darkness as he fucked you to that pleasure again, this time his hot load filling you, trailing down your legs after he'd pulled out.

He scooped you up as you started to collapse, your hands and face scratched from the tree bark, your shorts completely and obviously stained. You were slack against him, your head resting against his shoulder as he carried you bridal style; only a few more steps and he was lowering you into his car, driving you both back to your dorm. Again he carried you upstairs; it was totally empty, thankfully, for everyone was still at the frat party down the road. He cleaned you up in the bathroom, put a bandaid over a particularly bad cut on your left hand. You'd had to respond to some very worried texts from your two friends, assuring them you were home and fine; you knew that there'd be far more explaining to do the next few days.

You fell asleep as he cradled you in his bed; you felt at peace, finally seeing the way he kept things, feeling like you were stepping into a part of his mind and getting to have a look around. Calm, you felt so calm that night, finally; you were quite sad now that he'd be leaving so soon, and had a sinking feeling that you'd never meet someone who understood your fantasies as much as he did.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #yunho x reader #yunho smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #dark fic

246 notes · View notes

gojo-mochi · 2 days ago

Text

Telling JJK men “I’m not putting my minecraft bed next to yours tonight”

TW: Sweet/Simple. Mild Suggestive on Toji's part

Gojo:

Dramatically falls to his knees, tears, snot, all the works. Threatens to jump off the highest block in all the lands. Kidnaps your pet wolf or favorite farm animal and tells you that he’s “taking the kids and leaving.” Would loudly put on sad music as he plays right next to you, digging in the mines underground very, very slowly. Not even using his best equipment, just a shitty stone pickaxe because he thinks that makes him look more gloomy in your eyes. Would talk out loud to all the animals you own about how he misses you and how “Momma” is mad at him.

Geto:

Looks flabbergasted that you would even utter something like that to him. Hits back with “Well, I’m not gonna put my bed next to yours!” Like he was the one to said that in the first bed. Quickly goes to make a very elaborate Minecraft House so he can brag about how comfy and deluxe it is in front of it. Makes a grand tour of showing you the inside, which ends at the bedroom which he decorated to the nines. A sly attempt to somehow make you jealous enough so you would come crawling back to him so you could live in this new fancy mansion he made (in a video game)

Nanami:

Have a heartbroken look on his face right after you said that, and you immediately regret it. Would take his bed out of the house first so your character can still be in there; would move his bed down to the basement or another building. Goes on a journey to pick up some flowers or lure in a new pet dog/cat/parrot to win back your love (he never lost it). You put your beds back together in less an hour and played the rest of the night, all snuggled up in Nanami’s lap as you watch him tend to the farming.

Choso: Is also heartbroken by your words. Stops playing the game and looks at you like a kicked puppy. “Does that also mean that I can’t sleep with you in our bed tonight?” (He’s talking about your real-life bed). You don’t know whether or not you should tease him further or just say that it was a joke all along. If you decide to tease him further and double down on your words, he would spend a whole day in secret, building something to show you in the game world. A whole field of flowers or a statue of your in-game character as a show of good will.

Toji:

Not really into the game that much but plays it because you like it. So saying that doesn’t really bother him until you say it also applies in real life, then that will get his head to turn. With his eyebrow raised and his arm crossed, he looks at you and asks, “Are you really going to go down this route?” You fought hard to keep a straight face and nodded. “If you take it back now, I will forget this all even happened, last chance.” Toji uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his knees as he got into position to start chasing. You glance at your escape route (the door) and suck in a breath. “You’ll never catch me alive.” And with that you ran. You sprinted out the door as fast as you could, screaming for your life as Toji chased behind you. You don’t get far before he catches you and throws you over his shoulder, pinning you down to your shared bed, and making you regret your words from earlier.

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader

213 notes · View notes

realsocialskills · 1 day ago

Text

Disability-affirming growth mindset

Children are often taught to think “I can’t do that *yet*” as a form of encouraging growth mindset. That’s a really useful strategy when it’s applicable, and it also needs some nuance in order to be more disability-affirming.

Growth mindset has to be grounded in reality.

Growth means that I am always learning new things and developing new skills and getting better at things. It doesn’t mean doubling down on pursuing impossible dreams; it means doing real things.

Sometimes growth mindset means thinking “I can’t do that *yet*,” and continuing to try until I can.

Sometimes it’s more like, “This isn’t working. Maybe I need to do it another way.”

Or: “This isn’t working, and maybe it’s not going to work. What else can I do?”

Or: “I can’t do *that*, but I can do the important part a different way.”

Or: “I can do that with help.” and/or “Let’s figure out what supports would make it possible to do that.”

Or: “We can do that collaboratively, together.”

Or: “I could do that with appropriate assistive technology. Let’s figure out if some exists and/or if there’s something we could invent.”

In those instances, realizing that something isn’t going to work is part of how we find out what *can* work.

There are also cases in which growth mindset means realizing that something may not be a good use of our time and effort and resources. A skill that is broadly useful to nondisabled people might not be worth it to me, even if I’m technically capable of doing it. (For instance, handwriting is a useful skill for most people, but it’s always been so hard for me that it’s not really worth it. Losing the ability to handwrite more than a few words at a time has freed up my abilities to do other things, like focus on typing words.)

There’s something powerful about seeing your body as it really is and working with it rather than against it. Sometimes figuring out what isn’t possible or what’s not worth the cost in time and effort is how we find areas where we can grow and flourish.

Growth mindset means that I *don't sabotage my growth* by wasting time and effort pursuing impossible things. I don’t stand on a chair or a roof and expect believing in myself to make it possible to use my arms as wings and fly. If I want to fly, I need an airplane, and that’s ok.

At the same time, I think that claiming the power of “yet” is really important for disabled people, and especially for people with developmental disabilities.

Sometimes there can be a lot of pressure to see ourselves as incapable of doing things every time disability makes it harder or means we need to do things differently or it’s not obvious whether or how we could do the thing.

Sometimes we get pressure not to try things unless there’s some certainty that we will be able to do them. (And for something as complex and poorly understood as developmental disabilities, there’s rarely much certainty. Having other people’s doubts limit what we’re allowed to try makes the world very, very small.)

Sometimes disability-affirming growth mindset means saying “I can’t do that, let’s do something else,” and sometimes it means saying, “I might be able to do that, and I’d like to try.” Sometimes it means saying, “I want to keep trying even though it’s harder for me and I’m not catching on as quickly and no one seems to know how to teach me.” or “I don’t know if this is going to work but I think it could, and at this point, I’d like to keep trying.” Or, “I know most people learn this by the time they’re four, and I know I’m much older than that, but I’d like to try to learn this too.”

Sometimes it means an adult claiming the right to learn how to read, or finding a dance studio where they’re willing to slow down enough for them to learn. Sometimes it means practicing a new skill in private while you’re figuring out if it’s something that makes sense for you. Sometimes it means asking around to other disabled people to see what their strategies have been. Sometimes it means demanding your right to accessibility and accommodations even when others don’t think you belong and don’t see you as capable of doing things in the space you want to be in.

#developmental disability #growth mindset #education #actuallyautistic #living in reality

184 notes · View notes

trashytracktales · 5 hours ago

Note

girl hi hi hi hi i am in love with your writing 😩😩

as someone who’s terrified by getting her driver license can i request boyfriend Lando giving you driving lessons and you know, good old soft dom lando giving you INSTRUCTIONS and praising you !! You know what i mean? 🥹🥹

and ofc throwing in a lil nice smut won’t be bad idk

Maybe this way i’ll feel inspired to finally get my license

(gorgeous gorgeous girls are obsessed with cars but scared to drive 🤩)

ily T!!

Fast learner | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── First of all, you got this, babe!! Getting your license can be scary, I remember being absolutely terrified. It definitely takes time and determination, but you can do it, I promise 🤞🏻 Also, so sorry it took me AGES, but I am struggling to finish my works lately *sad sounds idk*. I hope I did this one justice though. Fingers crossed and let me know when you get that license, queen. Enjoy 🤍✨

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── Lando surprises his girlfriend with a gift she can’t say no to. Despite her fear, his guidance helps her gain confidence behind the wheel. But back home, the lessons continue in a much more intimate way, as Lando makes sure she knows just how good she is at following his instructions, both on and off the track.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, driving anxiety, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, swearing, sexual metaphors & euphemisms, light choking, soft dom!Lando.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 5.6k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Feb. 28, 2025

WHEN SHE OPENS her eyes, the first thing she notices is that his familiar heat is pressing on her from every direction. With Lando’s arm resting like a sluggish weight around her waist and his fingertips brushing the exposed flesh beneath the hem of his hoodie, which she had stolen before bed, she feels secure in the warmth they’ve created.

His nose is buried in the crook of her neck, and the second thing she notices is the quiet, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against her back, his steady breathing blending with the morning silence, and the delicate, smooth kisses he’s planting on her skin.

The girl shifts slightly, only for him to tighten his grip, pulling her closer; she smiles, understanding he is already awake.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Lando, his voice languid.

Her body is melting back into his embrace, Lando’s slightly aggressive curiosity making her giggle. “Nowhere.”

“Good,” he presses a tender kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing his lips back up the curve of her neck. “Because it’s your birthday, and I get to hold you for as long as I want.”

She smiles again, her heart swelling at the way he always makes her feel like she is most important thing in the world.

“That’s exactly what you said when it was your birthday,” she reminds him. “And last Friday, when it was… just Friday.”

“Still applies, as you can see,” he speaks softly against her skin. “Happy birthday, my love.”

A mellow hum leaves her as she turns in his arms, finally opening her eyes to meet his. They’re still laced with sleep, heavy-lidded and warm, the early, weak sunlight filtering through the curtains and cascading all over his face. His hair is a mess, his cheek faintly creased from the pillow, but she thinks he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in the mornings. Mostly because no one but her knows that his eyes are incredibly clear when he opens them for the first time. Or that his hands, still asleep, do not grasp her with the same strength they do at night, but have a tenderness she knows she will never find anywhere else, except their own bed.

“Thank you, pretty boy,” she whispers, running a gentle finger over his jaw, then following the pillow marks up his cheek. Lightly, she cups his face, her thumb pressing on his dimple, making Lando grin.

He leans in to nuzzle his nose against hers before capturing her lips in a sleepy, lazy kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that lingers, tender and sweet, the kind that makes her toes curl under the blanket. His hand skims up her side, slipping beneath the hoodie, fingers brushing against warm skin as he pulls her impossibly closer.

When they part, he sighs contentedly, resting his forehead against hers. “Sorry for waking you up.”

She hums, “You can wake me up like this everyday.”

“Yeah?” Lando giggles. “I actually had half a mind to let you sleep in, but I got too excited.”

She laughs softly. “Excited for what?”

Instead of answering, Lando reaches over to the nightstand to grab a small, beautifully wrapped box. He holds it out to her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Her brows knit together as she pushes herself up onto her elbows. For a second, she thinks he’s about to propose, but he looks way too relaxed for that, which makes her question everything she knows about her boyfriend.

“What did you do, Lando?” she asks. “I told you no gifts this year.”

He smirks, nudging the box toward her. “It is not a gift. Think of it as an... investment. Come on, just open it.”

She hesitates, much more suspicious now, casting Lando a tamed look before carefully removing the ribbon. The paper falls away, revealing a sleek black velvet box. Her heart picks up its pace as she flicks it open and finds out that inside, resting against the dark fabric, is a car key.

She blinks, confused.

The logo gleams up at her, adding to her state.

“Lan…” she stares at the key, then back at him, as if waiting for him to laugh and tell her it’s all a joke. “This is a car key.”

Lando nods, biting his lip to keep from bursting into laughter. “Your dream car’s key,” he corrects her.

Her stomach flips violently. “No way. No. Lando, no. Absolutely not,” she keeps saying, shaking her head. “That’s too much,” she adds, shoving the box toward him as if it burns to touch. “You did not buy me a car for my stupid birthday.”

Incapable to hold his laugh any further, Lando lets out a little giggle. His voice is light, but there’s nothing but sincerity in his expression when he speaks again, “It’s not stupid. I wanted to. I’ve been planning this for a while now.”

She gapes at him, her brain struggling to process. “You bought me a Porsche.”

He shrugs, reaching for her hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. “I bought you your Porsche. The exact one you’ve been obsessing since forever,” he leans in, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Don’t make me beg you to accept it. You deserve it and I can afford it, so just—”

“It’s not about deserving, Lando,” her heart swells, but panic creeps in. “I appreciate you for doing this, but I don’t even have a driver’s license. And I’m definitely not ready to get it any time soon. So please, can you take it back?”

His facial expression turns mischievous, raising a finger in the air, “Oh, no. You are ready. Which brings us to the second part of your present,” he says, tapping her nose playfully before throwing the covers off and getting up. “Get a comfy pair of shoes on. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

She looks at him warily. “Where exactly?”

Lando smirks, stretching before tugging a hoodie over his head. “Driving lessons,” he says, pointing at himself, “With me.”

Her stomach drops. “Lando, no.”

“Lando, yes,” he winks, crossing the room to where she sits on the bed, still in shock. “Baby, I know you’re terrified, but I wanna show you it’s not as scary as you think. It’ll be fun, I promise. And if not, we can stop at any time.”

Her lips part, but no words come out, only a strangled noise that makes Lando chuckle. He crouches in front of her, taking her hands in his, looking up at her. Sometimes, she thinks that the way he does it is so annoying, because she can’t say no when he gives her those puppy eyes. She realizes, looking back at him, that chances are Lando is even more excited than she is, which makes her feel a little guilty.

“Look, it’s okay to be nervous,” he says gently, pressing a kiss to her palm, “But I’ll be right there with you.”

Her chest tightens — not from anxiety this time, but from the sheer love she feels for this man, and for the way he always knows how to push her while making her feel safe.

She ends up nodding and, with that, Lando pulls her into a lingering kiss, as if sealing the promise between them.

WHEN LANDO SAID driving lessons, she thought he meant a quiet, empty parking lot somewhere in the city. Or maybe a back road with little to no traffic. What she did not expect was an entire race track at their disposal.

It’s February, and the cold still bites through the air, the kind of chill that seeps into her bones despite the heat blasting inside the car. The sky is now a heavy shade of gray, fluffy clouds stretching endlessly above the open space of the Silverstone Circuit. The grandstands stand empty, ghostly in their silence, the wind whistling through the steel framework.

Her hands tighten into fists as she stares at the massive expanse of the track. She’s been here before, sure, but she’s never seen this place so devoid of people and so lifeless. What strikes her, though, is that it doesn’t even matter, because the circuit has the same beauty — perhaps even more alluring when it’s not animated by the roar of people and the deafening sound of engines. It’s almost haunting. She can’t shake the feeling that it’s the same place where world-class drivers push their limits at blinding speeds, where Lando himself has raced countless times. And just for tooday, it belongs entirely to them.

Her heart pounds harder in her chest as she’s turning to look at him, “You got me Silverstone for my first driving lesson?”

Lando smirks, shutting the engine off. “Had to pull some strings, no biggie.” He looks back at her, his eyes gleaming with excitement under the thick, long lashes. “I didn’t want anything to distract you or to feel any external pressure. Just us, and your car.”

Her car.

She still hasn’t fully processed it. She spent the entire two-hour drive here just staring at it, running her fingers over the pristine leather seat when Lando wasn’t looking, and tracing the sleek dashboard, memorizing every detail. It smells brand new, the engine purring under his control like a well-tamed beast. But now, as he opens his door and steps out, the reality of what comes next hits her, and panic creeps up her spine once again.

She grips the seatbelt tightly, her fingers going numb, as she watches Lando walk around the car. He looks so at ease, so effortlessly confident as he gestures for her to switch places. Meanwhile, she feels like she could throw up in T minus five seconds.

“Come on, baby,” he calls, grinning as he taps the roof of the car. “Time to make you a driver.”

Yes, that sounds good. And yes, she wants this. She really does. But the moment she steps out into the cold air and faces the car from the driver’s side, the same doubt settles deep in her chest. It’s not that she’s scared of driving — well, she is. But that’s not the only reason why she postoned getting her license for so long. The simple thought makes her stomach flip, because she knows that the second she puts foot in a car, so many things can go wrong, especially if you’re afraid.

Lando notices her hesitance immediately, and his playful grin softens as he steps closer. “Hey,” he says, tilting his head. “What’s bothering you, hm? Talk to me.”

The girl exhales shakily. “I’m not sure about this, Lando. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Of course you can,” says Lando in a determined voice.

She looks at the car, then at the track ahead of them. “It’s...” her voice trails off, trying to come up with the best excuse and go back home to nestle between their warm sheets.

“It’s just tarmac, baby,” Lando’s tone is calm and reassuring. “It’s no different than any other road. Just bigger. Safer, actually.”

Her arms wrap around herself instinctively, bracing against the cold, but mostly against her own emotions. “What if I mess up?”

“Then you mess up,” he shrugs, “That’s what learning is, isn’t it?”

She knows he’s right, but the fear still lingers, coiling tight in her stomach. “And if I crash?”

“You won’t crash,” he answers with the same determination yet slightly amused, taking her by surprise, because Lando uses that voice only when he is sure of what he’s saying.

She scoffs, “Sure, how do you know that?”

Lando smiles, reaching for her hands, rubbing warmth into her fingers before bringing them up to his lips. “Because I am here.”

Ha.

She nods slowly, suddenly realizing that there’s no going back — not when Lando is so committed to show her a side of herself that even she’s not aware of. And the fact that he believes in her does something to her brain; it gives her a bit more confidence and courage. She’s seen Lando drive countless of times before. She watched him, his movements instinctive, so measured and smooth that it’s become second nature to him. Maybe she can try to replicate that to a certain degree.

For her own sake, she owes him that.

“Alright,” she manages to say, her voice much tamer than expected.

“That’s my girl,” he presses one last kiss to her knuckles before stepping back, gesturing to the driver’s seat. “Get in there.”

With a deep breath, she finally slides into the driver’s seat, and her entire body tense as she grips the steering wheel; it feels hard under her touch, yet delicate at the same time. Lando follows, settling into his place effortlessly, like this is just another normal day at the track for him.

“Okay,” Lando starts, his voice patient. “First, get comfortable. Adjust your seat, mirrors, whatever you need. Make sure you see everything and, most importantly, make sure you feel everything. All the points where your body makes contact with the car, yeah?” he watches her nodding, swallowing the lump in her throat, then adds, “There is no rush, so take your time. We’ve got plenty.”

Her movements are stiff and mechanical as she reaches for the seat adjustment; she can feel her pulse in her fingertips while she does it. Then, she places her hands on the steering wheel, feeling it firm under her grip, and she suddenly becomes hyper-aware of how tight her fingers become around it.

“Babe,” says Lando, noticing she’s still fighting on the inside. “Relax your hands. You don’t need to strangle it.”

She forces herself to loosen her grip, but her fingers still tremble slightly.

“That’s better,” Lando reaches over, placing a hand on her knee to ground her.

She inhales sharply, then exhales, trying to shake the nerves. Lando waits until she goes through everythig he’s just instructed her, without rushing or teasing at her hesitation. He’s just there, a constant presence that makes her feel more comfortable.

And then, “Think of it like when you’re on top,” he continues casually.

Her head whips toward him, eyes wide. “What?”

Lando’s expression changes, looking like he’s just mentally high-fived himself for the comparison. “When you’re on top, you’re in control,” he reminds her. “You set the pace. You decide how fast or slow you wanna go,” his fingers tighten on her thigh as he leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower. “The car will respond to everything you do. Try it. I’m here to guide you.”

“Lando.”

He keeps going, completely undeterred, “Baby, I know you know how to move. It’s all about finding that rhythm,” he says, his fingers tapping against her thigh for emphasis. “It’s literally the same thing. Smooth, steady, no sudden jerks. And when you’re ready to pick up speed…” Lando grins, his eyes darkening just slightly. “Well. You know what happens then.”

A laugh bursts from her chest, all the tension snapping like a rubber band. She slaps his arm away, her face heating at his ridiculous but so on-brand analogy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he teases, laying back in his chair, “You’re finally breathing properly now.”

She blinks, realizing he’s right. The tightness in her chest has eased, her grip on the wheel no longer desperate. Her shoulders have dropped, her muscles loosening bit by bit. Lando sees the realization settling over her, content that he managed to put other images inside her head in order to make it easier to handle.

He chuckles, then gestures toward the track in front of them, “Alright, birthday girl. Ready to take me for a ride?”

She groans, covering her face with one hand. “You just can’t stop, can you?”

“Nope,” he says after a moment. “Foot on the brake.”

Instinctively, her foot finds the pedal, pressing down tentatively.

“Now, start the car.”

She swallows hard and reaches for the ignition button. The engine roars to life beneath her fingertips, smooth and powerful, vibrating through her entire body.

At the sound, Lando grins proudly. “There she is.” His hands go to rest on the armrest, his thumb brushing the fabric lightly. He watches carefully as she moves to adjust the mirrors with a focused look in her eyes. “Good,” he continues, his voice a soft command that she knows so well. “Now, keep the wheel steady, just like we talked about. Look ahead. Your eyes should be on the next corner, not the one you just passed.”

She nods, keeping her focus on the track.

“So, this car is rear-engined, which means most of the weight is at the back. That makes it a little trickier to handle if you throw it into a corner too fast. But,” Lando pauses, looking at her intently to assure her there’s nothings to be afraid of, “I’m here to make sure you drive it right.”

She scoffs nervously, “Is there a wrong way to drive it?”

“Plenty, actually. Relax your hold I said,” he instructs her again, “Baby, if it’s too tight, you won’t feel what the car is telling you.”

“Telling me?” she echoes, glancing at him with furrowed brows.

Lando nods, “Yeah. The car talks to you, just not with words. It tells you when it wants to rotate, when it has grip, when you need to be gentle or when you can push,” he says, gesturing toward the long straight. “Speaking of. Go on, give it some gas.”

Her heart jumps into her throat, but she listens, pressing down on the accelerator tentatively. The car responds instantly, surging forward with smooth, controlled aggression. She gasps, the force pressing her back against the seat, and Lando chuckles beside her.

“That’s it,” he praises. “A lot of power, hm?”

She lets out a breathy laugh, still nervous but slowly melting into the feeling of it all.

“Next, the corners,” Lando adds, eyes locked on the road as they approach one. “You want to brake before you turn, not while you’re turning. That’s how you keep it stable.”

She follows his words, pressing down on the brakes a little too early, but the car slows smoothly.

“Good,” he says, nodding approvingly. “Turn in,” he pauses, lips quirking into a smirk. “Like the way you move your hips when you ride me. Controlled, but with intention.”

Her foot nearly slips off the pedal. “Lando, stop that!” she squeaks, turning her head for a second, just to glare at him.

She feels the tires gripping the asphalt in a way that sends a thrill through her, despite the nerves still buzzing beneath the surface.

“I’m trying to speak your language,” he laughs, “Ease off the throttle and prepare to brake again,” Lando’s voice is smooth, “Yes, keep your foot light on the brake. Feel it?”

She does. While following his instructions, gently, she eases her foot off the gas, then applies just the right pressure to the brake, her heart racing with each turn. Lando watches her closely, but she can tell he’s holding back, not overloading her with instructions but guiding her just enough so she feels the car’s movements.

“Perfection,” he praises as she hits the apex of the corner, the car hugging the track with a controlled grace. “Accelerate again, gently. Let the car do the work for you. Don’t overthink it.”

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers adjusting their grip on the wheel, before she picks up speed, feeling the engine roaring beneath her. Despite the fear gnawing at her, there’s a strange thrill beginning to bubble inside, a sense of freedom she’s never felt before. She can feel the car responding to her, listening to her movements, exactly like Lando told her it will. Which makes her eager to go faster, to push.

But as she rounds another corner, a new wave of uncertainty floods her chest, and she glances over at her boyfriend again. “Lando, I don’t know…”

“You do,” Lando’s voice is almost a growl, “Bury your foot on the pedal. See what this car is capable of.”

Her pulse quickens, but there’s more excitement behind it now. With Lando’s words echoing in her mind, she takes a deep breath, presses her foot into the pedal, and feels the car surge beneath her. For a moment, he senses her hesitation, but then the car roars to life, and she feels the pull and the adrenaline racing through her veins. The acceleration is immediate and, before she knows it, the world outside blurs, the track stretching out before her like an endless ribbon.

To her surprise, she loves the feeling.

Next time he speaks, Lando’s words sound like a whisper over the roar of the engine, “That’s it, baby,” his eyes sparkle with approval, and she can hear the pride in his voice all over again. “You did it!”

THERE IS A faint smell of leftover takeout that lingers in the air, blending with the sweet vanilla of the birthday muffins he insisted on getting as dessert. There will be a cake and they’ll get to properly celebrate with her friends at the end of the week but, until then, her birthday was a success, topped with adrenaline and excitement, which she never thought she would ever enjoy.

Now, she stands by the full-length closet mirror, running a brush through her hair, the weight of the day settling into her body. It was terrifying yet thrilling in ways she hadn’t expected. What surprises her even more is her sudden desire to get back in the driver’s seat. She’s slowly realizing how addictive the feeling she experienced on the track is, and even though she knows that driving around the city won’t compare to what Lando offered her today, she feels — perhaps for the first time in her life — ready to take that step.

Lando moves behind her right after she puts the brush down, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his chest against her back.

“So, when can I drive again?” he hears her asking in a teasing voice, though there’s a genuine spark of nervousness behind it.

He smirks against the curve of her neck, lips barely brushing her skin. “You can give me another ride now, since you insist,” Lando suggests, his voice dripping with smugness.

She rolls her eyes and, twisting in his hold, she faces him, her hands sliding up his chest, fingertips tracing the contours of his collarbones. “Sounds good, but aren’t you afraid that too much control will get to my head?”

“Not at all.”

Lando steps forward, kissing her with enough force to show her that he means every word. His hands are now everywhere — on her hips, up and down her back, in her hair, then gripping her thighs as he lifts her effortlessly. She lets a surprised gasp into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist as he presses her back against the mirror. It’s hard against her skin, a stark contrast to the softness rolling off him in waves.

Her fingers end up tangling in his soft curls, tugging just enough to make Lando groan, a sound she’s never learned how to properly react to, since it drives her wild every single time she hears it. He tastes like the vanilla from the muffin that they shared earlier, so sweet and sinful.

When he comes back to his senses, Lando brushes his nose against hers, his voice hushed but firm, “I’m so proud of you, you know that?” he asks in a whispered voice. “You’re gonna do great.”

A shiver runs down her spine, not just from his words but from the unwavering belief behind them. Lando has always been her greatest cheerleader, the one who never let her doubt herself, even when she wanted to.

Her exhale is soft as a baby’s breath, fueled by the praise that sets her skin ablaze. “Lando,” she whispers, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck.

He chuckles, the sound of it full of want. “Right here, baby. What do you need?”

She can’t use her words at the moment. Instead, she just presses herself closer to him, silently telling him what she needs. And Lando gets the message loud and clear. With a firm grip, he walks them toward the bed, her body flush against his.

Clothes come off in a frenzy: her shirt lifted over her head, his sweatpants kicked away, her underwear dragged down her thighs in a rush. His lips are on her skin the entire time, trailing fire along her collarbones, down the valley between her breasts and over the curve of her stomach.

When she’s bare beneath him, he pulls back, drinking her in.

“Want on top?” asks Lando, a little smirk hanging in the corner of his mouth.

The girl shakes her head, “You first,” she teases, already breathless.

He doesn’t answer, but runs a hand down his face before gripping her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. She gasps as he positions himself behind her, big hands spreading across her waist. Lando’s fingers flex, gripping her like she belongs to him in ways neither of them can describe, but both agree on.

Gently, he presses a kiss to her shoulder blade, then another, before dragging his teeth along her heated skin. “Let me show you how high confidence can get you, baby.”

And then, he pushes inside.

A muffled moan spills from her lips, her back arching hard into him as he bottoms out, filling her completely. He presses his lips in a thin line at the feeling, at the way she welcomes him so perfectly, clenching around him like she was made for this. It’s hard to keep quiet, yet he wants to give himself the priviledge of being able to feel her like this a little longer.

“God, you feel so good,” he mumbles, his hands sliding up to her shoulders, fingers curling around them.

“Move then,” she orders, managing to get a chuckle out of him.

Lando’s thrusts are calculated at first, dragging along every sensitive spot inside her, pulling sounds out of her that go straight to his cock. But then he shifts, picking up speed, pounding into her with a precision that leaves her gasping further more.

Before she knows it, she’s drowning in all of it. The feeling of him, the way he takes control, and how patient he is with her.

“Lando,” she whines, voice muffled against the sheets.

“I know, baby,” he breathes, bending over her, pressing a hand to the pillow beside her head. “Just take it.”

He switches between teasing strokes and deep, hard thrusts, keeping her on edge, making her feel every inch of is length. The air around them is charged, filled with the scent of skin and something intoxicatingly sweet. Heat clings to them, heavy and thick, as if the room itself is suddenly caught in the same fever they are.

When he feels her tightening around him way too soon, Lando doesn’t hesitate to flip her onto her back again, eyes locked onto hers as he slides home once more. She whimpers at the quick change, at the way he goes so deep in this new position, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him even closer. Lando whimpers, dropping his forehead to hers, breath ragged against her lips.

“Look at you,” he can barely speak, “So. Good.”

She shivers at the praise, nails raking down his back, grounding herself in the heat of his skin. He watches her, pupils blown wide, drinking in every expression that flits across her face, from the parted lips and the way her brows knit together as pleasure overwhelms her, to the sheer need burning in her gaze. It’s almost too much for him, but the desire to see her crumbling for him like that is stronger.

The roll of his hips, every stretch, and every inch of him pressing into her it’s enough to send shudders through her body. He feels her everywhere: surrounding him, clinging to him like she’s planning to never let him go. And fuck, he never wants her to.

His hands roam her body, admiring every soft dip of her skin. One traces the swell of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple before his lips follow, dragging warm, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, her neck, and anywhere he can reach. She tilts her head back, offering more of herself to him, and he groans against her skin, nipping at her pulse just to feel the way she gasps.

“Harder,” she breathes in such wrecked manner that sends a bolt of heat straight through him.

His body tenses for a split second before a sudden hunger flickers in his eyes. No hesitation. No teasing. Just a low, guttural curse as he grips her hips and thrusts into her with purpose, each snap of his hips punishing in the best way possible.

“That good for you?” he rasps, voice tight with control, but his pace says he’s barely holding on. She nods, but it’s not enough for him. Lando grips her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let me hear you.”

“Yes,” she moans, voice breaking as he drives into her harder. “Yes, you feel so good, baby. Don’t stop...”

Lando finds the strength to smile at her, watching her slowly coming undone beneath him, her body arching, legs tightening around his waist. “Won’t,” he assures her, “You take it so well, it drives me crazy,” he groans, his hand sliding between them, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling, teasing.

Her legs start trembling around his waist, and he knows she’s close. He can feel it in the way her body is betraying her, spasming around him, the way her breaths grow uneven, and how her hands tighten in his hair as if anchoring herself to him.

“Mhm,” he hums, his forehead pressed to hers. “Ready to come with me, love?”

She doesn’t have time to answer as she moans his name, a cry lost in their furtive kiss, just as her body tightens around him, pulling him over the edge right with her. His repetitive moans are maddening as he spills inside her, hips jerking, hands gripping her with a force that’s going to leave marks.

After that, he refuses to move. They just breathe, chests colliding against each other, bodies pressed so tightly together that it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Then, Lando tilts his head, pressing another lazy kiss to her lips before whispering against them. “Best student I’ve ever had.”

She laughs, smacking his shoulder, but she doesn’t deny it.

A shiver rolls down Lando’s spine as he pulls out, his body thrumming with aftershocks, oversensitive but still craving her. His eyes flutter shut for a second at the feeling — she’s still so tight, greedily clenching around nothing, the evidence of their release slick between them, a mess they should deal with but won’t. Not yet.

His cock, still heavy and slick, rests between them, twitching slightly as he leans down to kiss her again. It’s slow, languid, an extension of the pleasure still simmering in the air between them. His lips move against hers with a practiced ease, his body pressing into her as if he’s trying to mold them into one.

Then, his hand finds her neck. He squeezes lightly, just enough to make her breath hitch; his smirk against her lips is pure sin.

“Get on top,” he orders, voice thick with something commanding. His hands find her hips again, thumbs stroking the heated skin there. “I want you to reproduce every single thing I explained to you at the circuit today. Show me what you learned,” he provokes her, eyes dark with challenge.

She bites the inside of her cheek, chest burning at the way he looks at her — his lips parted, eyes filled with lust —, fueling her desire to show off.

Slowly, she sinks down onto him, gasping at the way he stretches her as if he wasn’t inside her not even two minutes ago. She lifts herself before easing back down, soon finding a rhythm that makes him curse under his breath.

“Keep your grip firm,” Lando instructs, trailing his fingers up her spine. “Don’t be afraid to push a little harder.”

She presses her hands to his chest and moves faster, earning a deep, satisfied moan from him.

“Fuck,” Lando swears under his breath, eyes flickering between her face and the way she moves on top of him. “Such a fast learner.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

202 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 3 days ago

Text

as the poets say

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote “he is half of my soul, as the poets say” from the song of Achilles by Madeline miller

rated m | 2589 words | cw: injury, hospitals | tags: angst with a happy ending, soulmate au, canon adjacent but diverged like two roads in a yellow wood, friends to lovers, first kiss

💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍💍

He walks into the room, bleeding, crying, wishing that death would take him. He feels ripped apart, and maybe he is. The wounds he’s suffered externally are minor in comparison to the pain in his heart.

Steve can’t be found.

He’s gone.

Eddie failed him.

_______

It’s easy to lose your mind when you find your soulmate, to forget that the world continues to spin, that good things and bad luck continue to happen around you. The fullness of your heart clouds your brain, that’s what his mom always told him when he was young. She would know better than anyone.

When his Uncle Wayne took him in, he said the same thing. He’d never found his soulmate, had never felt the need to go looking.

If they’re out there, we’ll find each other.

Eddie didn’t want to find his. Not after what happened to his mom, not after seeing the faraway look in his uncle’s eyes when he saw two people holding hands or laughing together in public.

A soulmate would just cause heartbreak.

_______

Steve is easy to get along with. He joins the group despite Eddie’s hesitation, and he fits right in.

Gareth is the least enthused, but even he gives in when Steve bakes him his favorite cookies. It’s not a bribe. Allegedly.

Eddie is immediately drawn to him, but keeps his distance. He pretends that the effect he has on him is nothing more than an easy friendship.

It lasts roughly six weeks, three days, eight hours, and 52 seconds. 53 if you count how long it takes Steve to start kissing him back.

He realizes the moment their lips touch.

He almost backs away, but what good would that do? The damage is done.

Steve’s eyes blink open as they part.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers.

“I hoped it wasn’t you,” Eddie replies.

His words ruin what should be a joyous moment. Steve flinches, backing away as if he’s been burned.

Eddie regrets the words immediately, feels the ache he caused Steve like a wound in his chest.

“Oh,” Steve breathes out, looking lost. “Okay.”

“It’s-” Eddie tries to backtrack. “It’s not you.”

“No, right. It’s not you, it’s me. Got it.”

Eddie hates what he’s done, and the pull in his body is screaming at him to shut up, to take it all back, to apologize and kiss him again. Steve deserves better than this, better than him.

“No, it’s…that makes it sound like I’m brushing you off. I-”

“That’s kinda what you’re doing,” Steve interrupts. “And it’s fine. I get it. I’m not what you expected and no matter what I do to try to make you see me for who I actually am, you’re not gonna.”

Steve leaves and Eddie goes home.

He doesn’t tell Wayne about it, but it’s easy to hide shit from Wayne when he works so much. It’s even easier when all he does is lay in bed and cry into his pillow like the pathetic loser he knows he is.

Eventually, Wayne catches him hobbling to the bathroom with red, swollen eyes and hunched shoulders and he can’t keep it in.

“You go tell that boy you didn’t mean a damn thing and you’re sorry for turning him down,” Wayne says when Eddie explains. “You’re not gonna be a sad sack in my home for the next 50 years just because you’re scared of having a soulmate.”

“I’m not scared!” Eddie argues, but he knows he’s lying and he knows Wayne knows he’s lying.

“Ed,” Wayne sighs. “I know I’m a little to blame for this. I coulda told ya so much sooner about why I get so worked up about soulmates.”

“Yeah, you coulda,” Eddie crosses his arms defiantly, leaning back against the couch.

“Watch your mouth,” Wayne points at him, then rubs his hand over his face. “Your mom was the greatest person I ever met.”

“I know.”

Where is this going?

“Losing her is somethin’ I never recovered from.”

Wait…what?

“Me…either?” Eddie feels like he’s being tested on a subject he never took a class on all of a sudden, like the answers are obvious, but not to him.

“She was my soulmate and I was too late,” Wayne continues, dropping a bomb on Eddie’s lap with no instructions on how to defuse it. “She said we could lie and say you were mine and Al would never know, but I didn’t feel right doin’ that to him at the time. I’ve come to regret it.”

“You were…” Eddie stands, pacing the floor of the trailer. “You two were soulmates? Why would she stay with my dad if she belonged with you?”

Wayne gives him a sad smile. “Because she didn’t believe in soulmates before she met me. She’d been with a few guys in high school, and then stuck with Al for a bit before she met me. They’d broken up when we started talkin’, but she was already pregnant with you. Couldn’t do that to my brother no matter how shitty he turned out to be.”

“But,” Eddie opens and closes his mouth for a full minute as he realizes what Wayne’s saying. “But if you loved her and she loved you, and you were soulmates, something could’ve been figured out.”

“Maybe. Lookin’ back, I think we coulda done things different. But we made our choices then and I gotta live with ‘em now.” Wayne stands, puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Don’t live with the regrets I have just because you’re scared, son.”

_______

Eddie drives to Steve’s house, ready to apologize, but finds his eyes rolled back in his head, unresponsive.

He doesn’t run, but he wants to.

Something tells him to call Dustin, the freshman who gets on his nerves, but has looked up to him since the first day he joined Hellfire.

The next three days are chaos. Steve is barely present, headphones covering his ears as much as physically possible to keep this Vecna guy out of his head. Eddie doesn’t leave his side, can’t.

They don’t talk about the soulmate thing. There’s too much going on outside of that. It’s awkward, conversations between them stilted at best, but Steve accepts that Eddie isn’t leaving his side.

When Eddie is sitting across from Steve, watching as his eyes roll back in his head, waiting to be the distraction for Vecna so everyone else can kill him, it’s like his entire heart is outside his body, beating against the floor and the walls.

He’s not supposed to interfere unless he starts to float.

But even when he does, Eddie can’t do anything to stop it. He tries to sing, he tries to pull him back down, but it’s useless. Vecna’s going to win this battle, even if they do manage to win the war.

_______

The hospital is packed when he carries Steve into it, broken and bleeding, unconscious with the barest pulse to prove he’s still alive. Only one person is manning the front desk, turning people with minor illnesses and injuries away and telling them to come back tomorrow. The moment she catches Eddie holding Steve out of the corner of her eye, she pages a code and two nurses come running with a bed.

He sets Steve down and tries not to think that this will be the last time he touches him.

He promises himself that when Steve wakes up, when he makes it through this, he’s gonna make everything okay again.

_______

Steve doesn’t wake up.

The doctors don’t quite know why, but they also aren’t being given the entire story. They can’t have it until Owens shows up, and even then, it won’t be everything.

El got here four hours ago and hasn’t left Steve’s side, but she keeps giving weird grunts of frustration. Dustin didn’t tell him everything about El, but he knows she’s a government experiment with superpowers and if she’s frustrated, the situation isn’t great.

Dustin and Robin are inconsolable, and Eddie feels like he’s one more hour of unknown futures away from joining them.

He sneaks off to call Wayne to check in, let him know he’s alive. Wayne tells him not to leave Steve’s side, he’ll bring him clothes and food soon. Eddie tries to wash his hands and face, get rid of as much of the blood and dirt smudged on his skin, but realizes too late that it won’t matter.

Wayne will know he’s been hurt, too.

“He is gone,” El says quietly.

“What?” Eddie steps to the bed, checks the monitors still beeping to prove that Steve’s heart is still pumping and his lungs are still working. “He’s not gone.”

“He is not there,” she continues, tears gathering in her eyes. “I cannot hear him or see him. He is not in his mind.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Eddie knows he sounds crazy, and this is a kid he’s talking to, but he’s confused as to how she can make that determination.

“El can see into people’s minds when she concentrates. It’s easier with people she knows, but she didn’t know Steve as well as some of us do, so it’s taken her a while to get in there,” Will explains. “If she can’t find him in his mind, Vecna may have gotten to him faster than we could save him.”

“But he’s right here!” Eddie yells, much too loud for the quiet in the room.

Robin is crying in the corner, too scared to be close to where Steve is practically lifeless in the bed. Dustin is shaking his head. The others are just staring at Steve as if they can blink and he’ll be awake and telling them all how they’re annoying the hell out of him.

“He is physically here, but he is not in his mind.”

She leaves. Mike and Will follow her, and everyone slowly leaves the room while Eddie just watches Steve breathing.

_______

El doesn’t come back. No one does for over a day.

Eddie sits.

He waits for any sign that El is wrong.

He tries not to blame himself, but he knows deep down if he hadn’t rejected Steve, if he hadn’t been so fucking scared, maybe he could have seen this coming sooner. Maybe he could’ve stopped it from happening at all.

Robin swings by the next day, says she begged her mom to bring her for hours. Her parents want to leave Hawkins, and she’s already said she’ll run away before she leaves Steve here alone.

He isn’t alone, but he knows what she means.

She must not know about the soulmate thing. She wouldn’t want to be near him at all if she knew about him breaking Steve’s heart into a million pieces.

Except she makes a comment a few hours later, after a nurse has stopped by to once again check on Steve’s vitals, about how lucky Steve is for having such a great real soulmate.

So she knows, but she must not know.

He’s gotta tell her.

“Robin, I-“

A few quick beeps interrupt him, followed by a sharp intake of breath, and then a choking sound.

Eddie jumps up and Robin rushes to press the call button. Steve’s eyes are open and he’s trying to claw at the tube down his throat. Eddie grabs them as gently as he can, whispering that it’s okay, the nurse will take care of it, he just has to wait a minute.

Steve’s eyes are wide with panic.

He’s squeezing Eddie’s hands with a surprising amount of strength for someone who was basically dead only a minute before.

Eddie cups his cheek, and he falls in love.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. They’re gonna help you. I’m glad you’re here,” Eddie says quietly while Robin decides to run to the hall to get help.

He feels it growing the longer he’s awake, the more they touch. The reason he didn’t accept El’s words was because Steve was still there, Eddie could feel half of his heart still beating in Steve’s chest and half of his soul still deeply intertwined in Steve’s.

Steve won’t let go of him, even when the nurses try to get him to so they can check him. Eddie apologizes to the nurse closest to him, and while she must be annoyed at the inconvenience, she gives him an understanding smile.

“I wouldn’t let go of mine either,” she whispers to him before turning back to Steve’s IV line in his arm.

Eddie doesn’t let go.

Doctors come and go. Steve can barely talk, but they expect him to gain his voice back within a day or two. They suggest he have honey sticks and ice chips to soothe his throat and prescribe a breathing treatment to help clear up anything in his chest. He’s told to take it easy and stay as horizontal as possible until they can get him in for more scans. They don’t want him to start bleeding anywhere before they can reassess wounds.

Most of his physical injuries are broken bones, and there’s nothing to do for them except wait for them to heal.

He may never walk again, at least not without help.

His vision is worse than after his third concussion, but they’re already planning on prescribing glasses for him.

Things aren’t great, but they’re moving forward.

Robin has to leave before she gets a chance to really talk to him, which Eddie is secretly grateful for. He wants to have a minute alone with him, even if all they do is sit in silence, holding hands.

Which is all they do for a while. The hospital is still packed full of people in surprisingly worse condition than Steve, and extremely understaffed, so they just enjoy the peace of the room while they can. Now that Steve’s awake, they may put someone else in here to free up a room.

Steve taps his wrist.

“Hm?” Eddie watches as Steve tries to speak.

“Okay?”

Eddie knows what he’s asking.

“Everyone’s fine. Just worried about you,” Eddie smiles, rubs his thumb along the back of Steve’s hand as he answers. “You got the worst of it.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault the evil mind wizard clockmaker decided to try to kill you one bone at a time, Stevie,” Eddie picks up his hand and kisses the back of his fingers. “But let’s try to avoid other evil mind wizard clockmakers in the future.”

Steve doesn’t quite laugh, but his smile is enough for Eddie.

He’s quiet for a bit, his eyes closing like he’s falling back asleep. It only makes Eddie a little nervous.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says when he thinks Steve did actually drift off. “I was scared. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

Steve smiles, but keeps his eyes closed. “Mhm.”

“And I will make it up to you in any way I can for as long as it takes. Even if that’s forever.”

“Mmm.”

“And I can’t tell if you wanna yell at me or not right now, but if you want to, you can. You should, actually. Wayne was way too nice to me when I told him.”

Steve opens one eye and raises a brow. How the hell is he doing that?

“Do you?”

Steve snorts and closes his eye, settling further into the pillow and squeezing Eddie’s hand.

It could be a yes or a no, but either way, Eddie’s fine with it.

His soulmate is alive and he’s not afraid anymore.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie events #steddielovemonth #steve harrington x eddie munson #angst with a happy ending #Steve gets vecna’d #soulmate au

225 notes · View notes

artemisiasmuse · 1 day ago

Text

always known | CH.4

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut eventually, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

< previous

there was no ignoring your festering affection to rafe cameron when a girl is in his face, very obviously flirting. you’d stepped away for a few moments to greet your college friends when she took your place, well much more than just your place. jealousy flares in you hot and omnipresent and you can’t pretend you don’t recognize it so instead you try to dull it. you drink more than you should and none of the boys at the party look anywhere near attractive compared to him. even at school you had staved off the advances of anyone approaching you because no one seemed to cut it. not when your best friend was becoming your ideal man, he always had been if you were honest. if anyone looked at your ex’s next to him they would’ve realized it before you did. You hated how easy it was for her to make her intentions known, how he seemed to be enjoying the attention, when you couldn't even own up to your own feelings. topper noticed your continued return to the kitchen and eventually cut you off in your warpath.

“hey easy there, ‘can’t have you drinking us all under the table.” you stumbled into him, not really watching your steps and his hands steadied your shoulders, retreating like it burned him, in case rafe saw of course. the thought made your frown grow deeper, even if rafe shared an inkling of your feelings you couldn't make him jealous, you’d been off limits for as long as you or anyone else in figure 8 could remember.

“move topper, i flunked an exam okay?” it was a lame excuse, one that would’ve worked had you not known topper for the majority of your life. you’d never failed an exam, that still hadn’t changed. clearly your excuse didn’t work because rafe found you in the kitchen moments later, you relished slightly in the absence of the girl on his arm.

“hey kid, how much ‘you drink?” it was a nickname from your childhood, that and “baby” which now was also tarnished by your desire. you had constantly reminded him he was only five months older but in elementary school that meant a world of difference. you stopped correcting him, you would never admit it but the nicknames rolling off his tongue in that earth-shattering deep voice of his made your brain a bit foggy. he would never admit that he had long since learned the implications of calling you “baby” in public and it only spurred him on more. standing across the island from him, you took a few seconds to respond, walking yourself down from the jolt of need in your core. at least you could blame your slow reaction on the alcohol.

“i lost count.” rafe made his way around to you, an eyebrow raised at your response. by the looks of it you were already drunk. unfortunately you weren’t drunk enough to black out and ignore the eventuality of him leaving with the pretty blonde, not yet at least.

“let’s stop hmm? i know you’ll be mad at me tomorrow otherwise.” he took the cup from your small hands, fingers grazing against yours and it jolted you. his voice was low and smooth against your senses, lulling you into submission, you were sure you’d do anything he asked if he said it like that. you looked up at him with crossed arms, rafe did his absolute best to ignore how your breasts propped up from the action, but really he couldn’t. you were too drunk to notice. you hoped you weren’t obvious when you looked at how his fingers wrapped around the plastic effortlessly, so much bigger and thicker than yours. he was too distracted to notice.

“it’s fine, go back to blondie.” your words slurred off at the end, you shouldn’t have said that out loud. again you could blame it on the alcohol.

“you jealous?” rafe found himself smiling at the notion, despite the glare you were fixing him with, he couldn’t pretend to be even slightly upset with you drinking yourself into a stupor if it was over him. he was sure that was unhealthy, whatever, you could lecture him later. you were always so good at telling him off, and he’d listen.

“what? no.” your immediate denial gave you away easily and rafe smiled wider, he felt too close all of a sudden and you stepped back, your back hitting a counter. rafe watched you try to make a distance between you two, adorably failing. he scanned your body for any sign that it actually hurt but from the way you were still trying to avoid his eyes he could see you were too preoccupied.

“it’s okay baby, i was jealous when you were hanging with top and kelc without me.” he practically purred the nickname, your hand clenching by your side. rafe wouldn’t tell you that he had purposefully been stringing along ‘blondie’ to make you jealous. your glares weren’t exactly subtle after a certain point. your heartbeat picks up at the pet name, at his honeyed voice lowering just for you. your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close, as close as she had him, maybe even closer.

“okay yeah i am, but it’s not the same.” you huffed out, proud of yourself for sounding coherent. you really should be better at holding your tongue but rafe looked too good today and you burned with jealousy that another girl had been able to ogle him all night. not to mention he was wearing the cologne he knew was your favorite, you’d even said so when he hugged you goodbye before class. the scent alone was making your frown deepen.

“what?” rafe couldn’t believe how transparent you were, he hoped you’d remember this tomorrow or at the very least you’d feel the same tomorrow. there was no way you were being serious though, you were just fucking with him. either way he really hoped he was understanding you right because he couldn’t let this go.

“forget i said that i’m drunk.” you looked away, embarrassed by how little rafe was reciprocating.

“no no, what do you mean?” he stepped closer, an inch away from you, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. you had to look at him, your expression cracking, you couldn’t pretend much longer, your eyebrows pinched and rafe recognized that you might be about to cry.

“rafe please-“ a plea whispered into the space between you two and rafe’s heart skipped a beat. the sound of you so desperately calling his name would haunt him forever but despite his mind fracturing into a million pieces, he still had to know.

“it is the same, it’s the exact fucking same, baby.” he leaned down to your height, his palms flat on the counter on either side of you, blue eyes bore into yours, commanding you to listen. he wasn’t teasing you. he was being sincere and you couldn’t believe it.

“are you sure?” there was barely any space between you two and the way he was looking at you should’ve been your answer but your vision was hazy.

“of course i’m fucking sure, did you think i cut contact with you cause i was tired of you? i did it cause you got a boyfriend.” he looked upset, you almost cupped his face with your hands, your fingers itched to press down the crease forming on his forehead from frowning. he watches the words sink into your pretty little head, how can you be so insanely adorable even now? he didn't plan for them to come out like this, in fact he had rather assumed it would be better if you didn't know the reason but it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“that’s fucking stupid rafe,” you say without any malice, your lip is jutted out in a pout and your eyebrows pinch together, god he wants to kiss you so badly. he’s a bit tipsy but not enough to think your first kiss should be at a party where anywhere can walk in while you’re struggling to stand.

“i know sweetheart, just-let’s do this when you’re sober yeah?” rafe worries you might not even remember this tomorrow.

“yeah…can you take me home?” he knows you mean tannyhill, you’d been staying there ever since your place flooded and he wonders sometimes why you don’t just move in. one time out of sheer curiosity, and maybe the fact that you were passed out on his bed, he looked up how much rent you’d get for your place.

“sure.” you lean into his side, his arm curling protectively around you as he moves you through the party, your eyes flutter closed cause as stupid as it is you trust him to get you out safely. the room spins around you but even if you stumble he holds you upright. you must have fallen asleep at some point cause the next thing you remember is being coaxed out of rafe’s car to get inside. the next twenty minutes or so are a blur as the sequence of shots hit you at once, you remember relaxing into rafe’s bed, the scent of him and his cologne lingering on the sheets and it soothes you enough to sleep.

your headache is the first thing that you feel before you can even open your eyes, you groan as you shoot up and see that you’re for some reason in rafe’s room, with him nowhere to be seen, in his shirt with no pants on. you’re greeted by the framed picture of you two in middle school, pimply and greasy but somehow still adorable.

you pray to god that you didn’t embarrass yourself too much with him as you pull on a pair of sweats you find in his closet. there’s a glass of water and a bottle of pills next to you and you know who left it there for you. you text him asking if he’s awake, you can’t wait to see him, can’t wait to confirm if you dreamt your conversation in the kitchen. rafe knocks at his door before entering and you’re still sat up on his bed, he still can't get used to the sight. he’s wearing a plain white shirt and sweats, his chain peeking under the collar and you think he might be the hottest man alive. he sits down across you on his desk chair swiveling it to face you, adjusting his hips as he does it. you might just pass out.

“i didn’t do anything too embarrassing right?” you ask while trying to ignore how good he looks. rafe looks up at you with a grimace and you groan.

“you really wanna know?” he asks with a glimmer in his eyes and you massage your temples in anticipation for the oncoming headache.

“oh god…kill me now.” rafe laughs at your expression, your eyes are closed and he can’t help but appreciate how you drown in his clothes. that coupled with you sleeping in his bed makes his hands itch to take a picture. he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be this fortunate again.

“i’m messing with you, you were pretty sweet actually, makes me kinda miss it now.” your pretty eyes snap open to meet his and you grown at the vague comment. sweet could mean a lot of things and most of them would be embarrassing.

“fuck off, you gotta give me more than that rafey, im going crazy.”

“how much do you remember?” he’s giving you an out, one that you won’t take. rafe holds his breath, there’s no going back from your answer.

“i remember getting out of the car after we left the party and then it’s kinda fuzzy.” he breathes out in relief, nodding at your words and blushing at the realization that you were actually owning up to the conversation. he can’t meet your eyes for a few seconds as he responds.

“okay so you insisted on sleeping in my room, you actually kicked me out.” he said and you winced, forcing his gaze to yours.

“sorry-“ you start but he waves you off.

“something about you always sleep better there, but i made sure you washed your face and stuff before sleeping.” you already feel hot from embarrassment but this can’t be the worst of it, you’d told this to rafe sober.

“i can tell you’re holding back.” rafe should realize that you know him as well as he knows you. you’re too observant for your own good.

“fine okay, you may have been repeatedly telling me i’m pretty.”

“yeah okay so i’ll see you in a week.” he couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. you got off his bed to leave, far too embarrassed to hear the rest, but he caught your wrist from where he sat near the door. he looked good looking up at you, you could get used to the angle.

“hey come on, i didn’t finish, i'm the one who started it for what it’s worth.” the hand around your wrist smoothly drifted to your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. you start to think crazy things like why was he was smooth? how many girls had he-rafe short circuits your brain as he brings your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your ring finger. you like to think it’s an accident for your sanity, it’s not.

“really?” your voice comes out small, nearly a squeak. you hardly notice it because you’re so entranced with his actions, by how small your hand feels and looks in his, how large his fingers are and the cold press of his signet ring against you. all the embarrassment flushed out of your system by a thrumming of need, of adoration, of-

“uh huh you look pretty right now too.” your gaze snaps to his, narrowing at his words, rafe hasn’t stopped smiling since he’s seen you today. how can he? he’s finally getting everything he’s ever wanted. you look so stunned by his words, mouth slightly agape and he’s relishing in the fact that for the first time in your lives he has the upper hand. he lightly tugs you closer by your hands and there’s zero resistance in your steps, you think you might be under a spell. it’s a miracle you can even respond.

“i definitely do not, i'm a hungover hot mess.” you know you look bad, you’re not fishing for compliments. you’re pretty sure you still have mascara smudged under your eyes and your hair is a whole other entity. but rafe doesn’t see any of that, he sees the girl he fell in love.

“nah you’re the prettiest girl i know.” he’s practically grinning up at you and the blue in his eyes is just right. he’s not lying to you and there’s a thick haze of feelings and unspoken words between you two. you know it’ll take a few words to change everything forever, the thought scares you, and you can’t handle the label you know you’re avoiding. the word that perfectly encapsulates what you already should’ve known for twenty years.

“can i shower and then maybe i’ll agree with you?” rafe lets you pull back, he knows he has you, and you know you have him. you just need a bit of space to catch your breath. he imagines these feelings sprouting up after so long can be overwhelming, they’re still overwhelming for him but he’s gotten used to relinquishing any rational thought when it comes to you. you just need time to get used to it too. you return to the guest room and hop in the shower. rafe put a set of his clothes next to yours and you don't even hesitate, they feel comfier on your skin and they smell like him, you wear his clothes and dry your hair before seeking him out. you feel more like a human, the sins of last night washed off you, and now you can finally give in.

you lean against his doorframe, his eyes already on you, as you say, “you’re gonna make me say it first aren’t you?”

a/n: i was geeking writing this (don’t hate me for the cliffhanger)

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut @beabogsims @someoneisreading @rlalliehayes @artbymin @pogueprincesa @crvcified-kinx @ltristessedureratoujours @lilithblackkk @pluviophilis

147 notes · View notes

multific · 2 days ago

Text

Beneath the Laurel Crown

Emperor Geta x Reader

Summary: As whispers of a political marriage swirl around Emperor Geta, you begin to fear that duty will pull him away from you.

The weight of Rome sat heavy on Geta’s shoulders, but the weight of your gaze?

That was what unravelled him.

You watched from the side of the grand hall, lingering behind a column as yet another senator droned on about politics, war, and taxes.

The subjects Geta had no choice but to entertain. His expression was carefully composed, his golden laurels glinting beneath the torches.

To everyone else, he was the Emperor, untouchable, infallible.

To you, he was the man behind the crown, the man who, despite his calculated rulings and the cruelty expected of a ruler, held you at night with a desperation he could never show the world.

But today, he barely looked at you.

Ever since the court had started whispering of a political marriage, one that would strengthen the Empire, he had been distant.

His touch had cooled, his words fewer, his silences heavier.

And it terrified you.

The thought of Geta bound to someone else, standing at an altar beside a woman who is not you, made your heartache.

He was yours.

Not in the way the Empire believed, not in a way history would remember, but in a way that mattered.

And yet, what was love against the might of Rome?

The meeting ended, and as the senators left, you remained hidden, waiting. The moment the doors shut, the room was silent, and Geta let out a tired sigh.

His hands lifted to remove the golden laurel crown, and for the first time since the morning, he finally looked at you.

“Are you going to keep hiding?” His voice was quieter now, softer—reserved only for you.

You stepped forward, your heart pounding. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

His jaw tightened, and he turned away, setting the laurel crown on the table. “You already know why.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “So it’s true, then? You’re going to marry her?”

He didn’t answer.

That silence was worse than anything he could have said. It was as if a dagger was pushed into your heart.

You exhaled shakily, feeling the sharp sting behind your eyes. “Geta…”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. You saw the way his shoulders tensed.

You stepped closer, pressing a hand to his arm. “Look at me.”

He hesitated, then slowly turned. And what you saw in his eyes shattered you.

It wasn’t indifference. It wasn’t duty.

It was longing. Longing so raw, so unbearable that it took your breath away.

“If you ask me to let you go,” you whispered, “I will.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“But if there is even a chance-” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t look away. “If you love me, if you want me, if you would fight for me even for a moment-then don’t say anything at all.”

The silence stretched, endless, suffocating.

And then he moved forward, crushing his lips against yours.

The world blurred.

The weight of the Empire, the expectations, the duty, none of it mattered as he held you like a man drowning, like he needed you to breathe.

His hands cupped your face, his grip desperate, his kiss full of everything he could never say aloud.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“I will burn this empire to the ground before I let them take you from me,” he murmured.

And you knew he meant every word.

The next day word of the senators' death arrived. As Geta stood in front of them.

"Your Empress shall be chosen by me." Caracalla laughed at his brother's words. He knew this would be good. "And anyone who dares question my decision will suffer the same end as the others. Am I understood?" his tone was calm. Way too calm.

Silence filled the room and the irritation in Geta grew.

"AM I UNDERSTOOD?" he yelled and suddenly every nodded.

He would absolutely mean every word. You will be his wife. And that was final.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

155 notes · View notes

mymoonisgrey · 9 hours ago

Text

mr. steal your girl

❤︎ ໋𓈒 in which satoru’s plans to steal you away from your girlfriend work, after a while.

warnings. 18+, smut, cunnilingus, p in v, satoru’s a smart manipulator, ooc, reader is bi and had a girlfriend, polygamy. based on this ask.

wc. 4.3k

A throuple. A polyamorous relationship. Not once in your life had you ever imagined yourself in one.

You’ve been with your girlfriend for a while now, and she’s wonderful—steady, kind, patient. You’ll admit that.

But a part of you has always yearned for something else. The kind of love that feels all-consuming. A man’s presence—protective, overwhelming, the low timbre of his voice settling deep in your bones, large, calloused hands engulfing yours, that brand of devotion you only ever see in movies.

Then Gojo Satoru waltzes into your life and tilts your world off its axis.

He’s thrilling, all spark and adrenaline. Just being near him sends a rush through your veins. Those striking blue eyes pull you in, make your head spin before you can even think.

It starts as a friendship.

You meet him at a bar, introduced through a mutual friend—Shoko Ieiri, who, for the record, is the human embodiment of lesbian energy. At first, you hang out in a group, once or twice. Then, somehow, it becomes a daily thing. Eventually, you’re comfortable enough to start meeting up with him alone.

“Trust me, you should really try the taro-flavored one,” he says, sliding the boba ice cream toward you with an easy smile. “I’m a sugar expert. And sugar varies, y’know?”

You hug your torso, lips quirking. “I know it tastes good. My girlfriend likes it.”

Satoru stills. The word hangs between you, and for a fraction of a second, his smile falters—so subtly you almost miss it.

Then, his expression smooths out, his interest sharpening into something even keener.

“Girlfriend?” he repeats, slow, as if tasting the word.

You nod, oblivious to the calculations running through his mind. “Mhm! I’ll bring her next time. You can meet her.”

A million possibilities unfold in his head, different ways this could go, all of them leading to the same outcome. Because he wants you—pronto.

His fingers graze the ends of your hair, his smile going languid, lazy.

“That,” he murmurs, tilting his head, “would be interesting.”

You didn’t think much about that interaction with Satoru at the time.

When you finally brought your girlfriend out to meet your friend, the connection between the three of you was instant—undeniable. Before you knew it, you had become a trio.

Satoru was always around, whether at your place or taking you both out. He spoiled you endlessly, never hesitating to drop money on gifts, meals, or spontaneous trips. He was the perfect masculine presence—charming, dependable, larger than life. Neither of you questioned it. Not at first.

You had no idea there was a motive behind it. Neither did she.

Then, one night, he brought it up.

“You know,” he starts, casual, almost offhanded. “We could just—make this a thing.”

You blink.

“Huh?” you mutter, sitting cross-legged, leaning back on your arms. Beside you, your girlfriend’s brows knit together.

Satoru swallows—an act, you realize later. He stares at both of you with a glassy, hopeful gaze, playing it up just enough to seem sincere but not too eager.

“I like you both,” he says. “So, if you’d like… I mean, I won’t take it personally if you say no—”

“Yes.”

The word leaves your lips before you can think, your back straightening as you nod.

Your girlfriend turns to you, eyes wide. But when you meet her gaze—soft, certain—she understands.

“…Yes,” she echoes.

Satoru smiles, slow and knowing. Then he stands smoothly, gathering you both into his arms—his grip just a little tighter around you.

It was a slow burn—he did think your girlfriend was cute, but you? You were everything. He could already picture it: kids, a settled life with you, lounging together in his clan’s estate. You, as his madam.

But he was patient. He took his sweet time, gradually pulling you further away from her without making it too obvious. It started small—sitting with you more often than she did, attending to every little need you had, hanging on to your every word. Then, the gifts.

“What’s all this?” you laugh softly, staring at the orange boxes with their fancy ribbons, the velvet-lined cases. You’d never been gifted something so luxurious before.

“They’re yours, honey.” He smiles, genuine, his heart pounding beneath his chest. “I picked everything based on… what you like.”

Your heart soars, your lips curling into a smile as you hug him tightly. “I love you. Thank you.”

Satoru exhales through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut in a rare moment of vulnerability. “Mmm, I love you more,” he murmurs, his voice thick with devotion. He feels your eyes drift around, searching for something else.

His brow furrows. “I got her something too, don’t worry. It’s in her bedroom. When she’s back, I’ll give it to her.”

You nod, your smile warm, though your gaze lingers on the gifts in your lap. Part of you wonders—does she get the same? You assume she does. After all, Satoru’s generous.

He is, but only because he knows exactly what he’s doing. The gift for her? A simple diamond tennis necklace—barely a dent in his pocket. Not that it matters. This is all part of the plan.

It’s been going on for months—slowly, almost imperceptibly, Satoru has worked his way into your life, taking more of your attention, making you feel more at home with him than with your girlfriend. At first, it was subtle—the way he’d help you with everything, anticipate your needs before you even voiced them. But now, you’re beginning to notice the gap widening, the emotional distance growing between you and her.

Your girlfriend is becoming… strange.

She picks fights over the smallest things now—dirty dishes left in the sink, the couch cushion being out of place, your clothes tossed on the floor. It’s like every moment is an argument waiting to happen. Her moods shift at the drop of a hat. “I’m not in the mood,” she sighs. “I don’t feel like it today.” Even her complaints about Satoru—small, unimportant things—start to irritate you.

Satoru, on the other hand, never complains. He’s there when you need him, always helpful, always attentive. He’s not the one causing problems, and he never starts a fight. Everything he does seems to smooth over the tension.

But today… Today something shifts. Satoru’s patience snaps.

You’re out running errands, leaving Satoru and your girlfriend alone in the house. When you return, you find Satoru cornering her in the hallway. His face is expressionless, but there’s an undeniable hardness in his eyes.

“Honey,” Satoru says, his voice smooth, but with an edge that cuts through the air. His gaze never wavers from hers. “We need to talk.”

Your girlfriend glares at him, exhausted. “What now?” Her tone is laced with resentment.

“You’ve been really fucking hard on her lately,” Satoru continues, his voice deceptively gentle. He crosses his arms over his chest, his posture almost predatory. “What’s going on with you?”

“Hard on her?” she scoffs, her eyes flashing with anger. “Oh, so now you’re playing the ‘knight in shining armor,’ huh? Tell me, why does everything have to revolve around you two, huh?”

Satoru’s lips curl into a tight, almost amused smile. He leans in, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

She laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “You’re always together. It’s like I’m invisible! It’s like I wasn’t even your girlfriend too— she was my girlfriend first! why are you just… swooping in like im not here?!” Her voice cracks with frustration, but her hands ball into fists at her sides.

Satoru tilts his head, his expression cool and controlled. “You’re being irrational,” he says, his tone deceptively soft. “Maybe if you treated her better, she wouldn’t feel like she has to pull away from you.”

Her eyes widen, disbelief flashing across her face. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Satoru doesn’t flinch. His gaze hardens. “I said maybe you should stop acting like a bitch towards her,” he states with calm finality.

Her face pales, and for a moment, she looks like she might explode. “Excuse me?” she whispers, barely holding back her fury. “You think you can talk to me like that? You think you can just come in here, into our relationship, and tell me how I should act?”

Satoru’s smile remains unchanged. “I’m not telling you what to do, but you’re making things difficult for her. You’re pushing her away, and it’s your fault.”

“You have an ulterior motive, don’t you?” she spits, glaring at him. “You’ve been plotting this from the start. You want her all to yourself.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Is that what you think? Really?” He takes a step closer to her, his presence overwhelming. “You’re the one who’s been making it hard for her, not me. But if you’re too blind to see that, then that’s your problem.”

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “I think you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Satoru’s smile widens. “Maybe I have.” His eyes flick to the door, a silent invitation for her to leave, to walk away. “But you know what? That’s your choice.” He doesn’t wait for her to respond before he turns, walking away like he’s won.

Your girlfriend stands there, her body trembling with anger and frustration. She breathes heavily, looking at the door, before storming out without another word.

You return home, bags in hand, and freeze at the sight of your girlfriend standing outside. Her expression is clouded, her shoulders hunched, and she looks as though she’s just been torn apart.

“Hey… Are you okay?” you ask softly, approaching her, your voice filled with concern.

Her eyes flash with irritation. “Are you seriously asking me that?” she spits, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really don’t see it, do you? You’ve been so wrapped up in him, in Satoru, that you haven’t even noticed me. I’m right here, but you don’t care. You don’t even fucking care anymore.”

Your heart sinks, confusion and frustration rising. “That’s not true. I’ve been trying—”

“No! Don’t give me that!” she snaps, her voice raw with emotion. “You’ve been all about him. He’s always there, always helping, always doing for you. What about me? What the fuck do I get?”

Your eyes widen as the weight of her words settles in. “That’s not fair. You know how much I care about you.”

“Do I? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it,” she sneers, taking a step back. “It’s like you’ve forgotten everything. Like I’m just the other option, the one who gets pushed aside because you want him. You think I don’t see that?”

“Don’t talk like that,” you say, your voice wavering, emotions thick in your throat. “I’m not choosing anyone. I never wanted this to happen.”

“No, you didn’t,” she mocks. “But it’s happening anyway. Because you don’t see it. You don’t see me anymore.”

Tears spring to your eyes, but you blink them away, fighting back the lump in your throat. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Well, you are.” Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. “You’ve already hurt me.”

Before you can respond, she spins on her heel and storms away, leaving you standing there, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily on your chest.

Inside, Satoru watches from the window, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he watches the scene unfold.

You rush inside, groceries in your arms, your mind a whirlwind of confusion and emotion. The door slams shut behind you with a soft thud, but the weight in your chest feels heavier than anything you’ve ever carried. You fight to keep the tears at bay, but they burn at the edges of your vision.

Before you even reach the kitchen, Satoru is there—appearing as though he was waiting just for you. His hands are quick, steady, and gentle as he takes the groceries from your hands, setting them down on the foyer table with a careful precision. His eyes meet yours, searching for the storm brewing in them.

You don’t even have a chance to respond before his arms are around you, pulling you into his warmth.

“My heart, come here.” His voice is a soothing whisper, an easy contrast to the fury that still bubbles beneath your skin.

You crumble against him, the dam breaking, and sobs rack your body uncontrollably. It’s as if all the frustration, all the pain, all the love you’ve been withholding explodes at once. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, a steady presence, even as your body trembles with the weight of everything that’s happened.

“She’s being fucking unfair!” you choke out between ragged breaths, the words barely making it past the tightness in your throat.

Satoru doesn’t hesitate. His hand brushes through your hair, slow and gentle, as though each stroke is meant to calm the storm inside you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his own breath steady and warm against your skin.

“I know.” His voice is soft, tender in a way that makes your heart twist. “She’s not seeing it, baby. She doesn’t see how much you’re doing, how much you care.” He holds you tighter, his grip firm yet comforting. “But I do.”

You pull back just slightly, enough to look up at him. His eyes are sharp, a mixture of understanding and something darker, something protective. He wipes away the remnants of your tears with his thumb, his gaze never leaving your face.

“She’s pushing me away, Satoru. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to make her understand,” you whisper, voice raw, the weight of it all crashing down on you again.

His smile is small, but it holds a certain promise in it—a promise that makes your chest tighten and your heart race. “Don’t worry about that. Let me handle it.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words get stuck. There’s something in the way he says it, something confident and unwavering. His hand moves down your back, his fingers brushing against your spine in a way that sends a ripple of warmth through your body.

“I’ll fix this, okay?” he murmurs, eyes darkening just slightly. “She’s not going to ruin what we’ve built. Not when we’re this close. You and me… we’re untouchable.”

You want to say something, to question him, but the sincerity in his voice and the way he holds you makes it hard to think of anything but him, anything but this—the safety, the comfort, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything could be okay again.

The thought makes you dizzy. And in the quiet of his embrace, you let yourself be swept away by the weight of his devotion.

The three of you sit on the bed, the TV playing in the background, but the quiet tension in the room thickens with every passing second. Satoru’s arm is wrapped around you, pulling you closer, while your girlfriend watches, her hand inching toward his thigh.

Satoru notices first, his eyes flicking to her before he shifts slightly, pulling you into him even more. “You’re getting ahead of yourself,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. His touch is steady, reassuring, as if to say it’s always been you, not her.

Your girlfriend hesitates, her fingers brushing his chest, but Satoru doesn’t react. Instead, his lips find your neck, kissing you softly, purposefully ignoring her advances. Her frustration is palpable, but she pushes forward, her fingers finding their way to his lap. She leans in to kiss him.

Satoru pulls away slightly, the edge in his voice sharp as he grabs her wrist. “Not yet,” he warns, his gaze unwavering. His attention shifts back to you, his lips capturing yours in a possessive kiss. Your hands tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, to drown in him.

Your girlfriend, still sitting beside you, looks lost. She reaches again, trying to touch him, but Satoru doesn’t let her. With one hand still on you, his other gently pushes her back. “I said no,” he repeats, his voice dark with an authority that leaves no room for doubt.

You moan as Satoru’s hand slides between your legs, slipping under your clothes to find you already wet for him. He takes his time, teasing you, while your girlfriend stares, her breath catching in frustration.

The more Satoru touches you, the more your body responds. His fingers slide inside, slow at first, but he picks up the pace, bringing you to the edge. You can barely keep your composure, his lips never leaving your skin, his movements relentless.

And then, without warning, your girlfriend’s gaze shifts—no longer hungry with desire, but with a mixture of confusion and jealousy. Satoru’s full attention is on you, and he isn’t even looking at her. She’s no longer part of this equation.

As Satoru picks up speed, his breath ragged in your ear, you come apart under his touch, body trembling, desperate for more. He pushes deeper, claiming you fully, making it clear that you belong to him.

The room falls silent except for the sound of your breathless moans and Satoru’s steady pace. Your girlfriend sits motionless, helplessly watching as the last pieces of her place in this dynamic crumble.

Satoru wastes no time, maneuvering you onto your back on the bed. His hands are rough, skilled, as he strips you of your clothes with an urgency that matches the fire in his eyes. He kisses his way down your body, his lips burning trails on your skin as he works his way lower, lower, lower.

“Look at these fuckin’ tits,” he growls, his voice low and thick with desire as he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily. The sensation makes you gasp, your body arching up involuntarily. You can feel his knee pressing against your cunt, the heat of him seeping into you, sending electric shocks of anticipation through your veins.

Your girlfriend, watching from the edge of the bed, stays silent, her eyes narrowed, hands clenched into fists. She’s hot and bothered, her body reacting despite the anger twisting in her chest. She’s fed up with the whole situation—tired of being the afterthought. She hates the way Satoru devours you, but she can’t tear her eyes away.

“Ng—Satoru…” you moan softly, your breath hitching as his mouth works its magic, sucking your nipple until it’s slick and swollen. His lips leave your skin with a soft, wet pop as he shifts his attention lower, his knee pressing harder against you, reminding you of how he owns every inch of your body.

He lifts your legs, spreading them wide as he moves between them, his eyes dark with intent. “Fuck,” you yelp as he finally lowers his mouth to your cunt, his lips and tongue finding your clit with practiced ease. His tongue flicks at your sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking it into his mouth as he hums with approval, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

“Pussy’s all mine,” he mutters into your heat, his voice muffled as his tongue works relentlessly. You can barely process the words as your hips begin to squirm under the relentless pressure, his grip locking you in place. Your feet flail, trying to gain some sort of control, but Satoru has you right where he wants you—completely at his mercy.

“Sat—Satoru—” you pant, your body trembling, feeling the tension coil tighter in your stomach. His tongue is relentless, his mouth working you down to the bone, and you’re losing yourself to him.

“Down, kitty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing despite the intensity of his actions. “Let me eat.” His words send a shiver down your spine, the commanding tone making your heart race even faster.

Your hands dig into the sheets, fingers curling tightly as his mouth continues to devour you. Every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck of his lips, drives you closer to the edge, and all you can do is surrender to the pleasure. His grip on your hips tightens, ensuring you stay locked in place, and you feel your body trembling, the first waves of your orgasm crashing over you.

As you’re lost in the pleasure, you catch a glimpse of your girlfriend—her expression a mixture of frustration and arousal, her eyes dark with something you can’t quite place. The tension in the room shifts, the air thick with everything unspoken. But Satoru’s focus is entirely on you, making it clear who truly holds his attention.

You’re pulled back from the edge, gasping for breath as Satoru pulls away, his lips glistening, his eyes wild with hunger. He looks up at you, his face smug but tender, a twisted combination of possessiveness and affection. “Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with satisfaction.

Your girlfriend, still sitting on the edge of the bed, watches, her chest heaving with a mix of frustration and desire. But she says nothing, the distance between the three of you growing ever wider.

Satoru’s movements slow for a moment as he looks down at you, his dark eyes gleaming with possessiveness and hunger. His thumb traces your bottom lip, tugging it gently as a lazy smile spreads across his face.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful when you’re helpless like this,” he mutters, his voice dark and gravelly. “Can’t get enough of that sweet little pussy of yours.” He groans, his hips rolling slightly, teasing you just enough to make your body twitch. “You’re all mine, baby. No one else gets to feel this.”

You whimper beneath him, your hands fisting the sheets as his words make your core tighten with need. Satoru lowers himself, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks again, his voice dripping with desire.

“Say it,” he commands, his breath hot against your skin. “Say you’re mine. Tell me you love how I fuck you like this.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe out, your voice a mix of desperation and pleasure. “I love it, Satoru—fuck, I love how you make me feel.”

He chuckles low in his throat, a wicked grin curling on his lips. “Good girl,” he purrs. “So fucking perfect for me. No one’s ever gonna make you feel like I do, not even your girlfriend. You’re mine, and you know it, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, feeling him fill you completely. His words sink deep into your mind, pushing you further into the haze of pleasure. “Yes, Satoru… only you…”

“Damn right,” he growls, his thrusts growing faster, more brutal. “I’m the one who makes you come apart, not her. Every single inch of you belongs to me now. You’ll never be able to leave me after this, baby.”

His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging in as he pulls you against him with each powerful thrust. He watches you with rapt attention, his eyes devouring you as you squirm beneath him, your body moving in rhythm with his. He groans, the sound deep and throaty as he leans down to kiss you again, hungry and demanding.

“You wanna come again, huh?” Satoru whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “You can’t get enough of me, can you? I know you’re close… you’re so fucking tight around me. You love how deep I fuck you, don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please, Satoru, I need you… need more.”

His eyes flash with satisfaction. “I’ll give you more, baby. I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll forget your own name.”

He picks up the pace, slamming into you relentlessly, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. “Tell me how badly you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck you raw.”

“I want it so bad,” you moan, your body trembling as you feel your orgasm build. “I want you to make me yours, Satoru. I want everything.”

With that, he groans, his thrusts growing even more intense as he drives into you harder, faster, pushing you into a state of pure bliss. “That’s it, baby,” he growls, “Come for me. Let me feel how fucking tight you are around me.”

The wave of pleasure crashes over you, your body spasming as you scream his name. Satoru follows close behind, his grip on you tightening as he fucks you through your orgasm, his own release flooding you as he grits his teeth in satisfaction.

You feel yourself being gently lifted, your body weightless in his strong, warm arms, and you’re dizzy from the overwhelming sensations of pleasure. Satoru moves you up the bed effortlessly, his chest pressed to yours as he cradles you in his embrace. His lips brush your temple, soft and tender, as he whispers, “Let’s stay like this for a while. I’ll clean you up and feed you in a bit, my love.”

You nod, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you, your body still humming from the intensity of everything. The soft comfort of his touch is like a balm for your overstimulated body, and you lean into him, closing your eyes for a brief moment.

But then, your gaze shifts, and you look around the room, your mind catching up with the reality of the situation.

“Where’s—”

“Gone.” Satoru whispers, his voice low and soothing as his lips press against your neck. His arms tighten around you, drawing you closer. You can feel his steady breath against your skin, and for a moment, everything feels impossibly right.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you hug him tighter, the full weight of his words sinking in. Gone. It’s just you and him now.

“Finally,” he breathes, his voice soft but full of satisfaction.

for the anon that requested this, i hope its up to your likings and expectations. :) tried my best. pls let me know what you think through the inbox 🤍

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk gojo #gojo smut #satoru gojo #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #anon submit #dividers by cafekitsune

115 notes · View notes

alinathinkstoomuch · 23 hours ago

Text

Drunk On You

pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader summary: your boss picks you up after a night out and you smother him with sex jokes and your feelings warnings: suggestive, tension tension tension, reader needs to chill, sackable offences but hotch is a softy, hotch sees the colour of readers underwear (inesert that one charli xcx song), hotch tracks readers location (relax joe goldberg), pining, protective!hotch, hotch is just the perfect man yes i am a throw up drunk leave me alone word count: 5k

not proof read players i shall do that tomorrow morning on corporate time

It was an unusual Saturday night for Aaron. The house was quiet. Missing Jack’s antics – he was spending the weekend camping with Jessica and Roy – and missing you.

No sweet perfume lingering in the air, no soft humming as you loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, a task Aaron had insisted you didn’t have to worry about because you were the nanny, not the maid. But you never listened. Just like you never let a pile of laundry sit unfolded or a toy stay out of place for too long.

Aaron had never given much thought to the little details of domestic life before, but you had a way of making them feel... noticeable. You were woven into the fabric of his home in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

The quiet should’ve been a relief. No FBI cases waiting for him, no screaming unsub demanding his attention, no late-night paperwork eating away at his free time. He should’ve been able to enjoy the peace.

Not when he knew where you were tonight. Not when he could still hear your voice in his head, casual and offhanded, telling him about the birthday party you’d been invited to. About how the birthday girl’s idea of a good time was getting steaming drunk and finding a guy to make out with.

Aaron had brushed it off at the time, forcing himself to nod, to keep his reaction neutral. It wasn’t his place to feel anything about your plans – he knew that. But the thought of you out there, surrounded by strangers, drinking, laughing, maybe kissing someone who didn’t know you the way he did...

He let out a slow breath, running a hand over his face as if that could wipe away the thought.

It didn’t.

With a quiet sigh, he turned to pour himself a glass of bourbon, the rich honey liquid swirling in the dim light. Even that was a reminder of you. A gift you had given him on your one-year anniversary of working for him and Jack, wrapped neatly with a note that had read:

For the best boss ever – because even superheroes deserve a drink.

He had smiled when he first read it, tucking the note away in his desk drawer instead of throwing it out. He told himself it was because Jack might want to look back on it one day.

Now, as he took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through his chest, he wondered if that had ever really been the reason.

His hand drifted to his pocket before he could stop himself, fingers curling around his phone. He pulled it out, the screen glowing softly. His thumb hovered over the familiar green app, hesitation flickering through him.

He shouldn’t.

He knew he shouldn’t.

But the temptation was there, gnawing at the edges of his restraint. You had been sharing your location with him since you started working for him and Jack – your idea, not his. Just in case, you had said with a smile, if I’m out with Jack and you can’t reach me, at least you’ll know where we are.

It had made sense. It was practical.

But Jack wasn’t with you tonight, and here he was, opening the app regardless.

His job had shown him first-hand what kind of vultures lurked in the world – predators who waited for the right moment, who preyed on people like you. People who were too kind, too trusting. People who laughed freely, who lit up a room without realising it, who believed the best in others even when they didn’t deserve it.

He told himself that was why he checked. That was why his eyes scanned the map, searching for the little blue dot that told him where you were.

A bar downtown.

Of course.

Aaron sighed, setting the phone down on the counter like it burned him.

You were fine. You were an adult. You were allowed to go out, to drink, to do whatever you wanted.

But the thought of you – tipsy, surrounded by strangers, maybe some guy with his hand on the small of your back, leaning in too close – made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to analyse.

He braced his hands on the counter, exhaling through his nose, willing himself to let it go.

Then his phone buzzed with a message from you.

Having fun?

He frowned, reading it twice, his grip tightening around the device. A second later, another message popped up.

Wait. Don’t answer that. I know you’re home. You don’t have fun.

His lips twitched despite himself. Then another message came.

I can hear you rolling your eyes from here.

This time, he didn’t fight the smile.

Aaron leaned against the counter, staring at your words, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He should tell you to be safe. He should remind you to call if you needed anything.

Instead, he typed:

How many drinks have you had?

The response was instant.

Not enough yet.

He let a breath out, his thumb tapping idly against the screen.

Pacing yourself, I hope.

The read receipt popped up but no response came. His jaw tightened. You always responded quickly, even when you were busy, even when you were teasing him, there was never a delay.

A minute passed. Then another.

Aaron forced himself to set the phone down, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the darkened screen, willing it to light up again. He was overthinking it. You were probably distracted, mid-conversation, laughing at some joke he wouldn’t understand. You were fine.

He did his best to keep busy for the rest of the evening, but his mind kept drifting back to his phone. Every so often, he checked it – switching between your last text and the location app.

You hadn’t responded.

You hadn’t moved.

He told himself not to read into it. Maybe your phone had died. Maybe you left it in your bag somewhere and hadn’t checked it. Maybe you were just having fun.

Still, the glass of bourbon remained untouched beside him, the usual pull of exhaustion never quite setting in. It wasn’t until the clock crept past one in the morning that he finally let himself lie down on the couch, forcing his eyes shut.

Just an hour, he told himself. Then he’d check again.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke up, his neck stiff and the room bathed in darkness, the first thing he did was grab his phone.

3:27 AM.

The uneasy weight in his stomach turned into a knot as he swiped open the location app.

Still at the bar.

He frowned, sitting up fully. A quick Google search confirmed what he already knew – the bar closed at 3 AM. So why the hell were you still there?

His pulse pounded in his ears, a dull thrum beneath his skin. A dozen possibilities ran through his mind, each one worse than the last. Maybe your phone had died. Maybe you were waiting for a ride. Maybe –

Maybe something was wrong.

You should’ve left by now. You should be home.

Before he even registered the thought, he was on his feet, grabbing his keys from the counter. He barely remembered locking the door behind him, barely noticed the cool night air as he climbed into his car. His hands were steady as he punched the bar’s address into the GPS, but his chest was tight, his breath slow and measured in a way that only happened when he was forcing himself to stay calm.

He wasn’t overreacting. This wasn’t just some irrational impulse. Because if there was even the slightest chance that you needed him – if you were alone, stranded, or worse – then sitting back and doing nothing wasn’t an option.

Aaron gripped the wheel tighter as he pulled onto the street, scanning the sidewalk. The bar had emptied out, its neon sign flickering against the damp pavement, and the only movement came from a few stragglers loitering near the entrance, voices loud and slurred.

Then he saw you.

Sitting on the curb, legs stretched out, leaning back on your hands like you didn’t have a care in the world.

Absolutely shit-faced.

His jaw tensed as he threw the car into park, cutting the engine.

You were smiling at something in the distance, your head titling slightly, eyes unfocused, lost in a world far from this dimly lit street.

The streetlights bathed you in a soft, golden glow, casting shadows over the flush in your cheeks, the curve of your shoulders, the bare skin catching the night air. You looked otherworldly – untouchable, ethereal, like something that didn’t belong in a place like this.

And yet, here you were.

Aaron swallowed hard, dragging his gaze away, forcing himself to find something – anything – else to focus on. He had no business looking at you like this. No business letting his thoughts wander into places they didn’t belong.

But it was impossible not to.

The hem of your dress barely skimmed the tops of your thighs, fabric pooling over your legs that seemed long and endless in a way that felt entirely unfair. He had never seen this much of you before – never had to resist the temptation, to let his eyes trace the lines of your body, the soft slope of your knee, the stretch of smooth skin illuminated by neon light.

And God help him, it did something to him. Something that should never be spoken aloud.

You never dressed conservatively for his sake, you dressed for yourself. Some days you showed more skin than others, but even then, the most he’d ever been allowed to see were glimpses – your ankles peeking beneath the hem of a sundress, the curve of your calf when you curled your legs beneath you on the couch.

But tonight? Tonight, he was drunk too. Just on something else entirely.

Not appropriate. Not his concern. Not when he was supposed to be mad at you.

But then you tilted your head up at him, squinting slightly, as if trying to make out his face through a fog. “You look an awful lot like my boss,” you mused, shading your eyes with one hand like there was a blinding sun overhead. “He’s very handsome.”

Aaron dragged a hand down his face, inhaling through his nose. You were drunker than he thought.

“Alright, that’s enough. Get up.”

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering the request, then stretched your legs out further, the movement drawing his attention to just how much skin was on display.

"Mmm, I don’t think so," you sighed, leaning back on your palms. "I’m enjoying the view."

“The view of what exactly?” He looked across the street where there was nothing but darkened storefronts.

A slow, knowing smile spread across your lips. "You, sir."

Aaron stilled.

You squinted up at him, tapping a finger against your chin. "Do you like being called sir?"

"What?"

You waved a hand, bracelets jingling with the motion, as if you were letting him in on some great secret. "I was talking to this guy at the bar earlier," you began, voice light, careless, like the words weren’t about to drive him insane. "He was telling me how he made his ex-girlfriend’s call him as sir – you know, when they did things…without clothes."

Your name left his lips, almost a warning but if anything it only amused you.

“It’s probably something I could get behind."

Aaron’s teeth clenched.

Enough.

“Get up.”

You pouted like a spoiled thing, tilting your head. "You’re no fun at all," you huffed, dragging out the words like a complaint. Then, as if your mouth didn’t already have him questioning his patience, you added, "You know, a few Sex on the Beaches would cheer you up immensely."

Aaron didn’t take the bait, didn’t argue, didn’t roll his eyes. Instead, he crouched down, hands settling on your waist, fingers pressing against warm skin that he should not be noticing. He ignored the way something turned inside of him when he lifted you easily, the way his grip instinctively tightened to steady you.

"Have you ever had sex on the beach?"

His hands froze just for a second. His fingers stilled against the fabric of your dress as he tugged it down, as if correcting some mistake that should have never happened in the first place. A correction, a reset.

But the damage was done.

You looked up at him, slow, expectant, lips curved like you were waiting for something.

“Get in the car.”

“That’s not an answer but I will get in the car regardless because it’s cold.”

Aaron swallowed, his throat dry as he watched you turn toward the vehicle. You walked unsteadily, your balance off, your steps slow. And he followed, forcing himself to keep his gaze fixed on the back of your head.

Not the dress. Not your legs. Not the bare skin he’d already seen too much of tonight.

But as if the universe hadn’t tested him enough, as if fate was sitting back and laughing at him, just as you reached the door, he stepped forward to open it for you at the exact moment your purse slipped from your fingers, falling to the ground.

Without hesitation, you bent down to retrieve it right as Aaron was behind you.

His jaw locked so tight it ached.

He whipped his gaze away immediately, staring hard at the sky, at the roof of the car, at anything that wasn’t the colour of your underwear.

This was some kind of punishment. It had to be.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, his fingers flexing at his sides, forcing himself to stay rooted in place instead of stepping back like a man guilty of something.

Oblivious to his suffering, you took your time grabbing your purse, steadying yourself on the car as you straightened. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, blinking innocently "What was that?"

He dragged a hand down his face before stepping forward and reaching past you to yank the car door open. “Nothing. Please, just get in the car.”

For once, you didn’t argue. You turned, dropping into the seat with no grace and all recklessness, your legs folding awkwardly, your limbs not quite cooperating with the rest of you. A quiet oof left your lips as you settled before Aaron shut the door.

He took a second longer than necessary to collect himself, inhaling deeply before making his way to the driver’s side.

By the time he slid in, his hands were already working his quarter-zip sweater free, the fabric bunching as he pulled it over his head, revealing the plain white t-shirt beneath. He always ran warm – too warm sometimes – but tonight felt different. Without a word, he passed the sweater to you.

You blinked down at it. "What’s this for?"

Aaron kept his eyes ahead as he started the engine, adjusting the car’s heating. “You’re cold.”

You said nothing as you shifted beside him, pulling it over your head, the sleeves hanging loose around your wrist. You let out a small, content sigh, curling into the fabric like it was the cosiest thing in the world.

Aaron risked a glance as he drove. Big mistake.

You were looking at him – right at him – chin tucked into the collar, eyes warm and drowsy, but not nearly as unfocused as they should have been. No, there was something else in your gaze, something aware, something playful.

“Are you warm enough?”

You sighed, stretching slightly, shifting in your seat in a way that only made this worse for him. “I am indeed. How did you know I was here?”

“You share your location with me.”

You gasped theatrically, twisting in your seat, attempting to tuck your legs underneath you despite the seatbelt digging into your skin. "Aaron Hotchner," you accused, voice full of scandal, "were you stalking me during my non-working hours?"

Aaron stopped at a red light, his focus shifting to you once more, scanning your face, searching for any signs of distress beneath all the teasing and drunken charm. “You were still at a bar that had closed. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

You grinned, leaning your head against the seat, voice loose and lazy. "I am more than okay, boss. I’ve had like thirteen strawberry daiquiris, and I saved all the colourful umbrellas too. For my scrapbook – look!"

You reached for your purse, the movement uncoordinated but enthusiastic. The small bag sat on your lap, and when you flipped it open, the contents spilled into clear view – too clear.

Aaron’s gaze moved down instinctively.

And then his knuckles went bone white.

Cigarettes. A pack tucked neatly inside and several golden foil wrappers glinting beneath the streetlights.

His fingers clenched the steering wheel too tightly, his stomach twisting with something he couldn’t immediately name. His heartbeat, slow and steady just moments ago, kicked up and not in a way he liked.

“You smoke?”

You blinked, glancing down at your purse, then back at him confused. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you – he looked at the evidence sitting in your lap. "Since when do you smoke?"

You followed his line of sight. "Oh!" You let out a bright, almost delighted laugh, completely unaware of the storm brewing next to you. "No, no, no! Those aren’t mine! I – oh my God, this isn’t even my purse!"

Aaron didn’t move, didn’t blink.

You giggled, digging through it with renewed amusement. "I was wondering why my lipstick wasn’t in here! This explains it. Me and Lily must’ve switched at some point." You lifted the pack of cigarettes between two fingers. "She’s the smoker. And a terrible one at that. She always has to borrow lighters."

He still hadn’t breathed.

You tilted your head at him, then followed his line of sight back to the golden wrappers glinting between the folds of fabric.

Your brows furrowed before you rolled your eyes. "Oh, relax, dad. Those aren’t mine either. Lily’s got a very active love life and clearly she came prepared tonight."

Aaron’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen. Not even a little. Not when you were watching him like that – lips twitching, barely holding back a grin, fully aware of what you were doing. Then, as if you hadn’t already pushed him far enough, you plucked one of the golden squares between two fingers, twirling it slowly, letting it catch the light.

"What?" you murmured, feigning innocence. "You want to borrow one?"

He turned his head, just enough to meet your gaze, just enough to silently tell you to stop before he lost whatever fraying patience he had left. “Put it away.”

"Oh," you sang, drawing the word out as you tucked the packet back into Lily’s purse, "you’re one of those."

"One of what?"

Your lips curled. “Like it raw. I spoke to another guy, and I think they call it a breeding kink these days.”

Aaron nearly slammed the breaks. His head snapped toward you so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. For a brief, terrifying moment, he thought he must have misheard you – because there was no way you had just said that.

No way.

But there you were, sitting in his passenger seat, swaddled in his sweater, smelling like alcohol and trouble, blinking at him with wide, deceptively innocent eyes, looking at him like he was the most entertaining thing in the world to you right now.

“You’re going to regret saying all of this tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, as if you’d already accepted your fate. “I figured I was already out of a job when I asked you if you’d ever had sex on the beach.”

“You’re not out of a job,” he muttered, because he could never fire you. Never get rid of you. Never let you slip out of his orbit, no matter how much you tested him.

“That’s a shame.”

His brow furrowed. “Why is that a shame?”

“Cause then I’d have an excuse,” you hummed, your voice quieter now, softer, like you were sinking into the weight of the alcohol.

“An excuse for what?”

You turned your head, blinking over at him, your eyes softer now, so much softer than the teasing from before. "For making things messy."

Aaron gripped the wheel tighter. "What does that mean?"

You sighed dramatically, stretching your legs out as if this conversation wasn’t about to end him. "It means," you said languidly, like you were talking to yourself more than him, "if I wasn’t your nanny, if I didn’t work for you, if there weren’t so many reasons why this would be a bad idea, I’d let myself say it."

“Say what?”

“You’re smart, Aaron,” you murmured, your voice slow, dragging over the syllables like you were fighting sleep.

His chest felt too tight.

And when you smiled at him – sleepy, real, unguarded – Aaron thought he might actually break.

"You know what.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

He said nothing, the only sounds filling the space between you were the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from your side of the car for the rest of the journey. You weren’t fully asleep, not yet, but your body had started to melt into the seat, exhaustion creeping in despite your best efforts.

When Aaron pulled into his driveway, he shifted into park and glanced at you, debating whether you were even awake enough to get inside on your own. But the moment the car stopped, you stirred, blinking blearily at the windshield before frowning.

"This isn’t home."

Aaron’s stomach twisted because of course you didn’t see it that way. Even though you were there more than he was. Even though the house felt different when you were gone. Even though he thought of you as home.

He tried to push the thought aside. “Well, do you have your keys since you swapped bags with your friend?”

You frowned again, like you were trying to process his words but they were taking longer than usual to land. Then, after a moment, you groaned, slumping against the seat. "Shit. You’re right."

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

He stepped out first, rounding the car, but before he could even reach for your door handle, you had already pushed it open – or tried to.

Because your coordination was horrible.

The door swung open too fast and you nearly followed it.

Aaron caught you instantly, his reflexes sharp despite the late hour and lack of light.

“Easy, angel,” he cooed, the words slipping out before he could think better of them. They were gentle. Not the way he spoke to his agents. Not the way he spoke to anyone else.

His arm stayed secure around your waist, keeping you upright, while his other hand reached past you to shut the door.

And that was when you did it. Without thinking, without hesitation, you rested your hand on his chest as you leaned into him like you belonged there.

And damn it, it felt like you did.

He guided you carefully toward the front door, his hand never leaving your waist. This wasn’t the first time he’d led someone inside after a long night, but it was the first time he’d felt like this.

Once inside, he lowered you onto the couch, easing you down with so much care, like you were something fragile, something precious.

“Stay here.”

Aaron disappeared down the hall, moving toward the laundry room where he knew you kept a spare change of clothes for the nights you spent with Jack.

He was back in the living room within seconds, noticing the way you had kicked off your heels and curled yourself onto the couch.

Handing you the bundle of clothes, his fingers brushed yours for half a second, and he hated the way it made something in his chest tremble.

“Thank you.”

"Just get changed."

A sleepy grin tugged at your lips. "Yes, sir."

He clenched his jaw, ignored you, and turned toward the kitchen – because standing there any longer, watching you wrapped up in his sweater, looking at him like that, wasn’t something he could afford to do.

He heard you shifting behind him, the rustle of fabric, and then –

"Aaron?"

He stopped mid-step.

There was something different in your voice now, something smaller, something hesitant.

When he turned, he found you still in your dress, your arms wrapped loosely around yourself, his sweater now abandoned on the sofa.

"The zip." You turned your back to him. "Could you just undo it, please?" Your fingers pointed toward the back of your dress, granting him another view of something he had tried all night not to think about.

Wordlessly, he stepped forward, his fingers hovering briefly before carefully gathering your hair and sweeping it over your shoulder, baring the zipper to him completely.

He gripped the delicate thing between his fingers, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he had imagined the way you shivered beneath his touch. But as he pulled the zipper down, revealing the smooth expanse of your back, his suspicion was confirmed when he saw the goosebumps rise along your spine.

When the zipper reached the base of your spine, he let go, immediately stepping back, needing distance.

“You’re all set.”

You didn’t move right away, standing there with your back still to him, the dress loose around your frame, his sweater still abandoned on the sofa. Then, after a moment of stillness, you turned your head just slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

"Thanks."

Aaron didn’t respond. He just turned and made it into the kitchen successfully this time, moving on autopilot, bracing his hands on the counter.

He was going to make you something to help with the inevitable headache you’d have in the morning, then he was going to go to bed, and by tomorrow, this would just be one more thing he’d force himself to forget.

By the time he had the bottle of painkillers and a glass of water in his hands, you were quiet. The kind of quiet that made him pause, his footsteps slowing as he neared the hallway.

He hesitated, listening carefully, trying to gauge if you had finished changing.

“Are you decent?” he called out.

“…Define decent.”

“Just tell me if I can come in.”

Another pause, then the sound of shifting fabric before you finally replied, "Yes, you can come in, Hotchner."

He stepped into the living room to find you sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, your hair messy from the night.

“Take these, they should help with the headache.”

You took the glass, cradling it between your hands, but instead of drinking, you chewed the inside of your cheek.

"Is it a bad time to tell you that I’m a throw-up kind of drunk and not a headache kind of one?"

Aaron stared at you, expression completely and utterly blank. He’d dealt with some of the worst criminals the world had to offer, but nothing could have prepared him for you in this state.

“Are you going to be sick now?”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes unfocused but still completely earnest. "I don’t know… I don’t like thinking about it because then I get anxious, and then the anxiety makes me feel even worse." You frowned, looking up at him like you’d just personally inconvenienced his entire life. “I am so sorry.”

He sighed, crouching in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees. He should have been exasperated. He should have been frustrated. But in that moment all he felt was patience – one that seemed to only exist when it came to you.

"You don’t have to apologize," he assured you. "Let’s get you upstairs and closer to the bathroom."

Your lips parted before curving into a teasing smile. "You’re going to make me sleep in the bathroom?"

Aaron huffed a breath, shaking his head. "No. You can have my bed for the night. It’s more comfortable than being down here, and it’s less of a trip if you need to be sick."

You blinked at him, as if processing the words in slow motion. Then your smile softened. “You’re the best,” you whispered.

He tried to ignore the way those three simple words nestled themselves somewhere they shouldn’t.

"Come on, let’s get you to bed."

He helped you up carefully, keeping his hands steady as you swayed, still a little off balance from the alcohol. You leaned into him instinctively, far too trusting, and he had to remind himself that you weren’t thinking straight, that this could mean nothing in the morning.

By the time you made it to his room, you were half-asleep on your feet, blinking slowly as you took in the space around you.

Aaron pulled back the covers, gesturing for you to get in. "Go on. You need to sleep."

You hesitated, standing there, fingers toying with the hem of the oversized t-shirt you wore. “Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep?”

He should have said no. Should have reminded you that you were drunk, that this wasn’t a good idea, that you wouldn’t even remember asking in the morning.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he nodded.

"Okay."

You smiled sleepily, gratefully, before climbing into bed, curling up under the blankets.

Aaron sat down in the chair by the bedside, keeping some distance, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as your breathing started to slow, just as sleep almost took you, you mumbled, "You always take care of me."

Aaron let a breath out, watching as your body finally relaxed, as you drifted off entirely, safe and warm in his bed.

He wished he didn’t want to.

But he always would.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner one shot #hotch #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #nanny!reader x hotch

162 notes · View notes

silvergyus · 2 days ago

Text

paper hearts- c.sb

pairing: kindergarten teachers! soobin x reader

summary: you and soobin teach kindergarten classes across the hall from each other. when the day to hand out cards finally arrives, you notice one card in your mailbox that’s not like the others

warnings: this fic is all-ages!/ a kindergartener falls at recess/ odi is still alive because I think teacher soobin with a pet hedgehog is adorable

word count: 2,400+

author’s note: part of my valentine's day event!

song rec: valentine- laufey

Paper hearts lined the hallway bulletin boards, shades of pink, red and white signaling to all who passed through what holiday was soon approaching. Holidays, spirit days, and any big event of the like were your not-so-secret favorite part of your job. You loved cutting construction paper into new shapes, stapling themed borders to your announcement boards and finding new crafts for your students to create. You’d been a kindergarten teacher for years now, and viewed each group of students as a new opportunity to create lasting memories for them to look back on as they continued through school. You taught because you loved your students, loved helping them discover a love of reading, loved seeing their eyes grow wide as they watched a caterpillar burst from its chrysalis transformed into a butterfly. You loved their curious eyes and silly takes on arts and crafts. In short, you loved the kids. But the holiday decorating, that was an extra bonus that made you love the job even more. And this year, there was an extra special bonus.

Across the hall from you taught Mr. Choi, or Soobin, as you called him in the teachers’ lounge. Tall and handsome, he had a way with the kids that most didn’t. He had a natural softness that made the kids feel safe, a charm that made them laugh, and a way of explaining things that made them understand the world in a whole new light. There weren’t many male teachers in your elementary school, and as embarrassing as it was, you couldn’t help but crush on Soobin.

He didn’t make it any easier for you either, standing by you during recess when you went outside to watch the kids play, sitting by you at lunch, asking you about your students, what books you’d been reading, even showing you pictures of his pet hedgehog. His careful attention made your heart flutter, and you desperately wished you could see him outside of work.

With Valentine’s approaching, you couldn’t help the hopeless romantic in you from daydreaming about having him as your Valentine.

—

Monday, February 10th

You slid into your usual chair in the teachers’ lounge, reheated leftovers from the weekend on the table in front of you. Pulling out your current read from your bag, you dug in, relaxing into the quiet. The brief moment of solace was soon interrupted as Soobin sat down across from you, his long legs bumping into yours beneath the table. He quietly apologized for the unintentional invasion of personal space but you didn't mind, not when it was him.

You asked how his day’s been so far, tell him your kids have also been bouncing off the walls, excited for the holiday. Taking a sip of his drink, he replied that he’s sure your kids are more excited than his, your classroom being decorated so much more than his. You could feel your cheeks heat at the compliment, appreciating the recognition of your secret passion.

“So um,” he cleared his throat between words, “do you have plans for Valentine’s?”

“You mean besides my hot date with twenty five-year-olds?” You laughed, stirring your leftovers. “Nah, I'm gonna read the cards they give me and eat leftover candy on my couch probably.” You took a bite and looked at Soobin, “it's all I ever do for Valentine's.”

He smiled empathetically, the left side of his mouth quirking up first to show his dimple. “Yeah, that's probably all I'll be doing.”

Part of you wanted to seize the moment, suggest the two of you hang out, go out, or eat half-melted chocolates together. But before you could speak, Miss B- who taught second grade- sat down next to you and very excitedly began to tell you about her newest sewing project. The moment was over, but when you looked back at Soobin, his eyes were still on you.

—

Tuesday, February 11th

Twenty students napped on their vinyl pull-out mats. The lights in your classroom were dimmed, blinds turned shut to keep out the afternoon light, the tip-tap of your fingers on your keyboard the only sound heard over the quiet rise and fall of tired breaths. A soft knock at your door pierced the quiet, drawing the attention of the few kids not sleeping. You slowly stood, smiling to calm the little ones that have stirred before peeking through the glass to see who the visitor is.

Soobin stood on the other side of the door, smiling sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. You cracked the door open slightly, stepping into the hall so as to not further disturb your students with your conversation.

“Soobin!” you whispered excitedly, still trying to keep your voice down during naptime. “What’s up? Do you need something?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was here for naptime?” He smiled at his own joke and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered when his dimples pressed into his cheeks. He shook his head before whispering back, “I actually need to borrow your glue sticks.”

“My glue sticks?”

“We have arts and crafts next and I had to throw half mine away last week after one of my students took a bite out of them.” He grimaced at the memory and you stifled a laugh, hand coming up to cover the sound. “Purple glue was everywhere! It was a disaster; I had to call his parents!” His whispers were desperate, only making you laugh more.

When you recovered from your threatening giggle fit you took a breath, smoothing down your shirt. “Yes, you can borrow my glue sticks. But, I expect to get them back without bite marks.”

A smile brightened his face and butterflies filled your stomach again. “Lemme go get them.”

“Thank you! I owe you!”

—

Wednesday, February 12th

You waited with your students as their parents arrived to pick them up, occasionally bending to tie a shoe or zip up a backpack, reminding everyone to stay away from the curb until their grown ups were ready for them. You looked down the line of approaching vehicles and locked eyes with Soobin. He quickly looked away, turning his attention back to his students, but you couldn’t help the heat that rose in your chest. How long had he been looking at you?

You waited a little longer that day, holding hands with one of your students as she waited for her dad, running late from work. Once she was finally on her way home, you made your way back inside the building, eager to grab your things and go home.

Across from your classroom the lights were still on in Soobin’s room. You couldn’t help but peek inside, still buzzing from catching him staring. His door was shut, and when you peered through the glass, you could see him at his desk, mouth twisted in focus as he held a glue stick and sheet of dark red paper.

—

Thursday, February 13th

Recess was dusted with a flurry of fresh snowflakes. The kids were eager to get out onto the playground, and you were on edge as you kept an eye on everyone, making sure no one slipped on hidden ice or threw snowballs at someone else’s head. Your students loved when it snowed, but you wished today had been an inside recess. Fresh snow always meant someone got hurt.

It was no later than you thought it then you heard the sound of crying. Every teachers’ head whipped in the direction of the cries, and you watched as Soobin ran towards his student sitting on the blacktop, cradling her arm. You approached him, concern washing over you. Other students tugged on your coat, asking what happened. You comforted them, telling them to give the girl some space while Mr. Choi figured out what was wrong.

Soobin’s voice was gentle as he spoke to the girl, asking her what happened and where it hurt. Through tears she said she slipped and now her elbow hurt. He picked up her hat from where it fell during her fall and placed it gently on her head. “Only your elbow, right? Your legs feel okay?”

The girl nodded, slowly calming under Soobin’s careful attention. “Do you think you can stand up for me? I’ll go with you to the nurse’s office and we’ll make sure that you feel better.” The girl nodded again, wiping away tears with her tiny pink mitten. Soobin took her non-injured hand in his and began slowly walking inside, careful to lead the girl away from the patch of ice that had caused her fall.

“Can you watch my students while I take her inside?”

“Of course.”

You spent the rest of the day replaying the moment in your head. Soobin’s quick reaction, his careful attention, the way he calmed her almost instantly. It made you feel a warm, almost domestic affection towards him. You had to keep your mind from wandering, from imagining if he would be the same as a father.

After school that day you asked Soobin about the girl.

“She’ll be alright. Nurse thinks it’s just a bruise, but the parents are taking her to the doctor to make sure she didn’t break anything. She wasn’t even crying anymore when her mom picked her up.”

You sat down in the tiny kids’ chair in his classroom, knees coming up to your chest. “That’s good. I was worried about her.”

“Yeah, it was scary.”

“You’re really good with the kids you know.” Your voice was heavy with sincerity. “They adore you.” You picked at a stray fabric on your pants as you spoke next. “We all do.”

He looked into your eyes after you spoke, holding your gaze, starting a fire in your chest. “Thank you. That’s nice to hear.”

You stood, wanting to diffuse the intensity of the moment. “If I ever slip on the ice, I hope that you’re there to pick me up.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll make sure I catch you before you fall.”

It might be too late for that, you thought.

—

Friday, February 14th

The kids all chattered over one another as they opened the Valentines they shared with one another, a nostalgic Charlie Brown special playing in the background. They couldn’t possibly sit still and watch the movie after snacking on frosted cookies and heart-shaped chocolates all afternoon. Their crafted mailboxes from earlier in the week were now stuffed with treats from their classmates and teacher. Your mailbox was also stuffed with cards, lollipops and gifts from thankful parents. You weren’t going to open them until after school, as per your tradition.

The school day ended on a high note, lots of giggles and excited little ones running to show their cards to their parents at pickup. You waved goodbye to all of them with a full heart before retreating from the cold back to the warmth of your classroom.

Slumping into the oversized bean bag chair in the reading corner, you began to rifle through your mailbox of Valentines, looking for something sweet as a pick-me-up before you tidied up and went home. At the bottom of the box sat one Valentine that stood out from the rest. Instead of store-bought cards with cartoons, or handmade cards still sticky with purple glue, this one was expertly put together, dark red cardstock folded into a perfect heart with white lace decorating the edges. “Be my Valentine?” it read in the neat script of an adult across the front. If this was from a parent, it was awfully personal. You opened the card with apprehension, not sure what you would find inside. In the same white pen it read “from your secret admirer in 2B.”

2B? That was the classroom across from yours, Soobin’s classroom. Your heart raced. This card was from him? A Valentine? This must have been what you saw him working on the other day. A Valentine for you?

Did this mean he liked you back? Maybe it was something he did for all the other teachers. But if it was just a friendly Valentine between coworkers, then why did he sign it “from your secret admirer”? You had to ask him about it.

You stuffed the other cards back into the box, shuffling to get up out of the beanbag. At that moment, Soobin walked past your open door, heading towards his classroom. You called his name, still struggling to stand. He turned, eyes wide, towards you. You walked towards him, card in hand. His ears flushed as you held the Valentine up. “Is this from you?”

“I was hoping that you’d open those at home.”

“I wanted a snack before I drove home.”

You took in the way he shifted his weight between his feet, hands itching towards his pockets, ears growing redder by the second. “Did you make anyone else a card?”

He shook his head, lips twisting into a small pout. “Just you.”

“I should’ve made you one.” Your voice was quiet, hoping he read into what you really meant.

His eyes shot up from where they had been focused on the floor tiles, finding your gaze and holding it. “So you don’t think I’m overstepping?”

“Oh my gosh no! I actually thought it was from a parent at first, and that would’ve been weird and overstepping, but I um,” you paused, scared to admit the secret you’d been harboring since the fall. “I actually really hoped you’d ask me to be your Valentine.”

His eyes lit up like a puppy’s, a smile breaking over his face, dimples pressing deep into his cheeks. “Me too.”

You laughed, he was just too cute not to. “Well I really should’ve made you a card then.”

He shook his head, stepping closer. He reached for your hands, holding them in his much larger ones. His skin was soft against yours, and you could barely focus on his face when every cell that touched his felt like a tiny firework. “It is still Valentine’s Day, you know. We could always celebrate without twenty kids hyped up on sugar.”

“You’re saying that like the twenty kids aren’t what makes it fun.” You smiled at him, heart swelling at the thought of finally getting to spend time with Soobin outside of work. “But I would like that very much.”

“Let’s go, right now. Let’s go somewhere.”

“Right now? Won’t we need a reservation though? It’s Valentine’s day, and a Friday night.”

He paused, enthusiasm faltering. “Well, true, but we’ll find something.”

“Even if we don’t,” you smiled, squeezing his hand in yours, “this is already my favorite Valentine’s Day.”

Just like that, you finally had a Valentine.

author’s note: this is a work of fiction not meant to accurately represent the idol. please do not repost.

taglist: @lunesdesire @notyourjaem @https-yeonjun @mapofthemazeinthemirror @ohhdet

send a message to be added or removed from my taglist!

#txt fluff #txt soft hours #txt soft thoughts #soobin fluff #soobin soft thoughts #soobin soft hours #ari writes #txt: soobin

67 notes · View notes

drippingghoneyy · 1 day ago

Text

No Touching - Vander x Fem!Reader

Summary: You worked at the bar, alongside Vander, for a few years now. Everyone knew the silent agreement that anyone who dared to get too close to you, answered to Vander. One man got a little brave, so Vander makes the rules clear.

Genre/ Pairing: Smut, Friends-to-lovers, Vander x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: MDNI!, SMUT 18+, Smoking/Drinking, Crying, BigDick!Vander, tension, teasing, dom/sub dynamics, pet names, piv, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, oral sex ( f receiving),... (lmk if I missed any!)

Word Count: 9.2k.

Notes: I’ve been wanting to write about more people! So give me suggestions!

Reblog and like!! I read every comment, they make my whole day!

If you find any spelling errors, no you didn't. Grammarly don’t fail me now 🙂 If you don't like nsfw content, please don't read it!

The neon lights outside the bar flickered erratically, casting a sickly glow on the sidewalk. Inside, the air had the mingled scents of cheap whiskey, sweat, and the faint hint of burnt popcorn.

It was a Friday night, and the usual mix of locals and travelers packed the place, the chatter and laughter bouncing off the sticky wooden floors and stained walls. You glanced at the clock. It was almost closing time, and the anticipation of the weekend buzzed through the room like an electrical current.

You wove through the crowd, tray balanced precariously on one hand, delivering drinks with the ease of a seasoned dancer. The rhythm of the music pulsed in your veins, a silent metronome to the chaotic dance of your shift. The regulars greeted you with knowing smiles, and the newcomers with hopeful glances, trying to catch your eye. It was a game you played, flirting without meaning it, serving with a touch of charm that kept the tips flowing.

"Coming right up, sweetie," you called out to a customer, placing a frosty mug of beer in front of him with a flourish. The foam bubbled over the rim and he laughed, catching the overflow with his mouth. You winked in response, then spun away to grab the next round from Vander. He nodded in approval, a half-smile playing on his lips as he poured drinks with a practiced hand.

The children, the ones you had practically raised alongside the patrons, had already retreated to the back, their giggles and whispers echoing through the bar like a ghostly chorus. They knew the routine—once the sun dipped below the horizon on a Friday night, they had to make themselves scarce. They had their own world of tricks and games to navigate, leaving you and Vander to handle the adult one.

Vander's eyes met yours over the sea of heads, and you could feel the weight of his gaze even amidst the cacophony. His expression was a silent question, checking in to make sure you were okay. You nodded, a quick reassurance that you had everything under control, before diving back into the fray. The music grew louder, the laughter more raucous, and the lights dimmer as the night progressed. The energy was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and anticipation that fueled your every movement.

You loved weekend nights like this. The bar was alive with the throb of bass and the clink of glasses, the air thick with the promise of stories waiting to be told. Each person you served had a different tale etched into their features, their eyes telling silent narratives of triumphs and heartaches. You moved among them like a social butterfly, placing a gentle hand on a shoulder here, sharing a knowing smile there. Your touch was light, a whisper of comfort in the chaos.

But as the clock ticked closer to midnight, the atmosphere grew more volatile. A man, three drinks too many, began to leer at you, his gaze lingering on your curves in a way that made your skin crawl. He called you "sweetheart," and "babe," his voice slurred and too loud in your ear. You tried to ignore him, but his hand found your waist, his grip tightening as he leaned closer, his breath hot and unwelcome against your neck. Your smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and you felt a flicker of fear in your belly.

You searched the room for Vander, hoping he would notice, but he was busy with a rowdy group at the other end of the bar. The man's hand traveled higher, and you swallowed a gasp. But before you could react, a firm grip clamped down on his wrist, and you felt a jolt of relief as Vander's voice boomed over the din, "You don't wanna do that, buddy."

The man looked up, his eyes glazed and surprised, but the grip didn't loosen. Vander's smile had turned to a snarl, and you knew from experience that was the only warning he'd give.

You stepped away, heart racing, watching as Vander dragged the man to his feet and out of the bar, the crowd parting like the Red Sea for Moses. The music didn't stop, but the volume seemed to drop as the patrons' eyes followed the scene unfolding before them. You could hear the thud of fists and the grunt of pain outside, the sound of the man being taught a very clear lesson.

This wasn't the first time someone had overstepped, but it was the first time in a while. Usually, the regulars knew better than to lay a hand on you. You had an invisible barrier around you, a respect that had grown from years of serving drinks and smiles without ever leading anyone on.

They knew you were off-limits, even if they didn't know the full story. Vander had made sure of that, his protective aura as much a part of the bar's furniture as the stools and the pool table.

A few new faces would show up every week, not yet privy to the unspoken rule, and they'd try their luck. They'd leer, whisper sweet nothings, and maybe attempt to slip an extra dollar into your apron. But as soon as Vander caught wind of it, they'd be met with a glare that could cut through steel. It was a dance of dominance, a silent communication that sent the message loud and clear: don't touch what isn't yours. And when the music was too loud, or the whiskey too smooth, someone would forget the rules.

The man's hand had been like a brand on your skin, leaving you feeling dirty and exposed. You shivered, despite the warmth of the bar, and took a deep breath to steady your nerves. You could still hear the sounds of the scuffle outside, the thuds and grunts punctuating the night. The crowd had grown hushed, the tension in the air thick enough to slice with a knife. The music played on, but it felt like the bass was thumping in your chest now, a rhythm of fear and adrenaline.

Vander reappeared in the doorway, his knuckles red and raw, a smear of blood on his cheek. The man lay outside, a crumpled mess of pride and regret. The crowd, having witnessed the spectacle, returned to their drinks, murmuring among themselves but keeping a safe distance. They all knew the score—you weren't just another pretty face behind the bar; you were part of the fabric of this place, a sacred piece of its soul, and Vander was its fiercest protector.

The whispers grew louder as Vander approached, a silent wave of respect and fear rippling through the patrons. He'd sent more than one man packing with a bruised ego and a few bruised ribs. It was his way of reminding everyone of the unspoken rule—hands off. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any signs of dissent or discomfort, before finally landing on you. The fury in them softened as he saw the tremble in your hand, the way you gripped the edge of the bar like it was a lifeline.

You had become a local legend of sorts, the enigmatic woman behind the counter who served drinks with a smile but had a line no one dared to cross. It wasn't just Vander's protective nature that kept the peace; it was the aura that clung to you, a mix of sweetness and steel that everyone sensed. You were more than just the bar's employee; you were its heart, the reason some came back night after night. You were the dream they chased, the memory they clung to, the whiskey-soaked mirage that kept them coming back for more.

But tonight had been a close call, the man's touch a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the bar. You took a shaky breath, trying to shake off the feeling of his hand on your skin. Vander stepped closer, his bulk eclipsing the rest of the room. His hand reached out, not to touch you but to offer support, a gentle gesture that spoke louder than words. You took it, the warmth of his calloused skin grounding you.

"You okay?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the thump of the music.

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Vander."

He nodded back, his eyes dark with anger as the crowd had returned to their conversations, the incident already forgotten, but the memory lingered in the air like the smell of spilled beer. Vander took your tray and nodded towards the back. "Take five. You've earned it."

You slipped through the kitchen, the clank of dishes and the sizzle of grease a stark contrast to the thumping bass outside. The children peeked out from their hiding spot, their wide eyes reflecting a mix of fear and awe. They knew the score, too. They'd seen it play out before, the silent standoffs and the not-so-silent brawls.

But it was the way Vander looked at you afterward that always sent shivers down their spines. It was a look that said, "You're safe. You're mine." And in that moment, you weren't just the bartender; you were the queen of the night, and he was your knight in faded denim armor.

You took a deep breath, the cool air washing over you like a balm. The scent of the kitchen—spicy and greasy—was a welcome respite from the suffocating tension of the bar. You leaned against the wall, feeling the roughness of the peeling paint against your skin. It was a reminder of reality, a grounding force amidst the chaos. You knew the look Vander gave you was one of concern, but it was tinged with something else—possession, maybe. You weren't just the bar's employee; you were a part of its soul, a piece of its very essence, and he was its fiercest protector.

You'd only been here a few years, but in that time, he'd made it clear that your safety was paramount. He'd thrown men out for less, men who'd been regulars for longer than you'd been old enough to drink. You knew it was because of what you served—not just the whiskey and beer, but the dreams and the comfort, the fleeting moments of companionship that made the hard days bearable. The touch of the man's hand was a violation, a breach of the unspoken contract between bartender and patron.

Straightening your apron and plastering a smile back on your face, you stepped out of the kitchen, the music swelling around you once more. You didn't look at the spot where the man had been, didn't acknowledge the hushed whispers of the patrons. Instead, you made your way back to the bar, your hand brushing against Vander's as you passed. It was a silent thank you, a promise of something unspoken. You knew you could never repay the countless times he'd stepped in to keep you safe, but the touch was all you had to offer in that moment.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of drink orders and laughter, the adrenaline from earlier slowly draining away. But the memory of Vander's touch lingered, a gentle reminder that you weren't alone. His eyes never left you for long, and every time you felt the weight of his gaze, you knew he was watching over you, making sure the invisible barrier remained intact. It was a luxury, that safety, one you hadn't had before you'd stumbled into this job, into his life.

And as the last of the patrons stumbled out into the night, the bar echoing with their drunken goodbyes, you couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for the towering presence that was as much a fixture of the place as the sticky floorboards.

You'd only been here a few years, but it felt like a lifetime. The bar had become your second home, the regulars your extended family, and Vander, well, he was more than just a co-worker. He was your rock, your shield, the person who had taught you to stand tall and never take crap from anyone.

You knew he had his own demons, his own reasons for being so protective, but you never asked. You didn't need to; his actions spoke louder than any words could. And as the final chords of the jukebox played out, the room empty but for you two, the silence was filled with the unspoken promise of camaraderie and protection.

The children had long ago retreated to their beds, the whispers and giggles replaced by the soft snores of the sleeping. Vander locked the door with a finality that was almost comforting, the heavy thud echoing through the room.

The neon lights outside cast a soft glow through the grimy windows, painting the bar in a palette of pinks and blues. You took a moment to appreciate the quiet, the hum of the fridge, and the ticking of the clock, the only sounds breaking the silence.

You wiped your hands on your apron, the fabric sticking slightly to your palms. The motion was automatic, a ritual performed countless times over the years. But tonight, it felt different—a declaration of strength, a symbol that you were ready to face whatever the night had in store.

You walked over to Vander, the floorboards creaking under your boots. His eyes searched yours, the concern in them unmistakable. Most people would have shrunk away from such a gaze, but in that moment, you felt an odd comfort in his fierce protection.

You looked up at him, your heart racing from the adrenaline of the evening. He towered over you, his face a mask of hardened steel. Yet, when he looked at you, there was a softness that only you saw. You leaned in, licking the pad of your thumb before gently raising it to the smear of blood on his cheek. Your hand hovered there for a brief second, a silent question in the air. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and you swiped the blood away with the tender care of an artist cleaning a brush.

The touch was electric, sending a shiver down your spine. You stepped back, the moment lingering, and then turned away to start wiping down the tables. The bar was a mess of spilled drinks and discarded peanut shells, but you tackled the task with renewed vigor, the need to keep moving a balm to your shaking nerves. Each swipe of the cloth was a declaration of normalcy, a silent protest against the ugliness of the world outside the bar's walls.

As you worked, you felt Vander's eyes on you, his presence a comforting warmth at your back. He didn't speak, but his silence was a conversation of its own, a wordless reassurance that he'd always be there, that you were safe. The tension slowly drained from your body as you fell into the rhythm of the task, the sound of the cloth swiping against the wood a soothing lullaby in the quiet after the storm.

When you had finished, the bar gleaming under the low lights, you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the concern in the lines around his eyes. He took a step towards you, closing the gap between you. You didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, you took a deep breath and stepped closer, the air around you crackling with the energy of a thousand unspoken words.

His hand reached up, mirroring your earlier gesture, but instead of blood, he found your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the roughness of his skin. It was as if he was memorizing every contour of your face, committing it to memory in case the night ever came when he couldn't be there to protect it. You leaned into his hand, the warmth of his touch spreading through you like a warm embrace.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. I should've kept a closer eye on you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within your very bones. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of distress, of fear. But all he found was a steely determination that made him proud.

You gave a small shake of your head, reaching up to cover his hand with yours. "It's okay, Vander. It's not your fault," you assured him, your voice steady despite the tremor you couldn't quite hide. "But, I appreciate you stepping in."

He nodded, the lines around his eyes deepening as he searched your face for any lingering traces of fear. "It's always gonna be my job to keep you safe," he said firmly, his voice a warm rumble that seemed to fill the space between you. "No one lays a hand on you unless you want them to."

There was a fierce possessiveness in his tone, a promise that sent a shiver down your spine. It was the kind of protectiveness that could be suffocating in the wrong hands, but with Vander, it was comforting. He had never crossed the line, never stepped too far, and you knew he never would. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of doubt or discomfort, and when he found none, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead.

It was a gesture that was as surprising as it was tender, a gentle reassurance that you weren't just another body in the bar. You felt a warmth spread through you, a sense of belonging that was as potent as the whiskey you served. It was in moments like these that you realized just how much he cared, how deeply the bonds between you had grown over the years.

The silence stretched out, filled with the promise of more than just friendship. You knew it was there, the tension that had been building between you, a current that hummed just below the surface of every interaction. But you also knew that now wasn't the time to explore it. There were still dishes to wash, floors to mop, and a bar to close down. So, you stepped back, breaking the spell, and turned to grab the cleaning supplies.

"I'm fine, Vander," you assured him, your voice strong despite the tremble in your hands. "It's part of the job, I guess." You tried to laugh it off, but the sound was hollow, even to your own ears.

Vander's expression softened, his hand sliding down to yours, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. "It's never fine when someone puts their hands on you without permission," he said, his voice low and intense. "I shouldn't have let that happen."

He looked down at the floor, his jaw clenched, as if he was holding back a tide of anger. Then he looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any trace of fear or upset. "I'm sorry," he murmured, the words heavy with regret. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

The sincerity in his voice was palpable, and you felt your heart swell with affection for this gruff, protective man who had become so much more than just your boss. "It's okay," you repeated, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "But thank you for looking out for me."

Vander nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. He didn't need to say it; you could see it written all over his face—his regret, his concern, his promise to keep you safe. It was a silent vow, a bond forged in the fire of the bar's chaos, a pact that went beyond just employer and employee.

He stepped closer, his hand moving from your cheek to cradle your jaw, his thumb resting gently against your chin. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of fear, any hint of doubt. "You're more than okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the lingering buzz of the jukebox. "You're amazing."

The words hung in the air, thick with meaning, and you felt your cheeks flush. You knew he didn't dole out compliments lightly, and the fact that he was saying this now, in the aftermath of the incident, meant the world to you.

The air grew heavy with unspoken emotions, the bar's lights flickering in the quiet. For a moment, you just stood there, his hand on your face, your eyes locked on his. It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the two of you, the beat of your hearts in sync with the fading music.

Vander's touch was firm but gentle, a contradiction that perfectly encapsulated his nature. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as his eyes searched yours. In that moment, you could feel the weight of his dominance, the power of his protective instincts that had just been on full display. Yet, there was something soft there too, a tenderness that you hadn't noticed before, or maybe you had just never allowed yourself to acknowledge it.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I don't ever want to see another man's hands on you like that," he murmured, the words a low, steady rumble. "You're mine to keep safe, and I won't let anyone take that from me."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his primal urge to claim and protect and his respect for your boundaries. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, the touch so light it was almost a question. You didn't pull away, your breath hitching at the intensity of his gaze. It was as if he was asking permission, giving you the power to decide the next move.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice a whisper in the quiet night. "But if you want more than just my protection... if you want me to touch you, to kiss you, to make sure that no one ever makes you feel that way again..." He trailed off, leaving the offer hanging in the air.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you considered his words. It was a bold move, one that could change everything. You knew what he was asking, what he was offering. And deep down, you knew you didn't just want it; you craved it. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his touch, the promise of his protection. It was tempting beyond belief.

You took a deep breath, your hand rising to cover his. "If that's what you want, Vander," you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. "If you're sure."

His eyes searched yours, the softness in them belying the steel in his spine. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, they held the weight of a thousand promises. "I am," he murmured, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. "But only if you're okay with it."

The air grew thick with anticipation as you stared at him, the silence stretching out like a tightrope. You felt the heat of his hand, the warmth of his body so close to yours. The bar, the customers, the world outside—it all faded away until there was only the two of you, the thump of your hearts the only sound in the quiet.

"I am," you murmured back, your voice a soft echo of his.

Vander's eyes flared with something that could've been relief or desire—or both. His hand tightened on your face, and he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both gentle and fierce. It was a kiss that spoke of protection and passion, of the bond that had grown between you over the years. A silent declaration that you were his to cherish, his to protect.

You melted into him, your hands sliding around his waist to pull him closer. The scent of whiskey and sweat clung to him, a heady perfume that seemed to intoxicate you. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, holding you in place as if he never wanted to let you go. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if he was trying to erase the memory of the man's touch with his own.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of regret or doubt. But all he found was the same fire that burned in his own chest. "I never want to see another man's hands on you," he murmured again, the words a solemn vow. "I want to be the only one to make you feel this way."

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Then it's a good thing I don't plan on letting anyone else touch me," you said, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. It was a bold statement, one that sent a thrill through you. But with Vander, it felt right.

He took a step back, his hands lingering on your hips. "But if you ever need me, if anyone ever tries to take what's not theirs..." He let the threat hang in the air, his eyes burning with a possessiveness that sent a thrill down your spine. "They'll answer to me."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken promise in his words. Vander was a man of his own set of rules, and protecting you was at the top of that list. It was a comfort, knowing that you had someone like him in your corner. But there was something else there too, a yearning that went beyond just keeping you safe. His thumb traced small circles on your lower back, a silent question.

You took a deep breath, looking up into his eyes. "I don't want anyone else's hands on me, Vander," you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. "Only yours."

His eyes searched yours, looking for any trace of doubt or fear. But what he saw was a spark of something else, something that mirrored the desire burning in his own chest. His hand slid up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. The kiss was slow and deliberate, a promise of things to come. His dominance was unmistakable, but it was tempered with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

He broke away, his eyes never leaving yours. "If we do this," he said, his voice low and gruff, "it's not just because of what happened tonight. It's because I want you, because I've wanted you for a long time, sweetheart "

You nodded, your heart racing. "I know," you murmured. "And I want you too."

Vander's expression softened at your words, the fiery protectiveness in his gaze morphing into something softer, yet equally intense. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Are you sure?" he whispered, his hand sliding up your spine to rest at the base of your neck. "We don't have to do anything tonight. Not after...this."

You turned to face him fully, looking up into his eyes. "I'm sure," you said firmly. "I want this. I want you."

He searched your face for a moment longer before giving a single nod, as if to say, 'If you're sure.' His hand tightened around your neck, the grip firm but gentle, sending a thrill through you. It was a silent assertion of his dominance, a promise that he would take care of you, that you were his. And for the first time in a long time, you didn't just feel safe; you felt desired, wanted.

He leaned in again, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was everything you'd ever dreamed of. It was as if the bar and all its troubles had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit room. His hand slid down to your waist, his other arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the coldness of the metal barstools. You melted into him, feeling the hard planes of his chest against your soft curves.

The kiss grew more urgent, his hand sliding down to cup your bottom, lifting you onto the bar. You gasped into his mouth, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His grip was firm, almost bruising, but it only served to make you feel more alive. You knew he was holding back, that he could crush you with his strength, but he never would. It was part of the dance, the push and pull that existed between the two of you, a silent conversation that had been building for months.

"Vander," you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to do this," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Not after tonight. Not if you don't want to."

But you did want to. You wanted him to erase the feel of that man's hands with his own, to replace the fear with something else entirely. "I want this," you assured him, your voice strong. "I want you."

His gaze searched yours, all he found was the same burning need that reflected his own. He leaned in again, his kiss deepening, his hands sliding under your shirt to trace the lines of your back. You arched into him, the softness of your body against his hardness. The bar was forgotten, the mess of the night left behind. There was only the two of you, the heat of your bodies melding together.

As the kiss grew more passionate, Vander's hands grew more insistent, his touch sure and confident. He knew exactly how to make you melt, how to make you feel like you were the only woman in the world. You could feel the tension in him, the restraint he was fighting to maintain. But tonight, you didn't want him to hold back. You wanted all of him—his strength, his protection, his passion.

"Please," you breathed against his lips, the word a plea.

He groaned, his hand sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the hardened peak of your nipple. You gasped, the sensation shooting straight to your core. He took the sound as an invitation, his mouth moving from your lips to kiss along your jaw, his teeth grazing your earlobe. The bar was forgotten, the patrons a distant memory. There were only the two of you, the air charged with the electricity of a promise made and a need that had gone unspoken for too long.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "If you need me to stop, if it's too much, just say the word," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the bar.

You looked into his eyes, the softness there almost overwhelming. "I don't," you whispered, your voice a plea. "I need this, please…"

Vander nodded, his expression a mix of relief and desire. He kissed you again, his hand sliding down to the button of your jeans.

"Vander," you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation. His touch was firm but gentle, a stark contrast to the iron-willed man who had just defended your honor so fiercely. His fingers danced over your skin, unbuttoning and unzipping with a precision that spoke of his experience and control.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours. "You're sure?, last chance.." he asked one last time, his voice a low growl of need.

"Yes," you panted, your eyes never leaving his. "I'm sure."

With a final nod, he lifted you off the bar, his arms around your waist. He carried you to the back room, the sanctity of your shared space a stark contrast to the chaos of the bar. The room was small and cramped, filled with boxes of liquor and cleaning supplies, with a small cushioned chair, but in that moment, it was the most romantic place you could imagine. He set you down gently, his hands never leaving your body.

His kisses grew more urgent, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before he soothed the sting with his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, your hands fisting in his shirt as he unbuttoned it, revealing the hard planes of his chest. His skin was warm and rough, a stark contrast to the softness of yours.

You reached up to touch him, your hand shaking slightly. His muscles rippled under your fingertips, and you felt a thrill of power, knowing that this man, so strong and so fiercely protective, was yours to explore.

Vander's eyes never left yours as he carefully unbuttoned your shirt, his touch a gentle caress that belied the iron in his grip. He took his time, savoring the moment, his calloused fingers brushing against the softness of your skin. With each button released, you felt the weight of the garment slip away, baring more of yourself to him.

As he parted the fabric, his eyes trailed down your body, his gaze heated. But there was something else there too, a softness that made your heart race even faster. He was taking his time, treating you like something precious, something to be handled with care.

When the shirt was open, he took a moment to appreciate the sight before him. His eyes roamed over the curves of your breasts, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed in anticipation. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, and kissed the hollow of your neck, making you shiver.

His hands moved to your shoulders, sliding the shirt down your arms. It fell to the floor with a soft whisper, leaving you in just your bra. He reached behind you, his movements precise and practiced, and unhooked the clasp. The fabric fell away, revealing your breasts.

The fabric pooled around your waist, leaving your breasts bare to his gaze. His eyes darkened with hunger, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of you.

But it wasn't just about control—there was something tender there, too. A caring that was as palpable as the desire. He leaned in, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he took one peak into his mouth, the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive flesh sending shockwaves through your body.

His hands slid down to your hips, his thumbs digging in just enough to keep you in place. You could feel the tension in him, the need to claim you, to possess you utterly. But he held back, his movements a gentle dance of power and restraint.

As his mouth moved to your other breast, his hand slid down to your stomach, the calloused pads of his fingers tracing the soft curves. You trembled under his touch, the combination of his gentle care and the promise of his dominance leaving you breathless. His hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your open jeans to cup your sex. His eyes never left yours, watching for any sign of hesitation, any hint that you weren't ready. But all he saw was a desperate need, a reflection of his own.

Vander's dominance didn't just come from his physical strength or the way he wielded it. It was in his eyes, in the way he held you, in the possessive tilt of his head as he kissed you. His hand on your hip was firm, guiding you, but the way he touched your cheek was feather-light, a stark contrast that made your skin tingle with anticipation. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he was also a man who knew how to ask for it without words.

His hand slid down your jeans, his grip tightening as he tugged them down your hips. He was urgent, but his movements were deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment. His eyes never left yours, as if he was looking for permission with every touch, ensuring you were as lost in the moment as he was. The denim hit the floor with a muffled thud, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

He stepped closer, his thigh pressing against yours, the heat of his body making you ache. His hand slid up the inside of your thigh, his touch gentle yet insistent. You could feel his restraint, the way his muscles coiled tightly as he held back, waiting for your consent. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of fear or doubt, but all he saw was the same fiery need that burned within him.

He stepped closer, his leg pressing between yours, the hardness of his thigh against your center making you gasp. His hand slid around to cup your backside, his fingers digging in just enough to make you aware of his power. But the way his other hand caressed your cheek, the way his thumb stroked your lower lip, was anything but rough. It was as if he was whispering sweet nothings with his fingertips, promising to cherish every inch of you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes devouring you as if you were the only thing in the world. "So soft, so sweet."

Vander's voice was a low rumble in the quiet of the room, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His hand traveled up to the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin just under your ear. His other hand remained on your hip, guiding you, controlling your movements with a gentle but firm touch. It was a dance of dominance and submission, one that you found yourself eagerly following.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promised, his voice a dark whisper, as his touch grew more insistent, his hand sliding between your legs to cup you fully. You were wet, soaking the fabric of your panties, and the feel of his palm against you was almost too much. His fingers slid under the elastic, his rough touch a stark contrast to the softness of your skin. You whimpered, your body begging for more.

He slid a finger along the edge of your panties, tracing the slickness that had gathered there. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, the words a dark praise that sent a shiver through you. His thumb circled your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you moan. "So responsive, so eager."

Vander's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and something softer, something that made you feel cherished. His voice was a low rumble, the kind that made your knees weak and your core clench with need. "You're mine," he murmured, the words a declaration of ownership that sent a thrill through your body. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing aside your underwear, his rough fingertips teasing the sensitive skin. His touch was firm, but not harsh, a gentle dominance that made you feel both safe and utterly claimed.

You moaned as his finger found your entrance, sliding in easily with the slickness of your arousal. He stroked you gently, his thumb playing with your clit in a rhythm that made your eyes roll back in your head. "So sweet," he whispered, his breath hot against your cheek. "So wet for me." His praises were dirty, but there was something tender about the way he said them, as if he was worshipping you, as if every part of you was sacred.

He slid another finger in, the sensation overwhelming as he curled them, pressing against that spot inside you that made your toes curl. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to spill out, but his eyes never left yours, urging you to let go, to be as loud as you needed. "You're going to come for me," he murmured, the promise in his voice making your body tighten around his fingers. "And when you do, it's going to be because of me, because you're mine."

His hand worked you expertly, his thumb pressing harder, his fingers moving faster. You could feel yourself climbing, the tension in your body building. "Vander," you gasped, his name a plea.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was as demanding as his touch. His tongue slid against yours, mimicking the motion of his fingers, driving you closer and closer to the edge. "Mine," he whispered again, his voice a dark promise.

And then you were falling, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm. Vander held you through it, his hand never stilling, his kiss never breaking. He whispered sweet nothings against your lips, his praises turning into words of comfort as you rode out the waves of pleasure. "So good," he murmured. "So beautiful."

When you finally came down from the high, you were breathless, your body boneless against Vander's. His hand remained between your legs, his fingers still moving gently, keeping you on the edge of another climax. He leaned in, his teeth grazing your ear as he whispered, "You're so perfect, baby." His voice was a dark velvet caress, the kind that made you shiver.

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with desire. He smiled, a wicked curve of his lips that made your heart race. His hand slid from your thigh to the center of your chest, his thumb tracing the rapid beat of your pulse. "You had to come for me," he murmured, his voice low and deep. "I need to feel you all around me." His eyes darkened, his need clear in every line of his body. "But once isn't enough. I need to make sure you're ready for me."

He stepped back, giving you space to breathe, his eyes never leaving yours. With a gentle tug, he removed your underwear, leaving you completely bare before him. He took a moment to appreciate the sight, his gaze lingering on the softness of your belly, the curve of your hips, the slight dark thatch of hair between your thighs. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Vander leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered his dirty praises, his voice a mix of rough dominance and tender adoration. "You're so wet," he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. "So tight and ready for me." His hand slid over your hip, his grip firm as he turned you to face him fully. The softness of his touch was a stark contrast to the iron in his voice, his fingertips tracing patterns that made your breath hitch.

He knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours as he spread your legs wider, his gaze dropping to the wetness between your thighs. "All mine," he said, the words a gentle demand. "I've needed to taste you, for so long..." His mouth closed over your sex, his tongue flicking over your clit in a soft, teasing motion that had you gripping the edge of the bar. His dominance was clear in every touch, every lick, but there was something soothing about the way he held you, his strong arms keeping you steady as your body trembled with need.

Vander's praises grew more insistent as he licked and sucked, his bearded cheeks brushing against your sensitive flesh. "You're going to come for me again," he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent vibrations through your core. "And then, baby, I'll make sure I fit." His fingers slid inside you, stretching you gently, preparing you for what was to come.

You felt his dominance in every stroke of his tongue, in every firm press of his fingers. But the way he held you, the way he whispered sweet nothings against your skin, made you feel cherished, adored.

Vander's tongue danced over your clit, his movements precise and practiced, as if he'd been dreaming of this moment for just as long as you had. His beard scraped against your sensitive flesh, the roughness a delicious contrast to the softness of his tongue. You could feel him savoring the taste of you, the way his eyes had searched your body just moments before. His grip on your hips tightened, keeping you in place as he explored your folds with his mouth.

He licked and sucked with a gentle fierceness that had you panting, your body arching towards him. His hand slid up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the peak as he watched your face contort with pleasure. His eyes never left yours, the intensity in his gaze making you feel like the most important person in the world. It was as if he was worshipping you, as if every inch of your body was sacred to him.

As you approached the peak again, his tongue moving in a steady rhythm that had you teetering on the edge. "Vander," you moaned, your voice a desperate plea. His only response was to suck harder, making you see stars. He was relentless, his dominance clear in every touch, but it was the tender. He held you in a way that made you feel safe, like you could let go completely.

You shuddered, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave. His name was a cry on your lips, a declaration of surrender. Vander's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you fall apart, his tongue never stopping, drawing out every last shiver of pleasure. His grip on your hips tightened, his mouth working you through the aftershocks until your legs could no longer hold you.

He stood, his eyes never leaving yours, his face a picture of masculine beauty, a mix of desire and dominance. His hand slid up your body, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit, making you jerk in response. His touch was feather-light, yet it had the power to make you tremble with need. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You're mine," he murmured, the words a soft demand that sent a shiver down your spine. "Every part of you."

Vander took a step back, his gaze raking over your exposed body with a hunger that made you feel like the most desired woman in the world. He reached for his own pants, unbuckling them with a swiftness that spoke of his urgency. The fabric slid down his legs, revealing the hard length of him. You watched, your eyes wide, as he freed his cock, his hand stroking it gently. The sight of him, so focused on your pleasure, made your stomach clench with need.

He stepped closer again, his cock brushing against your thigh. The chair was behind you, and without a word, he positioned you, his hands on your hips guiding you back. The cool leather met your skin, sending a shiver through you. He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered, "You're going to take me, baby. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Vander's hands were gentle as they helped you straddle him, his own need evident in every line of his body. But there was a softness in his eyes, a tenderness that belied the iron in his grip. He was a man who knew what he wanted, but he also knew how to give, to take care of the woman who had just entrusted herself to him. He held you there for a moment, his cock pressing against your opening, his eyes never leaving yours as if asking for one final consent.

You nodded, unable to form words, your body trembling with anticipation. He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging at your slick entrance. He pushed in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. His dominance was a gentle coaxing, his eyes full of a question that needed no words. Are you ready? Can you take me? The question was in his touch, his gaze, his every movement.

You sank down onto him, feeling him fill you completely, his girth stretching you in a way that was slightly painful. But the pain was quickly overridden by the pleasure, the feeling of being so utterly filled and claimed. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you, setting the pace as he began to thrust up into you. His movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he was watching for any sign that you weren't ready, any hint that he was being too rough. But all he saw was the desperate need reflected in your gaze, the silent plea for more.

Vander's dominance was a gentle coaxing, a whisper of power that made your body sing with every stroke. His hands slid up to your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, his eyes never leaving yours. You leaned back, your palms flat on the chair, your body arching as he drove into you. His touch was firm but not harsh, a testament to his control, a silent promise that he would never hurt you, even in his need.

He kissed you, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips, his teeth nipping at your lower lip in a way that made you gasp. His movements grew more urgent, his hips slamming up into you, the chair groaning under your combined weight.

"So tight," he murmured, the words a dark praise that had your core clenching around him. "So good for me." His voice was a low growl, a declaration of possession that sent shivers down your spine. His hands were everywhere, one hand squeezing your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, the other hand sliding down to tease your clit, keeping you on the edge of ecstasy.

Vander's dominance was a gentle storm, his touch both firm and tender as he claimed you. "You're mine," he whispered, his eyes boring into yours. "Say it, darlin'. Tell me you're mine."

Your breath came in pants, his words echoing through your mind, mixing with the sensations that overwhelmed you. "Yours," you whispered, the word a declaration of submission that made your heart race. "All yours."

His grip tightened, his thrusts becoming more demanding, his praises turning into a chant that matched the beat of your pulse. "Mine, mine, mine," he murmured, his voice a dark symphony of possession and desire. His cock filled you, the feeling of fullness so intense it was almost too much to bear. But you took it, eager for more, your body moving with his, desperate to be one with him.

The room faded away, the bar outside forgotten as Vander brought you to the brink of another orgasm. His eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of fierce need and something softer, something that made you feel cherished. "Come for me," he ordered, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Now."

And with that, the dam broke. His hand clamping over your mouth to stop you from screaming his name, your body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. He held you through it, his arms a steel band around your waist, his cock never stilling. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, his dirty praises turning into gentle coos that soothed you through the aftermath.

As you came down from the high, you felt Vander's own climax building, his hips moving faster, his grip on you tightening. "I'm going to fill you, darlin'" he murmured, the words a promise that had your core clenching around him. "You're going to take all of me." His eyes were dark with lust, but there was something gentle in his gaze, something that made you feel safe, cherished even in the throes of such raw passion.

He whispered dirty, dominant praises as he thrust into you, his voice a mix of grit and velvet. "So good, so tight, so wet," he groaned, his words sent your mind spinning. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you were the only person in the world. The way he took you, the way he filled you, was both a claim and a promise.

Vander's touch remained soft, even as his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your hips. He held you in place, his dominance a gentle but firm presence that made you feel safe. With each stroke, you could feel him getting closer, his breath hitching in his chest, his eyes never leaving yours. The tension built between you, the air thick with the promise of his release.

And then it came, a low groan torn from his throat as he emptied himself into you. His body tensed, his muscles coiling with the force of his orgasm, but his hands never faltered, never let you go. He held you through it, his eyes a storm of pleasure and possession. It was a moment of raw, primal connection, one that had your heart racing and your body quivering.

As he came down from the peak, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you against his chest. His heart pounded against yours, a steady rhythm that matched the aftershocks of your own climax.

His breath was hot against your neck, his lips whispering sweet nothings as he kissed the sensitive skin there. "Always," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "I'll always be here to protect you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of comfort and excitement. Vander's dominance was a comforting blanket, wrapping you in a warmth that made you feel cherished and protected. You leaned into him, your body boneless with satisfaction. His cock was still inside you, a reminder of the claim he had made, the promise he had fulfilled.

The bar outside from earlier tonight was a distant memory. "Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible. His only response was a gentle squeeze, a promise that he heard you, that he felt the same.

Vander pulled out of you with a groan, his eyes dark with satisfaction. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, sprawled on the chair, your body a canvas of sweat and passion. He reached out, his thumb tracing the slickness on your thighs, the evidence of your pleasure. His eyes held a warmth that made your heart flutter.

He helped you off the chair, his arms strong around your waist as you swayed slightly, legs wobbly from the intense pleasure he had just given you.

Vander took a step back, his gaze sweeping over your body with a possessive hunger that made you feel cherished and desired. His eyes lingered on the marks his passion had left on your skin, the love bites and bruises that would fade to a sweet memory of this night.

With a gentle touch, he reached for a nearby towel, using it to clean the evidence of your shared ecstasy from your thighs. His movements were tender, his touch reverent, as if you were something precious that needed to be handled with care.

He helped you to your feet, your legs still shaky from the intensity of your release. You stepped closer to him, your bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces that had finally found their match.

He kissed you softly, hands roamed your body, his touch soothing the tender spots, his kisses leaving a trail of fire wherever he went. "Tomorrow," he murmured against your skin, "we'll do it all over again."

#artists on tumblr #arcane #vander league of legends #vander arcane #vander smut #vander x reader #vander #arcane league of legends #arcane smut #arcane vander #arcane vander smut #warwick #league of legends #drippinghoneyy

75 notes · View notes