#GIVE HER HER BRIDESMAIDS DRESS

[thearoaceshark]

Today, I want to give a special mention to 2003 Mikey, he is probably the first and most coded transfem turtle of all. And the Mikey with more allegories to being gender fluid without a doubt, we love her

Something I totally think he'd say is "I'm King and Queen, best of both things" (—King and his father from The Owl House)

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hi, I was wondering if you could write something about Charles Little daughter being the flower girl at Charlotte's and Lorenzo's wedding (happy for the newly weds). Just something cute.

Wedding

The air in the countryside estate shimmered with the golden touch of the afternoon sun, casting gentle rays over the white and blush roses wrapped around the wedding arch. Rows of white chairs were lined up on either side of a silk-lined aisle, soft string music filling the air as guests whispered, their eyes darting toward the grand French doors of the house where the bridal party would soon emerge.

Charles adjusted the tiny bow sitting delicately on his daughter’s curls. "You ready, ma chérie?"

"Mhm," Yn replied with a serious nod, clutching her small basket of petals like it was the most important mission in the world. Her pale white dress, carefully chosen by Charlotte, fluttered gently with the breeze. "Uncle Lolo said to walk slow and sprinkle nice. Like this!" She demonstrated with an exaggerated swirl of her hand, petals floating to the gravel beneath their feet.

Charles laughed softly, smoothing down the puff of tulle on her skirt. "Perfect. You’re going to be the best flower girl ever."

Behind them, Arthur was already snapping pictures, kneeling to get the perfect angle of Yn's proud, glowing face. "She looks like a little princess," he said, adjusting his lens. "Charlotte is going to cry."

"I might cry," Charles joked, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. Yn giggled, beaming up at him.

From the house, a call rang out. "We're starting in five!"

Pascale made her way over, elegant in a navy blue dress, her hair swept back in soft curls. She crouched down to kiss Yn's cheek. "Go show them how it’s done, mon ange. And smile for Uncle Lolo, okay?"

"Okay, Grandma!" Yn chirped, bouncing slightly on her heels.

As the music shifted, the guests turned their heads, murmuring in appreciation. Lorenzo stood tall at the end of the aisle, hands clasped in front of him, a nervous but excited smile on his face. When the first bridesmaid began her walk, Charles leaned down.

"That’s your cue. Go ahead. Slow and graceful, just like we practiced."

Yn took a deep breath. Then she stepped forward, one tiny foot in her white ballet flats after the other, petals falling with each measured step. Her face was serious with concentration, eyes flicking to where Lorenzo waited, then to the guests, then back to her basket.

"Awwww," rippled through the audience.

Charlotte's sister, standing off to the side with her own bouquet, wiped a tear away. Arthur took rapid shots, whispering, "Too cute. This is going on my wall."

Lorenzo's eyes softened. As Yn reached him, she held up the empty basket proudly.

"You did amazing, sweetheart," he whispered, crouching down to kiss her cheek.

Yn giggled, covering her face with her free hand before scampering off down the side aisle, where Pascale opened her arms. She climbed into her grandmother's lap and wiggled happily, showing her empty basket to Charles, who sat next to them.

"Did you see me, Papa? I didn’t drop it all at once!"

"I saw," Charles said, giving her a proud kiss on the head. "You were perfect. Charlotte and Uncle Lolo are going to talk about it forever."

As the music swelled again, every head turned toward the bride. Charlotte stepped out, radiant in a shoulder-free gown, her golden hair twisted elegantly, soft makeup catching the light. Lorenzo's breath visibly hitched, and even Yn paused her chatter to gasp.

"She looks like a princess!" Yn whispered.

Pascale laughed softly, hugging her. "She does, doesn’t she?"

Yn leaned into her grandma's shoulder, mesmerised. "I want to be that pretty when I get married."

Charles smirked. "Not until you're fifty."

The ceremony began, and Yn stayed incredibly well-behaved, whispering only occasionally to Charles or climbing gently into Arthur's lap for a better view. Arthur didn’t mind one bit, holding her steady as she twisted to watch Charlotte and Lorenzo exchange vows.

"Why is Uncle Lolo crying?" she asked.

"Because he loves her," Charles answered softly. "And sometimes love makes you feel so full, it comes out your eyes."

Yn nodded sagely. "I think I love Auntie Lottie too."

"We all do, sweetheart."

The vows were beautiful. Lorenzo spoke of the quiet mornings they spent in their kitchen, the way Charlotte always read the last page of a book before starting, the way she made him feel at home even on his worst days. Charlotte talked about the patience Lorenzo had, his devotion to his family, the way he looked at her like she was the center of the world.

When they kissed, everyone stood to clap, and Yn squealed, clapping wildly along with them. "Yayyyyy!"

After the ceremony, guests mingled under the soft shade of white tents, sipping champagne and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres. Yn became the darling of the afternoon, rotating from arm to arm like a tiny guest of honor.

She twirled with Charlotte’s sister on the dance floor, hugged Arthur as he showed her the pictures he’d taken of her, and giggled when Pascale shared a biscuit from the dessert table.

Eventually, Charlotte made her way to them, her veil gently taken off, her smile bright and relaxed.

"There’s my favorite flower girl," she cooed, crouching down in her dress.

Yn reached out, carefully touching the lace skirt. "You’re soooo pretty. Like a fairy."

"Oh, mon ange," Charlotte laughed, tears returning to her eyes. "You’re the sweetest. Come here."

Yn wrapped her arms around her new aunt, snuggling into the layers of silk. Charles came over just as the two hugged.

"She’s already planning her own wedding," he teased.

Charlotte grinned. "Don’t let her pick me as her flower girl. I’d never do it as well as she did."

Yn blinked up at them. "You could do it, Aunt Lottie. But you'd have to wear pink."

Lorenzo appeared beside them, arm sliding around Charlotte's waist. He crouched next to Yn again. "You were so amazing today, sweetheart. Can I keep a picture of you in my wallet forever?"

"Only if you give me one of you and Aunt Lottie too," she said solemnly.

He chuckled. "Deal."

Later, during dinner, Yn sat on Charles’ lap, carefully eating her pasta with the same concentration she'd given the flower petals earlier. Occasionally, she'd glance at the sweetheart table where Charlotte and Lorenzo sat, heads close, hands entwined.

"Papa," she said softly, tugging on his collar.

"Oui, baby?"

"Will Uncle Lolo and Aunt Lottie be together forever?"

Charles kissed her temple. "I think so, mon amour. They love each other very much."

"Okay," she whispered, satisfied. "Then I want to come to their house every day."

He laughed, holding her closer. "They’ll never say no to you."

As the night carried on, the sky fading to dusky rose and then indigo, fairy lights twinkled across the estate. The first dance drew cheers, and though Yn began to fade, yawning into Charlotte's sister's shoulder, she perked up long enough to slow dance with Charles when he swayed with her on the side of the dance floor.

"Best wedding ever," she murmured sleepily.

"I think so too, sweet girl," he whispered, resting his cheek against her curls.

By the time the cake was cut and the music turned livelier, Yn had fallen asleep on Pascale’s lap, her bow a little askew.

Charlotte came over, kissing her forehead. "Thank you for being our little fairy today."

Charles smiled, brushing a curl from Yn's face. "She’ll dream of this for weeks."

"I will too," Charlotte whispered.

The stars blinked above them, and the laughter of friends and family drifted into the night.

Love had been celebrated in the most magical way—with a little girl in white tulle at the heart of it all.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you! I know I'm a bit late, but better now than never.

-♡○♡

[whisperofwonder]

Continuation of this

fem!reader x Kuroo Tetsurou

You smile at your reflection in the mirror as your maid of honor tucks one wayward strand of hair back into your updo. In less than an hour, you'll be walking down the aisle. You wonder what Tetsurou's face will look like when he sees you. You wonder if he'll cry. He'd insisted he wouldn't, but, well.

"You look so gorgeous!" One of your bridesmaids breathes, and truthfully, you'd have to agree with her. The hair dresser and makeup artist have worked their magic, and you'd found the absolute perfect dress. Now, all that's left is to wait until the ceremony begins.

Your friends' fawning over you is interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Your maid of honor moves to stand by the closed door, hand hovering over the handle.

"Babe," The voice belongs to none other than your soon-to-be husband, and you instinctively cross your arms over your front, even though the door is still firmly closed. He can't see you before the wedding!

"I need you to tie my tie!" You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"You know how to tie a tie," You call back carefully. "Just do it yourself!"

"But you always tie my tie." His voice is the next thing to a whine.

You sigh. "Where's Kenma?" Surely his best man didn't allow this. You wonder how he managed to slip away.

"Kenma is 'sick of my shit'," He intones, and you can practically hear the words in Kenma's voice. You sympathize. "Baby. My love. Please." He's begging now, and you can't help it. You start to soften.

Your maid of honor is looking at you with wide eyes, slashing her hand across her throat in a clear gesture: NO. You love her for that, but still.

"You'll close your eyes?" You ask in your sternest voice. "You can't see me, you know! It's bad luck."

"Yes, I'll close my eyes! Promise."

"Close them TIGHT," You insist, making sure he understands the gravity of the situation.

"They're tight," He promises. "Open the door already."

You nod. Your maid of honor hesitates for a few moments, but slowly swings the door open with a shake of her head.

There he is. Tetsurou. Your fiancé. In less than an hour, your husband. You feel your heart begin to swell in your chest. He wears a suit every day, but he looks especially handsome in this one. The tie in question is draped loosely around his neck.

"Babe?" He has his eyes squeezed shut, that much is obvious. As an added measure, your maid of honor pulls him inside and moves behind him, pressing her fingers across his eyes.

"Go ahead," She sighs. You reach for the tie, carefully straightening it around his neck. You reach for his collar, making sure it's turned up all the way around, and you watch as a smile begins to tug at his lips.

"I'm so excited," He murmurs as you work. "Can't wait to see you." The fingers covering his eyes tighten.

"Me too," You can't help the smile that's stealing across your own face. "I can't wait."

You begin making the knot, enjoying the dopey grin that's now completely filled his face. "There you go," You finally say, giving the knot a pat. "Perfect." Like always, you tug on the tie, just a little. Tilting your chin up, you lean into his kiss, savoring the feeling of it.

"I love you so much," He murmurs as he pulls away. "Thank you."

"I love you too, Tetsu." You take a step back, just drinking him in. "I'll see you soon."

He opens his mouth, but before he can drag the moment out any longer, your maid of honor steps in. "Okay, lovebirds, that's enough." She pulls him back. "Get back to wherever you're supposed to be. I'll kill you if you mess this up," She threatens sweetly.

"Yes ma'am," He murmurs as she shoves him back through the door, slamming it shut nearly in his face.

"You two make me sick," She sighs. The mushy smile on her face doesn't match her words at all. "Come here, let me touch up your lipstick."

[neeeooon]

Hellooo! It's my first time ever asking a request like this 😅 Could you write headcannons for blue lock boys, how they would react to when "bridesmaids giving the groom sexy Polaroids of the bride throughout the night" like the trend in tiktok!! I'm curious about Barou, reo, rin, and yukimiya 👀 but you are welcome to add others as well!! Hehehe thanks!!

YES i’m sorry for the wait I HOPE YOU ENJOY 🤍

when your bridesmaids give them sexy polaroids

husband bllk x fem!reader. suggestive

barou shouei

-> he’s breaking a sweat after photo two and loosening his tie by photo three

-> protects those half-naked photos of you like it’s his only duty on this earth. will bite anyone’s hand off if they so much as breathe in his direction when he receives another polaroid of you

-> when you waltz over to your new husband, wrapping yourself around him in newlywed glee, it takes more restraint than he’s used to to keep his hands from wandering. especially in front of your friends and family

-> “you know exactly what you’re doing to me with these little photos, don’t you?” you give him an innocent look and kiss the lobe of his ear. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.. ;)”

mikage reo

-> eyes threaten to pop out of his head when your bridesmaid subtly slides a polaroid in front of him. a polaroid of you in a very inappropriate manner

-> when he catches your eye and sees you wink, he knows he’s in for a treat

-> has half a mind to call the reception off early so he can have you all to himself, but this is your wedding night, and he wants it to be perfect for you

-> turns out, he’s not the only one thinking this way. when you appear at his side, dragging him to the parking lot like teenagers sneaking out, you tell him that you asked your bridesmaids to stall for the remainder of the party before locking the car doors and hopping into his lap

itoshi rin

-> you’re acting nonchalant, trying to feign innocence about the explicit photos you and your bridesmaids took for your husband, but he misunderstands your innocence as ignorance

-> gently pulls you aside after receiving the first photo. “y/n, i know you love your friends, but…” and he gives you the photo. “i don’t want vulnerable photos of you being spread around on our wedding day.”

-> you find his concern adorable and decorate his cheeks with lipstick-covered kisses. “aw, honey! it was a surprise gift for you, no one else has seen them.”

-> he flushes bright pink at that. “oh.” “thank you for protecting me, though.” “um, you’re welcome.”

yukimiya kenyu

-> it’s a slow descend into madness for gentlemanly yukimiya

-> literally chokes on his champagne when he receives the first polaroid from your bridesmaid. she hands it over so coyly, like she doesn’t know she’s holding his demise in her hands

-> he’s all tight smiles throughout the night. cannot keep his eyes to himself, and thankfully people think it’s only because he’s admiring his new wife. while that’s mostly true, he’s mentally mapping out the shape of you beneath that dress

-> “ken?” “hm? yeah?” you give his thigh a gentle squeeze beneath the table and lean close so that your lips are near his ear. “you’re staring.” “sorry, darling. it’s hard not to with those images of you printed in my brain.”

[bitters-n-sweets]

run an ex — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader You and Robby run into your ex-fiance, who apparently is sorry for what he did.

warnings: implied age gap, we hate your ex-fiance bcs he cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids, robby being a supportive king bcs he knows you can handle yourself, fluff (this can be considered a continuation of take a break, but can be read on its own) masterlist

It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Robby had come home on time after his shift, even left slightly early so he could prepare for his date with you. You’ve been wanting to try the new place down the street that looked like a piece of Little Italy tucked into the neighborhood, like romance itself, glowing in the corner with golden lights and ivy-draped windows. Somehow, Robby had managed to snag a reservation.

He’d worn his navy polo and beige pants that you said made him look incredibly sexy, and picked up flowers on the way to your place.

You, on the other hand, had gotten ready, wore a nice silk dress, the perfume Robby loved so much, and smiled when he handed you the flowers. You put them into a vase before the two of you left, walking hand in hand into the evening.

Now, you’re sitting in a corner booth, still hand in hand, sipping wine while you wait for your food. The low hum of soft Italian music and the clink of glass around you in the background.

“How was work?” Robby asks, his thumb brushing lightly over yours.

You shrug with a small smile. “It was okay—oh! Speaking of work, my manager’s getting married next week. Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” he says without missing a beat. “Your manager, Hannah, right?”

“Yeah!” You light up. “You remember her?”

He chuckles. “How could I forget your work-wife?”

You laugh, nudging his foot under the table. “She’s basically my own Dr. Abbot.”

Robby raises a brow. “Are you saying Jack is my work-husband?”

“Is he not?”

Robby lets out a dramatic sigh. “He is. We’ve been married for six years. I’m so sorry you had to find out like this.”

You laugh again, and Robby just watches you, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

Dinner ends slower than it began, each course giving way to warm conversation and stolen glances. Robby pays for the bill even before you could reach your wallet, and you smile appreciatively while he winks at you.

You loop your arm around his as you walk out of the restaurant, and stop mid-way when the door almost hits your face.

“Sorry—oh.”

That voice. Cocky. Familiar. Just loud enough to cut through the warmth of the moment.

Your stomach drops before you even look.

Robby feels it—how your hand stiffens slightly in his—and follows your gaze to the man standing in front of you. He had changed his hair, but you’d still recognize him anywhere. Ethan. Your ex-fiancé. The Ethan who cheated on you with one of your bridesmaids six months before your wedding, who didn’t even have the decency to tell you himself—you found out through a half-drunk voicemail from her.

Ethan stops, eyes widening when he sees you. “I—I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You straighten your posture, grip tightening on Robby’s arm. “Hi, Ethan.”

His eyes flick briefly to Robby, then back to you. He hesitates, “I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he says, stepping a little closer. “I—I owe you an apology. For everything.”

You don't reply immediately, just hold his gaze. He shifts awkwardly, trying to read your silence.

“You look... great,” he adds. “Really great.”

You take a deep breath. Robby doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. He just stands beside you, he knows you don’t need saving—but he’s there anyway.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” Ethan continues, voice softening. “I messed up. I know that now. What we had—it was real. I want to try us again. A new start.”

You blink, before letting out a breath that sounds like a laugh. “No thanks.”

You try to walk past him, but Ethan steps in your way.

“Please,” he says, voice low and desperate. “Just… give me another chance.”

You stare at him like he’s completely lost his mind. “You cheated on me with one of my best friends, Ethan. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He scoffs, like you’re the one being unreasonable. “Okay, and now what?”

“Now,” you say firmly, “you get out of my way and out of my life, because I’m actually happy.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping as his eyes flick to Robby. “What is he, your sugar daddy or something?”

Your eyes widen.

Robby makes a face that says ‘you're in trouble now’, and calmly holds out his hand. You hand him your purse without breaking eye contact with Ethan.

“What did you just say about him?”

Shit is about to go down.

You step toward Ethan. He instinctively backs up, the shift in your energy obvious even to him. Right on cue, the waiter opens the door—Robby slides a generous tip into his hand just for that—and Ethan, too focused on you, trips over the steps behind him as he stumbles backward.

“He’s none of your business,” you say, voice sharp and clear. “But for the record? Robby is my boyfriend. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He makes me feel safe, wanted—loved. He treats me like I’m the most important person in the world. And I love him.”

Ethan’s brushing dirt off his coat, flustered, when Robby walks past—shoulder checking him just enough to make a point.

“Oops,” Robby says with a smirk. “My bad.”

You don’t bother looking back.

Robby laces his fingers through yours, guiding you down the street like none of it ever happened. Behind you, Ethan’s voice fades into the night, muttering curses under his breath.

You just smile and laugh with Robby, hugging his arm.

[science-hoes]

Michael Robinavitch + Spicy Polaroids on Your Wedding Day

Robby is anxious on your wedding day, and you knew he would be. You knew he would rub his neck raw with his calloused hands, pace back and forth in his tailored tuxedo, nearly strangle Jack for yapping his ear off in an effort to calm him down.

You knew your almost-husband better than you knew yourself. That’s why you devised a plan with your bridesmaids to help distract him.

Samira is the first to visit him and the other groomsmen. She uses Jack as an excuse for her presence, fixing his bow tie and making sure his socks were solid black. But before she leaves, she spots Robby staring out the window, opening and closing his hands at his side. She gives him a hug of reassurance, tells him he looks nice, then slips a small item in the pocket of his tux jacket before leaving. With a raised eyebrow, Robby carefully pulls it out. A small square with…

Oh.

Oh.

A Polaroid picture of you in white, lacy lingerie. Grabbing your breast, squishing them together, mouth open in dramatic bliss.

Holy fuck.

Robby’s face turns deep crimson within seconds. He thinks that he’ll faint if he looks at the photo any longer and have an untimely accident in his boxers. He shoves it deep in his tux pocket again, but his groomsmen don’t miss the damning flush across his face.

“Need some water, Rob?” Jack asks from where he stands near the door.

Robby swallows hard and nods. “Yeah, I think so.” He barely squeaks out.

The next bridesmaid to enter the room is Santos. It’s under the guise of reminding the groomsmen that the photographer will arrive soon for group pictures. Robby is sipping his water slowly, trying to shake that Polaroid out of his head. You looked so perfect, so beautiful, so soft, so-

“You alright, Cap?” Santos asks, arms crossed.

Robby smiles and nods. “I’m fine.” Lie.

Santos raises an eyebrow, eyeing the white corner of the Polaroid slightly sticking out of his tux pocket. She flips out a second Polaroid, in between her fingers like a cigarette.

“This might help take off the edge.” She transfers the small picture to his grasp before walking out.

Robby chokes on his water this time. You’re laying on the mattress, chest down, ass up, the white lingerie squeezing in the best places, your eyes gazing into the camera. He’s seen you in that position so many times, but never at this angle. He thinks he might actually die before he can say his vows to you.

Langdon comes up to slap Robby on the back, knocking the stray water out of his lungs. Robby quickly conceals the Polaroid, hiding it with the first one. Now, he has a fucking stash.

The next one comes from Ellis. She’s the one who helps lead Robby to the rooftop for your first look. His hands are trembling, his heart is beating far too fast and probably out of sinus rhythm, his breaths are staggered. But the night shift resident just grabs him by the shoulders.

“Robby, breathe. She’s almost here. You’re gonna feel better when you see her.” Ellis does her best to calm him.

Robby opens his mouth to speak but can only nod. He is fighting the urge to run his hands through his perfectly combed and neat hair. Ellis smirks and flashes a Polaroid in front of his eyes.

“Use this in the mean time.” She says, shoving it in his hands before prancing away to help you with the train of your dress.

This Polaroid featured you, suddenly bare of the gorgeous white lingerie from the previous two photos, hands covering your nipples, your thighs angled just enough to hide your pussy, your hair splayed around a pillow.

Robby nearly falls to his knees. Thank God he listened to Jack’s advice of wearing compression shorts, or else these first look photos would have to be from the waist up. Hopefully, the photographer you booked can photoshop his skin back to a normal color instead of the beat red that crawled up his neck.

When you finally tap his shoulder, beckoning your fiance to turn around, Robby wastes no time to see you. You look like a dream. The beautiful white dress, the elegant veil, the gorgeous cascade of flowers in your hands. His entire future right before his eyes. It’s all too much, and the tears fall fast.

Robby pulls you close, impossibly tight, trying not to ruin your hair and makeup. Whispering his love for you in your ear, trying to catch his breath before his tears turn into uncontrollable sobs. Your eyes are watering, and you try to ground yourself by squeezing his neck tighter.

“‘M sorry for being such a mess.” He breathes with a laugh. “Just been waiting for this all day.”

You nod, breathing in the cologne you loved so much, the one he picked just for your wedding day. “Me too. The only person who can calm me down is the only person I wasn’t allowed to see.” You giggle to mask a cry.

Robby pulls away to look at you, using a large thumb to brush away the tear that rolls down your cheek. “Oh, God, you’re so beautiful.” He says before pulling you close for a kiss.

You smile into the kiss, enjoying the warmth of his lips on yours. “Me? Look at you, Doctor Robinavitch. You clean up pretty nice.” You tease.

Robby chuckles and pinches your side. “Hey, at least we’re out of scrubs, yeah?” He jokes along with you.

You pull away from his embrace to take a full look at him, never letting go of his hands though. You spy the Polaroids, your gifts to him, tucked into his tux pocket. A devilish smirk pulls at your mouth.

“Did you like the pictures?” You ask.

Robby freezes for a moment. The pictures. From the moment he saw you in your dress, his mind was only filled with love and joy and your future together. But now he was being lured back to a darker, sinful place.

“You little minx.” He hisses lowly, but his smile betrays him.

You shrug innocently and pull one last Polaroid out from the pocket (yes, it has pockets!!) of your wedding dress.

“Maybe this will hold you over until tonight?” You suggest.

Robby takes the Polaroid from you, and he lets out a pathetic moan that turns into a chuckle. You’re laying on the bed, hiding nothing, your fingers inside your wet pussy, your mouth sucking on one of your own tits. He can feel himself straining against those compression shorts, and his mind starts fantasizing about all the ways he is going to take you apart tonight.

“Jesus, kid.” He manages to croak. “Who took this?”

You giggle and take the photo from his hands, slotting it into his pocket with the rest of his collection. “Self-timer.” You answer.

Robby swallows thickly and grabs your hips, not too tight because the photographer is still snapping photos from a distance. “And where did you get that pretty white thing?” He questions lowly.

You press a sweet kiss to his lips, reveling in the way a hot, frustrated huff leaves his nostrils and fans across your face. “Had it made. Just for you.”

“Just for me?”

“Mmhmm.”

Robby shakes his head with a grin, feeling younger than he has in years. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Though the question is rhetorical, you can’t help yourself from teasing him further. “Just wait until you see what I’m wearing under this.”

Later that night, when Robby slowly undresses you, his wife, he’s met with that same white lingerie set that had been taunting him all day. No longer in a tiny Polaroid frame, he can trace every single lacy detail, down to the panties, where you had the seamstress embroider the word “Michael” right above the bikini line.

[littlelovelunette]

Au business owner Sevika and her ex wife divorced for 8 years, they meet each other at their daughters wedding and fuck in the bathroom and fall in love again

Reunited After Eight Years

Sevika x Ex-Wife!Reader

Slight angst at start. Sex with plot. Sex in a bathroom stall. Clothed sex. Sevika has a dick. Bulging. Slight size kink. Praising. Clit play.

It had been a while since you saw your ex-wife Sevika so, seeing her in a nice dress pant and suit was definitely bound to rouse feelings on your side. But you weren't any less flashy today either. It was your daughter's wedding and you wanted to dress as pretty as one could get.

You were dressed in a pale golden halter neck dress, a designer purse slinging from your shoulder as you walked into the wedding venue. You smiled at the sight of your once-a-cute-toddler daughter Hannah who smiled at you.

"Thank you so much for coming," Hannah gave your hands a small squeeze, "Is Mom here with you?"

You shook your head with a bitter smile. Yeah, there was once when you and Sevika did everything together. She escorted you wherever you needed to go but after having Hannah, the love you both had for each other seemed to have lessened due to the less time you both spent together, spending more time on Hannah.

Ever since that, you both had parted ways but managed to stay included in on your daughter's life. You sighed to yourself, feeling bummed out. Maybe you should've asked Sevika to come with you and finally put your ego down for once. It was Hannah's wedding after all. This day wouldn't repeat itself.

You looked at the door, the guilt settling deep and heavy in your stomach like an endless pit but then, it felt as if all of that was instantly lifted. You saw her.

Sevika looked as gorgeous as ever, her hair was cut into a bob and she had gotten a labret ever since you both split. Heat pooled at your core from the sight, thighs coming to clamp together a little. No, it was lust. You couldn't. Not on your daughter's wedding.

"Hi, Mom!" Hannah happily ran into Sevika's arms.

For once, you pictured your little girl in Sevika's arms. Those days you and Sevika worked on the garden you both had nurtured for together as young adults. That one garden had become a part of your and her daily routine. And in summer, Hannah would always make you both the messiest lemonade after a long day in the garden.

That same garden had rotted away after you were forced to deviate your attention from it after splitting. Working alone in it was depressing. Sevika got too busy with her business and now it was just a distant memory.

"How has your business been?" Hannah asked happily, beaming at Sevika.

She'd been comparatively absent considering all the school plays you had gone to alone because she didn't accompany you because of some sort of meeting. "Something came up at work," was her go-to excuse.

"Business has been great." Sevika said, giving her a smirk before stroking her cheek with a knuckle, "You look beautiful, my little flower." Sevika's voice wavered with emotion.

It was hard for her as was it for you to see your little babygirl as a married woman now. And you knew Sevika never trusted others to take care of her beloved, but she needed to give her trust to Louis— Hannah's boyfriend and Sevika's soon-to-be son-in-law.

"Don't cry now, Mom," Hannah giggled before she pulled Sevika by the wrist in front of you, "Look! You and mum are matching!" She told Sevika happily before Hannah got distracted talking to her bestfriend who was the bridesmaid.

"Hey," Sevika said awkwardly, shifting from one foot to another.

"Hey," you echoed back, taking a once-over of Sevika's pale golden suit. "Nice outfit." You said in the most plain voice ever. Sevika chuckled at the tone of your voice, leaning against the table a little.

"You don't have to force it out if you don't want to." Sevika gave you a lop-sided grin, "That sounded almost physically painful."

You rolled your eyes. "Mhmmmmmm. And so gentle of you, you didn't even pass a single compliment on the dress."

"Do I need to?" Sevika cocked a brow. "You're stunning, drop-dead gorgeous," the words rolled off her tongue so naturally, you almost insecurely hid your torso from her, "Thought you always knew it and didn't need nobody's validation."

"I don't..." You fidgeted with the chain of your purse. "But thank you."

"No, I mean it," Sevika said, her playful eyes softening into something actually sincere for once. Her hands twitched as if she'd reach out and take yours but she didn't and just stood there awkwardly. "I do... Mean it." She repeated her own words as if determined to make sure you knew she still fancied you.

"Sevika, we can't." You said firmly and shook your head. Although, you said that, you averted your gaze from her, hiding the shameful thoughts piling in your head.

"I know." Sevika walked closer, looming over your frame. "But I should've treated you right when I still had you."

"It's not your fault." You looked up, gently taking her bigger hands into yours, "It's not your fault, don't beat yourself up over it. When push came to shove, we chose Hannah over our own love for each other and I wouldn't have had it any other way."

"What about now?" Sevika asked, slowly moving her hand onto your waist.

And your body so snuggly fit in her hand, as if you both were puzzle pieces always meant to accomplish each other. You needed her to feel complete— it was true. But these years you managed it all alone made you feel a different sort of independence. You were proud of yourself but you wanted to let it down and cuddle back upto your Sevika.

"I done want to be someone's second priority again," you referred back to all those times she chose her business over you.

"Never again," Sevika said in a firm tone instantly. She didn't even think about it as if she'd been reminiscing all her wedding vows with you on her way to here.

"You say never, but do you mean it?" You leaned closer to her, your breath tickling me face. The heels you wore made it easier for you to stand eye level to Sevika for once. Sevika took a deep inhale.

"Yes."

That's how you both ended up in the bathroom stall with you positioned against the wall. Your hands gripped the tile wall hardly as you tried to maintain balance.

"Please, be gentle, Sev," you whispered, "I haven't had sex since we split." You mumbled to her.

"Not once?" Sevika gave you a curious look before she pressed the thick head of her cock against your entrance, "Just tell me to stop and I will." She held your hips with both hands and slowly started to push it inside. "Fuck."

You tried your best to relax. Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt her girthy dick filling up your insides. She was so big. When she bottomed out, a wet squelching sound erupted from your body. You cried out in pleasure, quickly clamping your mouth shut.

"Mmmm," you moaned against your palm as Sevika slowly adjusted to a slow but romantic pace.

"You're taking me so well." Sevika whispered, her cock was so deep she was grazing against your cervix. The gentle thrusts made your legs quiver.

"Oh," you squeezed your eyes close as you whimpered.

Sevika pulled back just to shove it all the way back inside again. You gasped, one hand going to hold your lower tummy where her cock was bulging through.

"You look so pretty like this," Sevika said, bunching up your dress so it stayed over your ass, she squeezed the supple flesh as she adapted to a generic pace.

Your knees trembling from the attempt of keeping balance. Your hand that was at your stomach lowered to rub your clit in circles.

"Hngh," you moaned.

"You look so fuckin' good from this angle," Sevika said with a grunt as your walls fluttered around her, squeezing her as if milking her for whatever she had. Sevika chuckled, "Someone's eager."

You blushed, gasping when Sevika's pace heightened. The slapping sound of skin filled up the entire bathroom stall and for a while, that was the only thing you could focus on.

"I'm gonna cum," your hand at your clit almost stopped, Sevika squeezed your asscheek.

"Dont stop, now." She said in a deep voice causing you to nod. Your fingers continued rubbing tight circles around your clit, thighs shaking threateningly as if you'd lose balance any second now.

"I'm cumming!" You cried out against your other hand that was keeping your voice muffled and low.

Sevika's thrusts grew sloppier as she got closer to finishing herself. "N-Not inside! Sev—" your eyes widened as you yelled out, both hands leaving your body to grab the wall.

Sevika grunted but then pulled out just in time, thick ropes of cum splattering against the back of your thighs and the curve of your ass.

"Oh fuck," Sevika breathed. "Mmm, was right, drop-dead gorgeous," she slapped your ass. You squeaked.

"Let's clean up." You said, heat rising at your cheeks. You turned around but then before you could reach to the wash basin, Sevika grabbed your jaw and pulled you in for a kiss.

"I still love you." She murmured against your lips before biting down on your bottom lip. You moaned softly in the kiss and held onto her shoulders. You kissed her back almost so eagerly you were embarrassed about it.

"I do too." You said shyly as you both parted. "But for now, let's give Hannah the wedding she deserves. We can talk later."

[luvv4maddie]

May I call you..Mrs Norris?

| Lando Norris x Reader.

- Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader - Warnings: None just fluff and some more fluff,some sexual themes! - summary: Having been with Lando for 6 years supporting him through his career and being there for every high and low moment in his life. Everyone can’t help but wonder when will little Lando Norris pop the question..including you.

Note: This is my first Fic after my @hearts4maddison account got banned RIP. some of the spelling might be off and this was rushed sorry! This may be long.

—————————————

“There you are Mrs Norris! We were waiting for you”

“Sorry sorry! I had to get Oscar to pull Lando off me” you say with a giggle sitting in between your two best friends Alexandra and Kika your fellow wags as you would like to say.

“…Tell me when Lando isn’t mesmerised by you?” Kika asked as she leans back into her chair

“We could say the same thing about Pierre-” Alex responds

“hey your supposed to be on my side!” Kika interrupts

“I am!” Alex shoots back laughing.

“..seriously! You two” you say rolling your eyes at them

“Seriously! More like seriously when is Lando gonna propose” Kika responds as Alex just nods her head.

“this topic again!” You groan

“…Oh come on I want to be a bridesmaid!” Alex calls out.

“you know I have a feeling Lando is gonna propose-”

“Really! Tell me more!” You say quickly interrupting Kika

As both Alex and Kika laugh at the sudden interest in the topic.

You roll eyes at their tactics as you can’t help but think everything you and Lando have been through. Every Tear,Every Loss,Every win you were his rock and there was no doubt in it.

—————————————

You weren’t desperate to get engaged You were happy how you were.However the excitement of being a fiancé to the one person you love the most was a feeling that you couldn’t describe.

Everyone on the paddock teased You and Lando constantly the constant “Mrs Norris” or the “soon to be Mrs Norris” and you couldn’t lie you did feed into the teasing.

And Lando didn’t mind it one bit.

After your little meeting with Kika and Alex you and Lando had finally made it back to your hotel room retreating from Hungary warmth that lingered in the air.

“You look gorgeous” Lando says kissing your face leaving small pecks as he pulls you into him

“..Lando you’re all sweaty go shower!” You giggle trying to escape his grip

“Only if you’re joining?” He says with a smirk

“…Nu uh! Not happening mister!” Fleeing from his grip

“..Oh come on!”

“Stop with that face!”

“what face?” He says pouting

“…your such a idiot” you respond kissing him

“so it’s a yes to the shower?” He smirks picking you up throwing you over his shoulder

“Lando-”

“Love you to Mrs Norris!” Lando shouts in the air as you kick your feet trying to free yourself but failing.

———————————

For the Past couple of weeks Lando had been dropping hints. However you thought nothing of them thinking he was just feeding into your delusions as usual.

Which you were starting to become suspicious as he had sent you to get your nails done and both Kika and Alex accompanying you making you get something natural.

More like in Alex’s words “We just don’t want you to regret it”

Regret it? First the get your nails done…Secondly he had sent Kika and Alex to go with you to find a new dress just simply handing over his card as usual.

Little did you know..Well kind knew. Lando Had Kika and Alex in on it he gave them strict instructions keep y/n busy until I give you the “it’s go time text”

——————————

You had spent the rest of your afternoon getting ready per Kika and Alex’s instructions before barging in every two minutes asking if you were done.

And once you finally were the both of them had dragged you to the most gorgeous scenic spot the sunrise casting a golden glow, the warm Hungary air felt nice on your skin.

Mostly the set up,Rose petals scattered all over the ground creating a path as Alex and Kika ushered you to follow it as you did you were met by the sight of

Lando, Lando on one knee.

You couldn’t tell if you were dreaming or what.

He was holding a ring box it was like someone had knocked the air out of you as you approached him his gorgeous smiling face looking up at yours as he reached out taking your hand into his.

“..y/n you know the day I met you..you were the only girl I wanted and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you..I couldn’t think of a better moment then now of how badly I want you to be in this next step of our life so will you marry me-”

“Yes! Yes omg yes!” You say quickly as Lando laughs and stands up taking your hand into his as he slides the ring onto your ring finger before smashing his lips onto yours

“..Got scared for a minute and thought you were gonna say no” Lando says fighting back a laugh

“seriously don’t ruin the moment!” You say rolling your eyes

Before seeing Kika and Alex running over.

“I’m gonna be a bridesmaid!!!” Kika shouts making both Lando and you laugh

“Only took him 6years to put a ring on it!” Alex laughs

“…I’m officially Mrs Norris!!!!” You say jumping up and down”

—————————————

This was so rushed towards the end I’m sooo sorry this was just a rough idea I made into a fic so it’s not that good and might not make much sense! This was so long longer then it should’ve been 😭

May end up deleting!

[lucidfairies]

— mess around (part three)

part one • part two • part four • part five

synopsis: it wasn't everyday you moved to the south, surrounded by cowboys and their women, but here you were, and your new neighbor simply couldn't get any more enticing

pairing: rancher!sevika x married housewife!reader

warnings: cheating (r and husband), dom!sevika, sub!reader, phone sex, one arm sevika, masturbation (fingering), dirty talk, sevika's fantasies mentioned briefly

a/n: I know you guys really want a divorce and I promise it's in the next part it's already written 🙏 but we need a little more plot first !

w/c: 3.4k

The week had been different without you here. Your presence called Sevika, even when you weren't with her. Just seeing you in the morning when you got your mail, or when you got home from running errands and she offered to carry on your groceries. Little things that were different when you were away.

You had told her what was happening - you were going to your brother-in-law's wedding, and your husband insisted on making a short vacation out of it. She didn't even remember where the wedding was behind held; the night you were explaining it, she had just fucked you so hard that she couldn't focus on anything but the sight of her strap in your cunt.

It was rough.

But, now that she was back to her senses, it was hard for her to imagine anything but you in a white gown, walking down the aisle towards her. You never spoke of your wedding to her, and what she'd seen from her time in your house, you had no pictures of it.

It made her wonder if you ever had a do over, would you like it more? She would've made any of your hopes and dreams of a wedding come true if it made you happy, made you want to decorate your home with pictures from it.

You were far from having the time of your life. Your husband had left you hours ago to go do groomsmen things, leaving you alone in a large hotel, in a boring town you had never been in before. You didn't have to agree to this. You wondered why you did in the first place, you knew it was going to be like this.

But, you powered through nonetheless. When the time came, you slipped on your dress and did your hair and makeup to a T, finishing the look with tall heels and a handbag. You had already decided on your plan - you would attend the ceremony, briefly peek into the reception to wish them congratulations, and then steadily leave. Weddings were not your thing anymore, not since yours was ruined.

Everything got to you quickly. Your dress was irritating, your heels were uncomfortable, the gems on the strap of your handbag were digging into your shoulder. Your plan was definitely going to happen, there was no way you could live like this longer than two hours.

Their ceremony was gorgeous. Similar to the one you had hoped for. It was outside, facing the water, and they had string lights that decorated the trees. The sun was beginning to set as it began, and by the time it was finished, dusk had reached its peak. The bride's dress was large and detailed and gorgeous, the bridesmaids were dressed in a series of her favorite colors.

You could've cried.

Luckily, though, you didn't. You did what you were aiming to do, wishing them a kind congratulations and giving your husband a mediocre excuse before leaving and going back up to your room. The room was on the highest floor of the hotel, and it overlooked the water and where the ceremony had been. You could see the reception taking place, but you didn't feel called to return.

Instead, you rid yourself of your dress and heels, tossed your bag to the side, and let out the semi-decent hairstyle that you had put in. Now you were more comfortable, but still with nothing to do.

You glanced over at the night stand where your phone was plugged in, and you remembered how Sevika had given you her phone number weeks prior. That called you.

You moved away from the hotel vanity and plopped down on the bed, unplugging your phone and searching through your contacts to find her name. You weren't in your usual time zone, but you hoped she wouldn't be disturbed. You didn't bother figuring out what time it was at home.

You clicked the video call button and it rang several times before she appeared on screen. You wondered if you had disrupted her, especially since she was in her bed and rolled over, looking back at you. “Hi Vika,” you said, timidly. “Did I wake you? I can hang up. I don’t want to bother you.” She chuckled, voice deeper than it tended to be, sleepier.

“You couldn’t be a bother if you banged on pots and pans at two in the mornin’, peach.” Blush crept up your neck and chest, kissing your cheeks, and you knew she could tell. “You don’t look like you’re at a wedding reception, sugar. How’s it going?” With a sigh, you rolled onto your stomach and propped the phone up.

“I’m bored out of my mind. Not that I only call when I’m bored. I simply find you enjoyable to talk to. But, my husband is off dancing with other women, I know nobody, and it’s dark, so I can’t walk around town. I miss home. I miss you.” Sevika could’ve doubled over at the insinuation that those two things were connected. Her and home. She wasn’t ever going to tell anyone this, but you felt like her home as well.

“Well, home ain’t felt the same without you. Had to tell your neighbors where you were, they missed y’r company at Sunday dinner,” she smiled, envisioning how much of a delight you must be to have over regularly, during the day, when other people were allowed to see you together. “Was the ceremony nice? You mentioned somethin’ about it bein’ everythin’ you wished for last week. Wanna hear about it.”

You groaned at the slight idea of it, and didn’t hesitate to talk her ear off. You went into extravagantly small detail about what your dream wedding was, and how it correlated to theirs. You let it split that your husband didn’t let you choose anything, and Sevika’s heart stung for you. It was easy to talk to her, about anything really.

“What’s y’r favorite flower?” Sevika asked, when you mentioned that they had an intricate flower set up. When you told her, she hummed with a smirk. “When you get back, come to my garden. I have dozens of ‘em. I’ll even make you a bouquet.”

Sevika had to change the subject. She couldn’t bear the thought of you walking down the aisle in everything she could possibly give you - your dream dress, dream ceremony, dream bouquet. It was physically harming her, to keep thinking of you like this. She was just about ready to explode.

“So, Vika,” you broke the silence, dragging out your ‘o’. “How’s your week been? Tell me about it.” She smiled at your immediate need to fill the silence with something about her.

“I’ve seen Jinx and them a few times, went for drinks. They asked about you, wanna know when y’r comin’ around again. Told ‘em I’d take it up with the mrs.” She winked at you, and the feeling of being called her ‘mrs’ was one of beauty. “Fixed up my car, worked on my arm, the usual.” She adjusted the phone so that you could see her better, leaning back against the headboard with her phone low in her hand.

The spot where her other arm would be was out, no mechanics attached to it. You looked at the sight for a while, marveling at how, even without an arm, she managed to keep her shoulder built. “Sev, can I ask you something?” You met her eyes.

“There was a bombing at my ol’ job,” she responded, calmly. “Took that puppy clean off. I ain’t been back to work since.” There was a hint of vulnerability in her words. It hurt her to explain to others. She perceived herself and she knew others perceived her as a strong woman who could easily do anything she wanted, and the idea of her not working was one that made her erupt in embarrassment. “I’m thinkin’ about goin’ back, though.”

“You’re brave, Sevika,” you spoke softly, and the gentleness of her tone tugged at her heart, tears welling in her eyes. She wiped them before you could see. “I mean it. I don’t think I could ever go back to work anywhere after something like that.”

“Well ain’t you just the sweetest,” she laughed, trying to mask her true emotion. “I appreciate it, sweetheart. Truly. But I gotta get off my ass one of these days.” This was deeply embarrassing for her, the entire thing. Here she was, blabbing to a woman who probably didn’t really like her about real life problems, that made her sound like some lazy bitch chasing a disability check.

“Well, maybe I can help you job search when I get back? My mom used to do that for a living, I know how. I know it must be hard, since you’re old and all.” You took a playful dig, trying to diffuse the awkward energy you felt from the kindness of the comment you made.

Sevika broke out laughing, head thrown back. A gorgeous sound, one that didn’t frequently bless your ears. “I’m five years older than you!” She protested, still laughing. “I can job search on my own if you’re gon’ act like that.” You rolled your eyes, doing your best to contain your grin.

“I wish I was there with you right now,” you said quietly, making the conversion take a somber turn. “This whole night has been terrible. God, my dress was the worst thing I could’ve brought. Oh my god, and my handbag! It was digging into my shoulder and-” she cut you off, but truthfully you didn’t mind.

“What’re you wearin’ now? ‘m sure you looked beautiful, bunny.” In that moment, you felt the mood switch. And honestly, that’s why you called her in the first place, deep down. The way you talked was amazing and you craved more of it, but every time you were in her presence there was a drag of tingly feelings that erupted in your pelvis.

It was that name, truly. It worked the same on you as some of the others she had - the special ones, that she only used when she had you as putty in her hands. Baby, bunny, pretty girl.

“Thank you,” you propped the phone up and crawled out of the bed, presenting her with your body. “My husband didn't make any comments about how I looked,” you sighed. That wasn't what Sevika was concerned with, though. With a lick of her bottom lip, she scanned your body as you did a twirl, taking in your oversized shirt and lack of pants.

Your panties were pink, and she longed to add them to her collection. She kept the pair that you stripped every time you came over, but she washed them, so you always had a clean pair to leave in. To your surprise, the action didn't creep you out as much as you thought it would, or at all.

“Well he's fucking crazy,” she said, eyes drilling into where the shirt was riding up on your hip. “You're gorgeous,” she was trying hard to control herself, but you simply looked breathtaking. “Fuck, I wish I could touch you. Wish you were here, sugar.” you giggled.

“Well I'll be home soon enough.” You felt strange promising yourself to a woman when you were married. But at the same time, it felt so right. “Then you can touch me all you want.” Sevika sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, tilting her head back with a smirk before rolling over on her side and propping up her phone.

“You can't be sayin’ shit like that to me, sweetheart.” Her voice dropped an octave, her smooth and sexy tone coming out, that she only used when she planned on fucking you within an inch of your life.

“Why's that?” You said sweetly, climbing back into the bed and using one of the millions of spare pillows to prop up your phone in front of you. You were laid back against the headboard, pillow propping up your phone just enough that it gingerly caught the sight of your hips as you sat with your knees to the side in front of it.

“You really like testin’ me, don'tcha peach?” you nodded with a smile. “Why don't you show me what you've got underneath that shirt, huh?” You pretended to think about it for a moment before shifting onto your knees in front of the phone and dragging your shirt slowly over your head.

You were still teasing her - the camera angle was still just barely showing the width of your hips, so she couldn't get a good look of the dip between your thighs. The bra you were wearing matched your panties; it was a soft material in a similar light pink, and without the shirt, Sevika drooled over the high cut of your panties, the combination making your figure look lethal.

“How's that?” You couldn't contain your giggles, teasing her being so much fun. The way her eyes darkened and drilled into your skin like lasers made your stomach flutter.

“Fuck,” she groaned. “When you get home 'm gonna fuck you till you can't speak.” Sevika couldn't understand why this was affecting her so much. You were sitting in a bra and panties, it wasn't like you were nude and bent over. “Take off your bra, sweet thing. Let me see you.”

Your heart was thrumming as you reached behind and unclasped your bra. You didn't strip it immediately, you slid the straps over your shoulders and down the top of your arms, taking it slow. She watched you, eyes darting between each strap until you had it off. Her clit was beating more than it ever had, she was convinced.

It came to her suddenly why you were making her feel this way so dramatically: you were in control. She could tell you to fuck yourself on your fingers, stick your panties in your mouth, bend over, but at the end of the day, you still had her wrapped around your finger. It was your choice how slow you shed your bra, your choice on what you did and how you did it. She was living for it.

“How far’r you tryna go, pretty?” With a hand sliding up to your tit, you cocked your head at her.

“As far as you want to, Vika.” You rolled your nipple between your fingers, putting on an all time show for her. Your head lolled back and you let out a breathy moan, rolling your hips forward against nothing.

The simple pinch didn't make you feel as much as you seemed like it did, but you longed for Sevika to look at you the way she was. “Play with your tits for me, baby. Think about my mouth on them.” That part was easy. Sevika's lips fit perfectly around your nipple, and the feelings she elicited from you made you incredibly wet.

“Sev,” you moaned, each hand on either tit while you ground your hips. You whimpered, bouncing slightly to make it look as if you were riding her cock.

“Take off your panties, princess. Show me your pretty pussy,” with a whine from the lack of attention to your tits, you slid your panties from your legs and shifted the camera as you laid back. The angle was phenomenal - your pussy was in front of her and you were laid out, biting your lip as you waited for further instructions. “Oh, she's so pretty. My pretty bunny.” You rolled your hips towards her, spreading your lips so that she could see the slick drenching your folds with a moan.

“Wanna see you,” you insisted, and to your surprise, she did as asked. She copied your camera angled, propping a pillow up between her legs and stripping herself of her pajama pants. It left her in a wife pleaser and a pair of boxers, down turned gaze dark as she watched your movements.

“Tease y’r clit, angel. Show me how a good girl does it.” You let out a whine again, her dirty words causing a flood between your legs. You teased your clit, rubbing it gently and making sure she got a show. Your circles were slow, making your need grow as she looked at you like her next meal. “Show me how you needa get fucked, sugar plum.”

You wasted no time pushing the first knuckle of your finger in, going knuckle by knuckle until you were bottomed out inside of yourself. You were quick to find that it wasn't enough, and you joined it with a second finger promptly. You started slow, but with the way Sevika spoke to you and the way your fingers felt against your g spot, you couldn't keep the pace.

“That's it, that's what my pretty girl needs,” she said as your speed grew rapid. You were hitting just right, other hand pinching your nipple as you relived the night you had with her weeks ago. When you gazed down, you noticed her large hand under her boxers, wrist moving in slow circles. She caught your eye with a smirk. “Oh baby, you feel so good.” She moaned, trying to fuck with your head.

And, well, it worked. Your heart beat faster and your stomach grew tight, somehow going faster than you were before. “Vika, need you,” you whimpered, back arching from the bed as your eyes rolled back.

“That's it my girl, cum all over your fingers for me. Y’r gon’ get fucked so good when you get home, fuck, y’r the best girl in the world,” she groaned, her own cunt clenching around her fingers. She accent always got thicker when she got close, arousal clouding her mind as she imagined you there with her, letting her fuck you any way she wanted.

She had thought about that deeply. She spent nights awake fantasizing about things you could do to you - dirty things that she wouldn't ever tell you until you brought them up to her. She thought about tying you down to her bed and leaving you there, fucking you whenever and wherever she wanted to, tying up your husband and forcing him to watch her fuck your brains out. She wanted to gag you and spank you and see how your pliant body reacted to everything. She could admit that she thought about it far too much.

You came with a rush, like a band snapping in your stomach, drenching your fingers and the bed beneath you. Sevika cooed at you, but she was busy pulling herself to her own orgasm, and you were delighted that you got to watch. You met her eyes and slid your fingers from within you, bringing them to your lips and sucking your cum off of them. You stuck your tongue out, rolling it around your fingers just to make sure they were extra clean.

She got louder as she got close, and she fell over the edge with a deep groan. “You're so good baby, such a good girl.” She moaned, obsessed with the idea of your submission. Her orgasm was something that she had never given herself, and it was fucking mine blowing.

You slipped your panties back on, not bothering with the bra as you threw your shirt back over your head. Sevika sucked her fingers clean as you did, except she made no effort to make it sensual. It simply was. “You look mighty fine, peach.” She smiled.

“Why thank you, Sevy,” you smiled back, bringing the phone to you as you rolled on your side. “You certainly made my day better. I can't wait to see you again.” You mimicked her smile. She was truly beautiful.

“I can't wait either, princess. I ain't never liked someone the way I like you.” Your heart fluttered. For longer than a moment, the thought of leaving your husband danced in your brain.

Your lovely moment was abruptly cut short when the room door opened, and your husband stumbled in with a woman on his arm. You hung up the phone without a second thought or warning, shooting up from the bed and looking at him with fire in your eyes.

He said your name, releasing the girl and stumbling towards you. You moved out of the way, letting him fall onto the bed and dismissed the girl. And for a moment, you just looked at him. This was your life, this was your husband. A man who comes back to the hotel drunk with another woman, and you were immediately faced with the reality that you were just as bad.

Truthfully, that was disturbing.

taglist: @sevsgiirl @chaosisclassy @ilovesevika88 @2hiigh2cry @glass-apothecary @zthebean27 @sli-v3r @carotenoidstereo @hbwrelic @savedforlaterr @sunflowerwinds @megamultifandomtrashposts @thatsmadiculous @thehoneybeesting @moodient @jinxvex @lez-zuha @sookaihrts @belovedisappointment @rereanduselessbird @sksksscarlet @coneyislandhorrorqueen @prwttiestbunny @ghostlylittlemoths @half-of-a-gay @aiden-slayyyys @womenlover360 @luphelia @maximoff-jp @losernb @dayfeelinglighter @powderpinkandsweeet @gumboug @andyslovingwife @hello222things @ayooooohush @yoursimhannah @yesplstodaysatan @purplehazzes @xblinkx2 @mistershotz @lilithyys @abbyanderswife @stmvivs @theoreticalfreak @deliciouslydeviantsatan @lonely-nerd-sodaholic @misswannadieqwq @wingedhallows @vixy-vix @slut4acotar @runawaybaby3 @deeznutssthings @possessedmagpie @d3adbrainer @t-0-riv @skullsbown @sadie6sinks6slut @nymanas @xielangit @l4dyf1ngers @mcqueeferson @razbunz @nymanas @prettyinpink69 @aprilshireath @rosesfornoses-blog @d1psht @reneesub @cupcakequeefer @mdoesthinxgs @euphoricnyctophilia @ultraviiiolet @strawberrylipglossx @sharki-100 @sevikasoneandonlywife @krisziepowlet @sevikaswife135 @unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker @nochetila @elliesbabygirl

[ddejavvu]

hi there! i’m on my top gun maverick era, and i’ve been seeing the tiktok trend where brides have their bridesmaids give the groom spicy polaroids before the ceremony and i was wondering if you could possible write something along those lines for bradley bradshaw!

You're not permitted to see Bradley before the wedding- well, he's not permitted to see you, but you've sent your faithful bridesmaids on an important mission to pass him an envelope of pictures.

Very scandalous pictures. Call it an early wedding present, call it a honeymoon preview- whatever it is, you've sent it to Bradley's dressing room a mere twenty minutes before your ceremony begins.

The ladies return in a heap of giggles, nearly knocking their dresses askew from the way they're pushing and shoving at each other.

"Did you do it?" You ask, like it isn't obvious.

"Yes!" They squeal, and more giggling ensues, your voice among the chorus.

"What did he say?"

"We ran off before he opened it," One of your girlfriends admits, "We wanted to give him privacy."

"But we told the groomsmen not to look," Another informs you, her brows pinched into a stern frown, "I'll kick Javy's ass if he sees any of them."

"He won't look." You hum, knowing Javy respects you too much to behave so poorly, at your wedding of all places, "Oh, girls, I'm nervous."

"Are you kidding? You looked so good." One of your friends gushes, and you flush slightly at the memory that they've all seen the photos you'd taken. They'd done the boudoir shoot for you, and they'd put their stamp of approval on all of the shots.

You can't muster up an answer, but your phone buzzes and provides a distraction so that you don't have to.

Bradley: You know you shouldn't have done that, right?

All of a sudden, you fear for the worst. Maybe one of the groomsmen saw, maybe this is supposed to be tender and you've made it crass, maybe Bradley hadn't liked the color of the lingerie you'd been wearing- and then had promptly taken off in front of the camera.

Y/N: I'm sorry!

Bradley: You should be. These pants have no wiggle room. They're gonna be tight all night.

[rawrfrferrari]

Charles leclerc x girlfriend reader at Lorenzo and Charlotte's wedding smau

Best Man, Better Boyfriend | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x girlfriend!Reader

Genre: SMAU, Fluff, angst

[Request and Taglist] [Masterlist]

yourusername

Liked by charlotte2304, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername My best girl is getting married to her best boy 💍 Lolo, my sunshine soul, you deserve every ounce of the magic coming your way. Enzo, thank you for loving her like we all dreamed someone would.

tagged : charlotte2304, lorenzotl

view all comments

charlotte2304 I love you so so much, y/nn ❤️

→ yourusername ❤️ u Lolo.

lorenzotl I’m the lucky one 💛 Thank you for this post and for always being by her side.

→ yourusername Enzo 🥺🫶🏽

pascale_leclerc Welcome to the family, ma douce Lottie and Y/n, you're as much family as Charlotte is 🤍✨

→ yourusername Love you, Mama Leclerc 🫶🏽

julia.tolotta So happy to finally have a sister @/charlotte2304. Love you too y/n❤️

→ yourusername ❤️

jasminsprengel My heart is so full! Congrats @/charlotte2304, @/lorenzotl, so happy for you both 🥰

charles_leclerc Most memorable day ❤️

→ yourusername Can I keep Leo?

→ charles_leclerc you can keep anything you want.

yoursisterusername SO HAPPY FOR THEM 😭💍

arthur_leclerc Finally! I was starting to lose hope in Enzo's planning skills 😂

→ yourusername Surprised that you kept the plans a secret. Couldn't be more proud of you 🥺

username1 Now let’s talk bridesmaid dresses 😌

→ yourusername Hell yeah!!

CHARLES'S POV

BOUTIQUE IN MONACO

The small boutique smelled like cedarwood as Y/n walked in with Charles and rest of the wedding party to select from the outfits the bride and groom has chosen fitting the theme.

Y/N stepped out of the fitting room, smoothing down the soft satin of her bridesmaid dress. She chose a blush pink dress that complimented her the best.

Charles looked up from his seat, gaze flickering up and freezing mid-motion. All the other groomsmen were trying out their tux but he wanted to wait for Y/n to choose her dress and match his tie with her.

“You’re staring,” she said, folding her arms, but her voice held no real edge.

Charles blinked like he’d just been smacked out of a trance. “I’m not staring. I'm observing...”

“Right,” Y/N said, drawing out the word. “Because you’re a fashion expert now?”

He stood up then, walking over and making a point to circle her slowly like he was analyzing F1 telemetry. “No. But I know when something fits right.” His voice dropped just slightly, fingers ghosting near her waist, never quite touching. “And that dress fits you right.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Just for a second. “You’ve never said that to anyone else in the wedding party,” she said carefully.

“I’ve never meant it about anyone else in the wedding party.”

She looked at him trying hard to control not to blush. “What about you?” she asked, stepping back. “Got your tux picked?” She awkwardly diverted the topic.

He held up a swatch book, grinning. “My tux fits right. the only thing left to select is my tie.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled, flipping through the swatches like she hadn’t already decided an hour ago. “You should match with Arthur.”

“Since we'll be walking down together I think I should match my tie with you,” Charles said, amused.

“You love doing this don't you”

“Yeah,” he said, too soft. Too quick. “I do.”

They both froze. Y/N swallowed. “I meant making the wedding look perfect.”

“Yeah,” Charles echoed, gaze unreadable. “Me too.” She turned away first, pretending to thoughtfully advise other bridesmaids hairstyles on their dresses.

Y/N'S POV

yourusername

CHARLES' HOME, MONACO

The paper bag crinkled loudly as Y/N set it down on Charles’s coffee table, the aroma of green curry and fried rice filling the room like a hug in spice form.

Leo was already circling her ankles, like she'd give him food as well. "You already ate,” Y/N picked him up, laughing as she scratched behind his ears. “You menace.”

“Wonder where he gets that from,” Charles said, appearing from the kitchen with two wine glasses in hand.

“I’m ignoring that,” she said, accepting the bottle anyway.

They sat cross-legged on the couch, digging into the food with quiet satisfaction. It was their fourth date.

Leo eventually settled between them, head on Y/N’s thigh like he’d picked a side. She absentmindedly stroked his fur while stealing the last spring roll.

“You like him more than me,” Charles sighed.

“He doesn’t overthink where to place his elbows when we eat,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes, but his smile lingered. And then, his arm brushed against hers on the cushion. He didn’t pull away this time.

“So,” he started, too casually. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “About?”

Charles shifted a little, clearly trying to act cooler than he felt. “The Monaco Grand Prix. It’s in a couple of weeks.”

“I know,” she said, watching him. “I've never missed the home races.”

He laughed, then shook his head, suddenly serious in that open, vulnerable way that always caught her off guard. “ I want you to come as my girlfriend.”

Y/N blinked. Her heart flipped. “You sure?” she asked, voice lower now. “That’s… public.”

Charles nodded. “I’m sure. My whole family is supposed to be there, that includes you.”

She looked at him, then down at Leo, then back at him. “Can I wear red?”

“You’d better.” She leaned back against the couch, smiling into her wine.

Charles smiled wide, boyish, unmistakably relieved. Leo barked once like a stamp of approval before promptly crawling into Y/N’s lap, who kept her wine away and kissed his head.

leclercsupremacy

liked by gridgossip11, wagsofficialtea and others

leclercsupremacy The Leclercs, Charlotte, and Y/N attended Monaco GP race day. Did Charles and Y/N just made it official with the post race kiss?

view all comments

f1editsdaily I stalked her, She's already in the family since Lorenzo started dating Charlotte, Pascale and Arthur's comments in her posts are wholesome

lecfosi16 lowkey bold of her to debut at Monaco of all places

itslecrec the way Arthur was carrying her bag???

username1 she’s literally just another influencer 🥱 nextttt

→ leclercsupremacy She's a software engineer and is currently regional development head for Monaco in Google. So, no, not another influencer...

sharles16stan My Roman Empire is Charles looking at her like she’s his whole world.

leclercsangel not y’all mad because he likes a woman with a personality 😭

username2 girl… he held her face when he kissed her. that’s not casual.

wifeofcl Kissing after a P2? Chill. It’s not even a win.

formulababygirl Not the Monaco prince getting his princess moment 😭

f1noir_1 We get it. She’s dating Charles. Can we get back to the actual racing now?

CHARLES' HOME, MONACO

The apartment was too quiet when Charles and Y/n went in after the celebratory dinner. Charles had been dull the whole dinner.

Y/N watched Charles dropping on the couch from the doorway for a moment before she stepped in, gently taking Leo off leash. He sprinted in the room to his toys, as Y/N nudged.

His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone pale. She didn’t speak but moved to sit beside him.

“I had it,” he said after a long time, voice so soft it barely existed. “We had it. And they—”

His jaw clenched. “fucked everything up!”

Y/N swallowed. “P2 is still—”

“It’s not enough.” His voice cracked then. “Not for this. Not for everything I’ve put into this. Not for him.”

For Charles it was not just about the race. It was about his father.

Charles leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “I’m doing everything I can. I train like a machine. I say the right things. I show up. I fight. And it never feels like it’s enough. I’m not winning. I’m not—” He broke off, shaking his head like the words betrayed him. “I’m not making him proud.”

Y/N reached for his hand, unfolding his fingers one by one until his palm was open in hers.

“Cha,” she whispered, her voice tight, “he’s already proud of you.”

He didn’t look up. “He saw the boy who raced in karting with fire in his eyes and dreams too big for his chest. He saw the boy who got up every time it hurt, who never lost that fight. He saw all of it and he was proud then. Imagine what he’d feel now. Not just of the driver you’ve become, but the man.”

His breath hitched. Y/N kept going, voice steady despite the lump forming in her throat. “Your father isn’t proud of trophies. He’s proud of his boy.”

Charles turned to her slowly, eyes glassy and aching. “Your whole family is very proud of you, mon amor. We love you so much. Even on days like this when you don’t believe in yourself, we believe enough for all of us. You don’t have to earn our pride, Charles. You already have it.”

Tears slipped down his cheek silently, and she caught them with her fingers like they were something sacred.

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “I just… I wanted it so badly. For him. For me.”

“I know, baby” she said, pulling him into her arms, letting him fold into her chest like something crumpling under the weight. “And you will get it. I don’t know when. But I do know that you haven’t failed him. You’ve made him proud a thousand times over. And no fuck-ups can ever take that away.”

They sat like that for a long time. And in the quiet, just above the sound of his breathing against her shoulder, she whispered into his hair “Your dream isn’t over, Cha. And he’s still with you. All of us are."

Maybe that didn’t fix everything. But it was enough for tonight.

yourusername & charlotte2304

liked by charles_leclerc, jasminsprengel and others

yourusername Woman of the hour 🤍✨ @/charlotte2304

view all comments

lorenzotl Mon amour 🤍

→ charlotte2304 ma chérie

lorenzotl Thank you for making her feel so loved, Y/N.

→ yourusername 🤍

username1 Team bride !💖

pascale_leclerc so elegant and full of love 💐 truly beautiful, just like you both 🤍

→ yourusername thank you for raising the sweetest fam ❤️

→ charlotte2304 love you, maman 🥹

charlotte2304 still not over this day. not even a little bit. thank you for making everything feel like me. you are the best human I know, Y/nn.

→ yourusername You deserve the best, Lolo 🥺🤍

charles_leclerc Leclerc's best girls ❤️

→ yourusername baby ❤️

julia.tolotta she’s glowinggggg 🕊️💍

username2 The most prettiest bride to be 🤍

username3 The perfect weekend 😍🙌

arthur_leclerc belles-sœurs 🥺🤍

→ yourusername arty 🫶🏽

jasminsprengel 💕💕💕💕💕💕

HOTEL HERMITAGE, MONTE-CARLO

Y/N and the other bridesmaids arrived with Charlotte and took their places next to the groomsmen.

Charles offered Y/N his arm, already waiting just behind the florals framing the start of the aisle. He looked unfairly good in the fitted tux and a soft pink tie that matched her dress exactly. She hadn’t known he’d pick it. But of course he had.

“Ready?” he asked softly, eyes flicking down to hers.

The wedding planner motioned them forward, but for one second, it felt like the world held still.

He held out his arm again, a little more formally this time, and she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

And then they walked down the white petal-strewn aisle, through golden sunlight and hushed gasps, through camera shutters and the scent of blooming jasmine.

Her dress shimmered with every step. His presence was steady beside her, the warmth of his skin brushing hers at the elbow, grounding her.

When they reached the end of the aisle and split to their respective places beside the altar, Charles lingered a second longer than necessary, as if reluctant to let her go.

Charlotte stepped into view at the top of the aisle, everything else blurred. Y/N’s breath caught.

She tried to hold it together. She really did. But as Charlotte’s eyes met hers something inside Y/N cracked wide open.

Tears slipped down her cheeks silently. From the overwhelming wave of love and pride and that strange kind of ache that only comes when you realise someone you adore is stepping into the most beautiful phase of their life.

yourusername

liked by charlotte2304, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername The most magical ‘I do’ I’ve ever witnessed 🕊️💍

view all comments

charlotte2304 My maid of honor, my soulmate in glitter and crisis.

→ yourusername Amour 🤍

charles_leclerc We walked the aisle too, no? 😉

→ yourusername Shush 🤭

lorenzotl You’re family, always. Thank you for everything, truly. Couldn’t imagine the day without you.

→ yourusername Beau-frère 🤍

yoursisterusername So wholesome 🥺

username2 Still recovering from the speech. Truly beautiful ❤️

→ yourusername Thank you ☺️

jasminsprengel YOU WERE STUNNING!

username3 MoH of the century award goes to you.

arthur_leclerc Speech game: strong. Cry game: stronger.

→ yourusername 💪🏼

username4 Now we need yours and Charles' wedding ❤️

username5 Oh my god these pictures are sooo pretty🥺

TWO YEARS LATER

yourusername

liked by arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername La Familia ❤️

view all comments

charles_leclerc Mon Cherie❤️

→ yourusername mon amour ❤️

charlotte2304 Best Auntie

→ yourusername Best niece 💕

username1 🧿

arthur_leclerc pic credit???

→ yourusername @/charles_leclerc

→ arthur_leclerc 😭

username2 That golden hour glow is criminal

pascale_leclerc My sweet girl 🌸

→ yourusername Mama Bear, ILY 💗

yoursisterusername Baby content, dog content, couple content… overachiever.

→ yourusername Go study for our finals 🙂

username3 Gorgeous ✨️

[rafeslvbug]

TEASE

context: during your second wedding, you make things more fun with a series of boudoir polaroids

w/c: 1.8k

warnings: details of explicit photos, arousal and light smut

you had them tucked away in your friend’s clutch purse: ten boudoir polaroids you took before the wedding. you considered getting your friends to give them to him, but rafe never took much of a liking to anyone. and you figured it’s best to give it to him yourself, then make him suffer as you walk away. she discreetly handed you the first, something you held against your wedding dress, approaching rafe. your newly wedded husband– again. his eyes light up, turning away from his conversation with jj and pope to wrap his arm around your waist. “well hello to you, wife,” he mutters, kissing your cheek. “hi baby,” you smile. never had you expected to be called that again, and legally too.

“i’ve got a gift for you,” you whisper into his ear, and he turns his head down to you. “oh yeah?” you nod, teeth sinking into your lip. you press the polaroid to his suit jacket, and his hand finds it, slipping it out from underneath your fingers. he’s about to hold it up, but you push it back into him. getting the hint, he nods slowly, peeling the top edge of the polaroid up and peeking.

his jaw goes slack. eyes wide.

you laugh as his grip on your waist slackens, stumbling back, blowing out air like the photo’s knocked the air from his lungs. only except it really has. it’s a picture of you, a black lingerie set perhaps a size too small, his tie hanging loose between your tits and leaning against his desk. your face’s cut out, only your neck to your waist. he gapes at you, taking one last look before tucking it into his inner pocket. “when did you–“ he notices jj glancing over, and steps closer to you, lowering his voice. “when did you take that?” you shrug, coyly. “you were at work.” he blinks, eyes lingering shut for longer than needed, picturing the polaroid in his mind. you walk away with a smile, and he’s flushed, uncontrollable smile on his face.

what he doesn’t know, is there are nine more to go.

the second one comes during the photos, something neither of you wanted but both your parents insisted. and after you had excluded that from every other aspect of the wedding to avoid a repeat of your last marriage to rafe, you figured you’d satiate them with this. something to post on their socials and brag about. your bridesmaid stepped behind you to take her photo, and slid it into your hand. when rafe held your hand during the photo, you held it between your palms; the moment he felt it he had an ill-contained smile.

anticipating the end of the photo, he forgot to even thank the guests, leaving you to it, waiting for the man behind him to go back to his table. he glimpsed at it: face stuffed in the pillows, only the curve of your ass visible in a white thong. the camera snaps a picture of you two as his eyes widen, catching his shock and your amusement. closing the polaroid into his hand again, he leans over to you. “do you still have that set at home?” you link your arm through his, play the innocent happy couple for the guests. “i would..but i’m wearing it.”

rafe’s cock twitches there and then, praying he doesn’t get hard in front of a hundred wedding guests. and he’s not even halfway through.

you drop the third one into his back pocket while he’s drinking with a co-worker, and you watch him itch to reach into the back and just look at it. but he can’t. so he rushes conversation, subtly, nodding and saying yes until the guy runs out of conversation and is forced to move on. then rafe pulls it out, cups his hand around it protectively. shields his surprise by biting down on his lip and immediately stuffing it where the other two are. the same set as the second, only a shot of you fully lying down from the side.

you get more daring with the fourth. walking up to him while some guests are walking away from him outside, holding it up infront of you. flashing that same lacy, white set, only except it’s an aerial view. you on your side, one leg bent. the curve of your spine smooth amidst the ruffled sheets. he snatches it from your hand, hiding it and looking around in case someone might have seen. “you can’t do that!” he laughs between slight panic, eyes finally settling on you. “you didn’t want the photo?” you tease, letting him draw you closer into him, fingers wrapping around your arm. “of course i did,” he mumbles. “how many more of these guys are there?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. you press a finger to his lips, only for him to frown and lightly kiss your fingertip. “wait and find out.” and you’re gone, again, while rafe’s pants get tighter, and his heart erratic, polaroids right above it.

sitting at the table, your hand clutched in his, laughing with some joke your dad told; the fifth settles onto his lap. rafe discreetly looks down, then snaps his head back up, shook at the shot of your body hardly concealed in a dark red set. he covers the image with your joint hands, something his grip has become far more tighter on. he’s seen the set before, and remembers it clearly in his mind. the first set he saw you in after the divorce, against the fence in both of your backyards. that memory doesn’t help him get through this night any faster.

the sixth you tuck into his breast pocket and pat in passing. he grabs your arm and spins you back to him, holding you there as he checks it, then lets it fall back in. “are you trying to kill me?” he asks lowly, dipping his head closer to your ear. “no…” you say in that falsely sweet tone. “i’m making the wedding more enjoyable.” rafe lets out a groan, kissing the shell of your ear. “what you’re gonna do is make a scandal out of me,” he mutters, making an obvious implication as he glances down at his pants. “good, make this more interesting,” you grin, softly pressing your lips to his.

“six’s an even number..but it doesn’t feel complete,” rafe muses, slipping his arm around your waist and drawing you into his side. “doesn’t it?” you quirk your eyebrow at him, and lace your fingers with his. “no.” he looks down at you expectantly. giving in, you place the seventh polaroid into the pocket of his trousers. his arm unwinds from your waist, delves into his pocket and pulls the top out. he drops it back in, silent. he doesn’t show emotion, or betray his shock. he just pulls you back into him.

during your dance, you hold the eighth polaroid between both your hands, rafe immediately cursing because he can’t look. he has to wait for it to be over. his steps are practiced ease, but quicker than usual. eyes darting around to see how many people are actually watching, and if he could sneak a look. he can’t; everyone’s intently staring, just in case the marriage is fake and you’re both still divorced. they’re all quite worried about that. when it’s over, he slides off the dancefloor as covertly as he can, tugging you with him. “fuck me,” he swears, hiding the polaroid in his inner pocket, leaning his forehead against yours. “thank god we’re married again.”

the ninth comes with dinner. finally, plates are set in front of guests between entertainment, and you hand it to rafe before he takes his seat. there’s chicken, and food you spent forever to organise with the caterers, but in his hand, rafe has something he’d rather eat more. you. unfortunately, he can’t. he has to act like the little picture means nothing when friends and family raise their eyebrows at it, awaiting some sort of explanation as to what has him so flushed. he has to settle with his hand on your thigh while he eats, wishing for something else the whole time.

when the wedding party’s over, rafe’s itching to get home. he’s sober and serious, unwilling to get tipsy during the night and loosen his tongue, or his hands, spilling the secret polaroids out to the guests. he helps you out the car, minding the wedding dress you haven’t been able to take off, or change out of all day. but that won’t remain for much longer. he ushers you into his house, letting you in first to take your high heels off, and complain about the weight of your dress. “i can help with that,” he murmurs, slipping off his shoes and spinning you around to him.

your dress is bunched around your hips, lips tangled in a messy, desperate kiss as you haphazardly make your way backwards up the stairs. he uses his arm to take the impact of your collision with the bedroom door, swinging it open and pushing you back until your knees hit the mattress of your bed. his hands find your zipper, swiftly tug it down and drag the dress down your body until it’s a white heap on the ground, and you’re left standing there. white set you mentioned you had on, stretching over your curves.

“you’re a horrible tease,” he mumbles against your skin as he has you laid down on the bed, kissing his way up your body. “wait, wait, wait..” you halt his hands as they glide from your hips to your waist. rafe lets out a tortured moan against you. “wait for what? i haven’t been married to you for over two years, how much more waiting can i do?”

“you say it like we haven’t slept with each between then,” you chuckle, reaching towards the bedside table to pull out the draw. he moves so you can access it better, grumbling, “still, it’s not the same.” you pull out the final polaroid in between your fingers, lay back down and hold it out to him. “last one.” rafe’s eyes flick over it, then to you, in a similar position, sprawled out on the bed, amidsts pillows and sheets wearing only your lingerie. he takes it from your fingers, turns it over in his and sets it aside. “picture’s perfect baby, might put it in my wallet,” he grins, hand slipping underneath your back to unclasp your bra. “but i think i prefer this more.”

TAGLIST: @jeonjungkaka @angelicameron @yelqze @loverliner @tinythebunni @dollarbillsflying

[keirareidss]

sugar and spice - s.r

♡ summary: penelope sets up spencer and her baker friend on a blind date pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: fluff dialed up to the max, reader wears a dress, just two lovesick cuties wc: 1.8k based on this request

Penelope was a matchmaker at heart. She loved to see her friends happy and if pairing them up with someone else she knew made them happy, she would do it in a heartbeat.

Penelope frequented a bakery called 'Crimson Confections' and the nice baker woman she met behind the counter had become a close friend of hers. The two of you went out for lunch often, walks in the park occasionally, and sometimes you went to the movie theater together. You'd like to call Penelope your best friend and you hoped she thought the same of you.

Penelope considered many people her 'best friend'. Her and Derek were the close flirty best friends, her and Spencer were like two peas in a pod, her and JJ were girl talking, shopping date best friends... she could go on and on.

You, Garcia thought, shared some similarities with Spencer. You were both dorky, adorable people, you both loved Star Trek, and you both were... a bit awkward. Maybe a little more than 'a bit'.

She made her usual trip to the bakery, excited at the prospect of seeing her friend coupled with the discounted sweets you always gave her. The bell rang as she walked through the door, a cloud of fruity perfume and colorful accessories.

"Hello!" She greeted you in front of the counter, smiling brightly.

"Penelope! I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow." Your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"I decided to come today. I want to talk to you about something."

"I already told you, I don't know how to make a cupcake with your dogs face on it-"

'No, it's not about that, even though I know you could figure out how to do it if you just tried-" She saw your glare and quickly switched subjects. "It's about your love life." You rolled your eyes with a sigh.

"Pen-"

"Just listen. I know a cute guy, he'd be perfect for you, I can set you up on a date this weekend."

"Penelope, I'm don't really want-"

"Come on, please? One date. And if you don't like him, you'll never have to talk to him again." You thought it over. It couldn't be that bad. There's no way your friend would set you up on a date with someone she knows is an asshole or anything like that.

"Fine." You sighed and she squealed, bouncing up and down in excitement.

"I can already picture it! The two of you are going to get married and have adorable little babies together and-"

"Penelope! I don't even know who he is yet. And who says I want kids?"

"Oh just you wait." You chuckled, getting her usual order for her. A blueberry scone for her breakfast, a pink frosted cupcake that she puts in the fridge for later, and a chocolate sprinkled donut for someone else.

You handed her the pastries and she was on her way, leaving you wondering just who this mystery man was. You hadn't been on a date in ages, your last three having been with immature mommy's boys or arrogant mansplaining dicks. But you trusted your friend and you knew she wouldn't set you up with someone so clearly wrong for you.

~

"Come on, Spencer, she's perfect for you!"

"Garcia, I just don't know if I'm in the mood for another bad date." Spencer sighed as Penelope followed him back to his desk.

"That's the thing! It won't be a bad date. She's my friend, I know her and I know you, and I know you'll have a good time. Please? For me?" She begged, giving him puppy dog eyes from behind her bright blue glasses.

"Fine." He sighed and she grinned brightly. She was already thinking about what dress she would wear as a bridesmaid at your wedding.

You strolled up to the front of the restaurant. Penelope had made the reservations, texted you the info, and gave you a small description of who you would be looking for. You wouldn't be surprised if you spotted her sitting at the bar, watching the two of you.

You wore a simple outfit, jeans and a nice fuzzy sweater, your hair tied half up in a matching bow. You didn't normally get the chance to dress up, always covered in flour in your apron at the bakery and when you got home, you immediately changed into sweats to lounge on your couch.

The restaurant was one big room, a bar along the right wall, warmly lit with vintage hanging lamps. You scanned the room, searching for the man described to you. Spencer. Short brown hair, probably wearing a sweater vest, adorably nervous.

You spotted him. No doubt in your mind it was him. He was in fact wearing a sweater vest, a cute brown and blue one and he was fiddling with his fork, taking an anxious sip of his water as he looked around the restaurant.

He made eye contact with you and his shoulder deflated slightly in relief as he gave you a small smile. You returned it, carefully making your way through the tables to him.

"Hi, are you Spencer?" You asked.

"Yeah, you're Penelope's friend?" You nodded, telling him your name as you sat down across from him.

"Nice to meet you. I've heard good things."

"Oh, really?" You chuckled.

"Yeah, every time Penelope gives me a donut in the morning she raves about your baking skills."

"I was wondering who those donuts were going to. I'm glad you like them."

"I really do." You took a sip of the water he'd ordered for you, hoping this date goes as well as it's started.

"So you work with Penelope, are you an agent?"

"Yes, I'm a profiler." He explains his job to you and your eyes widen. You hadn't dove deep into Penelope's job all that much, not realizing her and her team caught serial killers. All she said was she was in the FBI and maybe it was on you for not putting two and two together.

"Wow, that sounds... insane."

"You kind of get used to it." He mutters and you both fall into that first-date-awkward-silence before he speaks again. "So you're a baker, right? Tell me about that."

"There's not much to tell. I'm usually coated in batter by the end of the day and go home smelling like sugar."

"That doesn't sound too bad." You laughed. The two of you had an instant connection, the awkwardness quickly disappearing as your conversation flowed easily.

Turns out, you both had many things in common. You both liked the same shows (you made a mental note to schedule another date to show him all the ones you brought up that he hadn't seen, case in point: Dexter, The Good Place, Severance, you could go on), and a couple of the same books (he was already making a mental list of all the books he wanted you to read or, rather, him to read to you if you got that far).

You chatted about your interest, hobbies, all things classic first-date talk. And when you finish dinner, after splitting a chocolate lava cake for dessert and then Spencer covering the bill all gentleman-like, you exit the restaurant. Instead of heading for the parking lot, you turn the opposite way, deciding to keep the date going with a walk in the park. Your hands brushed against each others as you walked side by side.

"I'm really glad Penelope set us up." You glanced at him, smiling affectionately.

"Me too. This was really fun." You fall into a silence, different this time, not awkward but, comfortable. His pinky gently wraps around yours and you glanced at him, noticing the blush on his cheek and the way he avoided looking at you. You took the leap, taking his hand fully in yours.

"You wanna do this again sometime?" You asked, stopping on the path and turning to face him.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

♡ BONUS:

You stood in front of the mirror, inspecting yourself. All day, your bridesmaids had said you looked perfect, that they wouldn't change a thing. But something felt off to you.

Not your dress, the color and the length were exactly what you wanted. The veil, lacy and pretty, was not the problem either. You sighed, frustrated at not knowing what was causing your disquiet. There was a knock on the door behind you and you heard your fiance's voice.

"Angel? Are you okay in there? Penelope said you were feeling off."

"I-" You sighed, turning to face the door, wringing your hands in front of you. "Can you come in here?"

"Are- are you sure?" He asked warily.

"Yeah, I don't give a shit about superstition, I need to see you." He opens the door, quickly shutting it behind him so that only he can bask in your radiance.

"Are you alright?" His expression was filled with worry before he took in your appearance. "Oh... you look so pretty." He said, enamored by you. You chuckled as he stepped closer. "Really, I mean, seriously, you're gorgeous."

"Thank you, Spencer. You look very handsome too." You said, reaching up to smooth down his lapels when he reached you. Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer.

"Is something wrong? Are you getting cold feet? Cause we don't have to do this-"

"No, no, it's not that." His arms snaked around your waist. "I actually feel a lot better now."

"Really?" You nod, leaning up to press a kiss to the closest place you can reach, his jaw. "What changed?" Spencer asks, his eyebrows furrowed. You turn around, looking in the mirror again. You'd realized what was wrong, what was missing. It was Spencer. What was missing was your fiance on your arm.

Now that you had Spencer, everything felt right. Not even just today, but in your life. It felt like once Penelope had introduced the two of you, everything had fallen into place.

"Do you remember our first date?" You asked, leaning back into his chest.

"Of course I do. Look who you're talking to." He grins and you affectionately roll your eyes.

"I've been thinking about that night lately. Where I would be right now if that night hadn't happened."

"Look, I could sit here and tell you everything I know about how the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state, but... all I'm gonna say is that, right here, right now, I love you. And you love me. And we're getting married. We don't need to think about anything else." You smiled, catching his eye in the mirror.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, careful not to mess up your makeup, and rested his chin on your shoulder. You thought over his words, knowing he was right. It didn't matter what could have happened in this past because you had this now, and you weren't letting it go.

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre, @tinythebunni

[jordiemeow]

Two guys for every girl. Once you boys get started you’ll be at it for hours. Come on boys, I know you’re not damn cowards.

pairing: art donaldson x reader x patrick zweig

summary: vying for one of the bridesmaids at their best friend's wedding gets a little out of hand, but they're tennis players. they aren't above some friendly competition.

warnings: smut, threesome, a trip to paris, throat fucking, drunk sex, tbh i'm lazy just generally 18+

Acting as bridesmaid for a girl you grew out of in college wasn’t really how you planned to spend your summer. Attending dress fittings, rehearsal dinners, bachelorette parties… but hey, free booze is free booze. And Megan’s fiancé Adam (soon-to-be husband) splashed out to pay for all the matching dresses. You reassure yourself you would have felt bad turning her down when she asked you to be a part of her bridal party.

Sure, you hadn’t talked as much over the last few years… but you were inseparable, once upon a time. She clearly hasn’t changed, considering the several breakdowns about table placements and flower arrangements you’ve witnessed over the last few weeks. And you doubt you’ll be best friends after this, but it’s nice to rekindle with someone who was a major part of your life, even if it’s not permanent.

The ceremony itself is beautiful. A beautiful stone chapel, austere lines evoking the early Christian churches of Rome; warm lights bathing the princess gown-sporting bride in an amber glow, stained glass windows glinting behind the wedding party as they read out their “I do’s.” The only modern element of the ridiculously elaborate wedding (yeah, Adam has to be fucking loaded) is the absence of any organ to reflect Megan’s aversion of them. But really, the harp just makes them seem that much more pretentious.

It’s the type of wedding children dream of. But there’s two people who clearly couldn’t give two shits about the white roses or the music being played as your friend walks down the aisle: the groomsmen. One blonde and one brunette, the latter of which is clearly bored of this entire thing, tuning out what the priest has to say and letting his eyes wander.

“Patrick, pay attention,” Art hisses under his breath from where he’s standing behind Patrick, and in clear view of his friend’s lack of interest in the upcoming vows. Considering the congregation makes up of several hundred people (who are definitely just here for the reception and Instagram stories), it’s embarrassing for him to be associated with a disinterested fool.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” Patrick mutters back, with a low whistle that makes Art wince. “Just not to Adam and his gold-digging bride.”

Despite initially feeling the need to jump to their friend’s defence and insist he was perfectly capable of finding a wife—Megan was lovely, as far as Art was concerned—that train of thought vanishes as soon as he follows Patrick’s gaze to the opposite side of the altar. Standing behind the bride and her maid of honour, one of the most beautiful women he’s ever had the privilege of laying eyes upon… you.

He’s not sure how you manage to pull off the bridesmaid dress that the rest of the poor ladies seem to be drowning in, but god, you look gorgeous. A vision in pastel pink, even with that hideously large flower embellishment clinging to your left shoulder. Maybe Patrick had been right about Megan being a bitch for the last two years; nobody who loves their friends willingly puts you in something like that. And yet, against all odds, he’s ready to drop to his knees and worship you right here on the chancel. A true angel, illuminated by the mural of Mother Mary shining through the window. How anyone is paying attention to the bride when you’re standing right there clutching your bouquet of flowers is beyond him.

Patrick’s thoughts are far less pure, of course. Daydreaming about the sound your dress would make when he tears a slit up the back to see what colour your panties are. Fisting his hand in your hair and pulling those ringlets out of your pretty little flower pins, because why would you need those to hold it up when he has a perfectly good hand right here? Bent over the altar, crying out his name like he was your god, and not the Christian deity Father John was currently droning on about watching over Megan and Adam’s nuptials.

Both of them are half-hard in their slacks by the time they hear the priest rejoice, "You may now kiss the bride." Neither of them mention the way they adjust themselves in sync while stepping down to congratulate their friends and take wedding photographs.

Art gets to stand beside you in the pictures. He tries to make small talk about the happy couple, but his throat feels like it's closing up and he already knows he's going to look flushed in the picture album by the end of this. He swears he almost passes out from embarrassment when you regard him with a pitiful look as he stammers over his words trying to tell you he thinks your hair looks lovely.

If the looks Patrick keeps sending his way are any indication, he's royally screwed this up. And that little smirk he flashes as you rush off to gush at the viewfinder suggests he is absolutely going to pay for that fumble later.

He does.

—

"Dibs," Patrick announces, nursing a champagne flute and eyeing you from the opposite side of the reception venue.

Another intricately decorated hall with a local, well-known DJ Adam has connections with. Neither of them would care about the music if it weren't for the fact you looked so fucking good swaying your hips and grinding against another woman to Don't Cha by The Pussycat Dolls. They don't have girlfriends, but yeah, if they did... they'd wish she was hot like you.

"I talked to her first," comes Art's instant protest. He's already downed three glasses by now to quell his nerves, but it's only serving to make him more antsy. At least he probably won't remember any of this come morning.

"Yeah, and look where that got you," he snorts in return, mimicking the pity grimace you had given when Art restarted his sentence for the fifth time. That deflates Art's sails somewhat, and he mutters something about his friend being a dick under his breath.

"Fine. Go talk to her, then. I'll just sit here all by myself and wallow in my own self pity at a celebration of love. Knowing I am forever doomed to be alone."

Patrick shoots him a flat look for that, and Art visibly deflates. Yeah, that was a little dramatic, but he's tipsy and moping about how socially inept he is when it comes to pretty women at weddings. Give him a break.

"Nah, she'll talk to me first. We've been making eyes at each other for thirty minutes. I don't have to do anything."

"So... you aren't going to go talk to her?"

Given Art perks up a little at that, Patrick should probably be a little more sceptical. But he just shakes his head, sipping from his champagne and watching you laugh and excuse yourself from twirling around the floor with that other bridesmaid.

"Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool…” Art hums in reply. Patrick doesn't even get the chance to reply before he's shooting off across the venue to catch you by the refreshments table.

Oh, that's how he's playing this. But Patrick said he wasn't going to talk to you, so it's his fault, really. That's how Art justifies it to himself as he dodges and weaves through dancing couples, tripping over his feet a few times in a bid to get to you.

"Does dibs mean fucking nothing to you?" Patrick hisses as he catches up to Art, just as the pair reach you.

"Hey," Art slurs, a lopsided smile on his face as he pointedly ignores his friend's complaint. "You look... really beautiful. I know I told you that earlier, but you're like... an angel."

Smooth, Donaldson. That's Patrick's queue to swoop in and save him from embarrassment, while hopefully pulling you in the process. He's not above knocking his friend down a few pegs if he really has to, though.

"We've never seen you before," Patrick says, giving you a quick once over that's far more appraising than it ought to be. It's hard not to blush and match the pretty pink alcohol-induced flush on Art's cheeks. "Friends with Megan long?"

"Uh... yeah," you reply, a little sheepish, plucking a h'ordeuvre from the table as you glance between the pair of them. Art isn't sure if you're wary or just amused. "We go way back."

"Really?" Art says, blinking. "Adam's never mentioned you before. Which is weird because he never shuts his—"

"So she's been keeping you a secret from us, then?" Patrick cuts in. God, his best friend gets so mouthy when he's tipsy. He's more of a lightweight than his fucking grandma. At least Nana can tolerate a few eggnogs without running her mouth.

"We just have conflicting schedules," you smile. "Not teenagers anymore, you know?"

You don't mention the fact you've hardly had contact with Megan since her twentieth birthday, where she deemed your gift lacklustre and cut you out of her social circle over the following weeks. Maybe that attitude is why she had been so desperate to have you as a bridesmaid in the first place—nobody else would stick around to deal with bridezilla.

"What about you and Adam?" You add a moment later, when both men giving little hums of acknowledgement. You pretend not to notice the way Art downs the last of his champagne as liquid courage before he gives his answer.

"Well, Adam's been our—"

"My friend since I was a kid," Patrick interjects again. Art sends him a look of inebriated betrayal, but the brunette is too busy eyeing up your cleavage as he talks to take much notice of it. "Our parents work together. Art's a groomsman because he's an extension of me. Fire and Ice, right, bud?"

A little nudge to Art's side, who looks thoroughly dejected at the depiction of his relationship with Adam. And the fact he's just come off as Patrick's little sidekick. So fucking unfair.

"... Right," he mutters.

"Fire and Ice? What's that?" You offer, in the hopes it'll brighten his spirits. It seems to work.

"We're tennis players. That's our nickname. A little childish, but we've been called that since we were kids."

"So you've known each other a long time?"

"Since we were twelve. Bunkmates at tennis camp," Patrick chips in helpfully, crooked grin permanently plastered on his face as he eyes you intently.

Well, they certainly have the build for it. Not that their suits leave much on display, but you can still see the way Art's muscles strain a little against the sleeves—his suit clearly isn't as tailored as Patrick's—and the way Patrick's ditched his bowtie to unbutton a few buttons of his shirt to give you a peek of his chest hair. And if the way he keeps reaching for h'ordeuvres to give him a peek of your ass every time he leans around you is any indication, that view is definitely intentional.

"So... which one's Fire, and which one's Ice?" You ask, glancing between the pair with a tilted head. Art seems eager to reply with a genuine reply, because he's just tipsy enough to actually be comfortable with you now, but Patrick speaks up before he can open his mouth.

"Why don't you find out?"

And, despite your better judgement, you intend to take him up on that. Spending the next hour at the reception taking candid photos and alternating between dancing with the pair of them; two gorgeous men on your arm, each equally as eager for your attention as the other. Suddenly, the last few months of Megan's temper tantrums feel worth it.

Not to mention you never expected Art to be able to breakdance. Five champagnes in and he's tearing up that floor, a far cry from the man who blushed crimson when the photographer asked him to place his hand on the small of your back after the ceremony.

—

When you all get a little too tipsy, they offer to walk you back to your hotel. You're all staying in the same one, anyways. It's no hassle. No point in sticking 'round here. Party would be boring without you. You can't remember which one of them told you that, but it was flattering nonetheless. Adam placed all of the bridesmaid's on the same floor, insisting it was the least he could do, but Patrick... well, apparently he has a presidential suite, so how could you possibly deny him when he offers to show you? That's the only reason you're going up to their room. Couldn't be anything else.

You trail in after them, heels hanging from your hand as you take in the sight. You're pretty sure this place is bigger than your entire apartment. Hell, the complimentary wine and gift basket on the table probably cost more than one month's rent for you.

"You look like a kid in a candy store," Patrick remarks, lips quirked up into a little smirk as he watches you ogle the sight. Both of them shrug off their jackets and abandon them on two armchairs, leaving you another sight to ogle.

"This place is... nice," you manage, eyes trained on the way Art is removing his cufflinks and rolling his shirt up to his elbows, muttering something about it being way too hot in here before collapsing into one of the arm chairs.

You almost make a remark about how it'd be considerably more tolerable if he just took the shirt off entirely, but Patrick beats you to that idea. Peeling off his own shirt and grinning to himself like a fucking idiot when he catches a glimpse of you admiring the way the muscles in his back flex as he moves. He even gives an exaggerated stretch and a groan to really seal the deal.

You have to take a seat and squeeze your thighs together after that.

"Nice is an understatement, babe," he replies. Babe? He's ballsy. Art is just drunk enough not to mask the exaggerated roll of his eyes he gives at Patrick's choice of words.

The three of you pop open that expensive bottle of wine and pass it around for another thirty minutes (with Patrick gradually giving Art less and less time to hog the bottle the drunker he gets), chatting about Adam and his stupid wife Megan and their stupid wedding. About tennis, and your own career, and who you think is going to win the Olympics this year or whether there are really aliens in the ocean. The kind of stupid shit drunk people discuss just because the conversation is as seemingly bottomless as the wine bottle you're drinking. You somehow manage to persevere throughout it all without staring at Patrick's chest too much.

"Well, I should probably go," you say, standing up (just a little wobbly on your feet) and offering a grateful smile to the pair of them. "Definitely going to be nursing a hangover in the morning."

"Wait—" They both protest in sync, sitting up.

You tilt your head at them, questioning.

"Aren't you going to sleep with one of us?"

Well, that's tactful, Zweig. Art reaches over to smack him up the back of the head, sending you a wordless apology in the form of a wide-eyed look, like a dog that's about to be scolded. But you take it in your stride, laughing as you pick up your heels.

"I don't want to pick between you. Seems mean," you reply. And you don't think you even could choose.

"You don't have to pick between either of us," Art says hastily. Even Patrick seems to be surprised by that. They've joked about sharing girls for years, ever since the Kat Zimmerman incident, but he never thought Art would be the one to actually suggest it. He averts his eyes when Patrick is searching for a towel after the shower, for Christ's sake.

But Patrick recovers quickly.

"Yeah," he chips in. "Don't you wanna find out which one of us is which?"

That gives you pause. Right. Fire and Ice. And judging by the victorious look they share at your silence, all of you are aware of the decision you've subconsciously made.

Your clothes don't take long to disappear. A tangle of limbs backing up into the master bedroom (Patrick's), hair pins discarded in a bid to yank your head back and mouth along the expanse of your neck, both men in just boxers before long. Touching each other in ways that are far from platonic but they'll both blame on alcohol and wanting to get the three of you undressed as quickly as possible.

"This is really ugly. I'm sorry," Art tells you candidly, as you straddle him on the bed. His fingers are tracing the large pink rose pinned to the shoulder of your dress, and you bark out a surprised laugh. The pair of you are giggling like idiots between kisses, insulting Megan's taste in bridalwear before there's a loud tearing sound, and suddenly you can feel the humid air hitting the back of your thighs.

That's Patrick. Doing the things he's fantasised about since he first saw you at the altar and ripping up the back of your dress to reveal your underwear. God, they're even better than he expected.

"Patrick, what the fuck—" Art starts, but his friend makes a kissing sound through his teeth.

"What? She said Adam paid for it. It's fine," Patrick mutters. "Besides, it was so fucking worth it. You should see the view back here, man."

His fingers trail over the dampness of your panties, the lacy white just as pure as Megan's wedding dress. If he wasn't already hard in his boxers (he has been since you entered their hotel room), he certainly is now. Pushing the fabric of your dress further out of the way and leaning in to lick a stripe over your panties, a low groan slipping past his lips at how soaked they are just from kissing. You would be embarrassed but... double the men, double the wetness, right?

Your hips jerk involuntarily at the sensation, a pair of matching moans escaping you and Art as it grinds you down against his clothed erection.

"I don't think Megan would be very happy you wore white on her wedding day," Patrick says, smiling against your clothed cunt as you push back against him.

"Fuck Megan," you reply breathlessly.

"No, fuck you," he shoots back. And he very well intends to. Both of them do, actually, given the way Art is whining and arching his back off the mattress in an uncoordinated attempt to get any friction against you. He's pretty sure he might cum untouched just from the sheer anticipation of it all.

Your panties go next, lost to the heap of the rest of your clothes on the floor. It doesn't take long for strong, calloused hands to rest on your ass, spreading you open so he can tongue-fuck your pussy. Mumbling something unintelligibly about how you taste even better than the wedding cake while your whines synchronise with Art in between sharing lips and spit. Stubble grazing your face and your ass, all three of your mouths too busy for any more wisecracks.

At one point, Art tries to snake his hand in between you and rub your clit, but the front of your dress is still in the way. He still makes the effort to roll his fingers against it over the fabric of your dress, and the sound you make in reply tells him he's at least contributing somewhat to the mess Patrick is making of you. He's content enough to just lick into your mouth greedily and swallow the keening sounds you're making.

"Cumming—" is all you manage to gasp out between kisses before you're clenching around nothing, and Patrick is lapping dutifully at your release. All three of you are groaning like the orgasm is shared between you. It's only when you're bordering on overstimulation and letting out pathetic little whimpers that Art realises he's still circling your clit on autopilot, and his hand falls back to grip the sheets.

"God, she's so fucking pretty when she cums," he moans, and you'd be offended by the fact he's talking about you like you're not here if you weren't so blissed out. "You should have seen her face, Pat."

"I'll see the next one," Patrick says.

Next one? Both a promise and a statement. Just hearing that has you whimpering as Art eases you off of him. Both of them help you out of your dress, a little more gently this time, and you have to ignore the comment Patrick makes about no bra, just for me? You don't have it in you to explain built-in cups and the power of pasties to a man right now. You just want to get fucked. It's only then, when you're all spread out and wanting on the bed, that you realise the wet patches in their matching black boxers (cute, you think) are just as vivid as the one that no doubt stains your lost panties.

"Jesus, you're big." You didn't mean to say that out loud, but you're in too deep to be ashamed about any of the events transpiring right now.

"Which one?" They both ask. The question goes unanswered when you start palming them both through their boxers, a chorus of moans elicited from the pair of them. (You all know the answer, anyways.) Hands grabbing at whoever they can touch, whether it's you or each other, until Patrick has the sense to yank down Art's boxers.

The protest dies on Art's tongue when he sees the way Patrick is eyeing his cock, flushed red tip glinting under the harsh hotel lights with the amount of pre-cum smeared across it. There's a moment where you all think he's going to touch him, wrap a hand around his closest friend's pretty pink dick and jerk him off, but then he simply shrugs off his own underwear. You aren't sure which one of you is more disappointed.

Everything is a haze from then onwards. You can vaguely hear them discussing positions as you kiss at Art's neck, red lipstick mottling his pale skin until it's hard to tell which stains are makeup and which are hickeys.

"We can't ask her to do anal, man. We hardly know her."

"Why not? I bet she'd like it. Fucked in both at once."

"Because that's... it's violating!"

"Oh, right. Because whatever else we're about to do won't be. Real innocent, vanilla sex with three drunk people in our fucking hotel room."

Fucking hotel room. The double-meaning of Patrick's own words makes him snort. The only reason they stop whispering back and forth is because you pull away, settling on all fours. Back arched in a silent invitation, pretty little ass stuck up in the air and arms braced against the silk sheets. They glance at each other, before scrambling to follow, with Art shoving Patrick aside to press himself behind you.

"Why do you get her pussy?" Patrick protests, sitting up and fixing his best friend with an indignant look.

"You said you wanted to see her face when she cums!"

Fuck. He did say that. Stupid logic. Well, it's not as if your throat would be unpleasant; he wonders if your mouth will be as welcoming to his cock as it was his tongue.

"C'mon," you whine, pressing back against Art's throbbing arousal. "Can one of you just do something?"

"D'you want me to use a condom? 'Cause my wallet is in my jacket in the next room—" Art starts, but you're already reaching back to guide his tip between your slick folds. Well, that's an answer if he's ever witnessed one.

Patrick is too busy getting situated in front of your face to make a comment about filthy girls taking it raw. Art's almost disappointed—he'd never be brave enough to make the comment himself. One large palm cupping your face, tilting your head up while the other slaps his cock against your lips. Whatever gloss they'd kissed off was replaced in a new sheen, one that makes him give a soft hum of approval.

"You look pretty," he tells you, and your thanks dies on your tongue when Art pushes into you. Easing himself in inch by inch, until you're practically drooling onto Patrick's tip. "God, what a fucking sight." For a moment, his eyes are on the way Art's face contorts in pleasure at the tight warmth surrounding him. It's even hotter than the way he looked when they used to jerk off in the same room at night.

"Open wide," he instructs, eyes flitting down to you. Smiling down at you with that shit-eating little grin and talking to you like you're at the dentist, not getting spit roasted after your friend's wedding. "Big girls take it all, right?"

You oblige, though—how could you not, when your senses are clouded by Art drilling into you from behind? A few more slaps of his cock against your tongue, and he's pushing himself in, too. His breath catches in his throat as the warm wetness of your mouth envelopes him—yeah, definitely just as welcoming.

You can hardly tell who's moaning at this point. There's something almost beautiful in the synchrony, the way your hands and bodies move against each other. Clutching at Patrick's hips, while he fists your hair, admiring the way the ringlets spill through his fingers like a waterfall as he pushes you down further; gagging at the intrusion in your throat while Art whimpers behind you like this is his first time getting pussy. Each of you are in your own individual heaven, while simultaneously in ecstasy together.

"Good fuckin' girl, just like that—"

"Oh, Pat, she's so tight—"

A hand slaps against your ass, and you can't tell who it belongs to. Patrick seems like the most likely culprit, given how sweet Art had been earlier, but with the way he's ramming into you like a jackhammer leaves you doubtful. It doesn't really matter, though—they both know you enjoyed it, given the way you garble out a moan around Patrick's dick. You don't know if you're praying for mercy or for more.

He lets you come up for air occasionally, telling you how pretty you look taking Art's cock. Such a good girl, before you're being degraded for letting him fuck your throat like a slut. There's no time for arguments before his tip is at the back of your throat again, the sound of your gag reflex going off hardly audible over the sound of moaning, wet slapping and skin hitting skin.

You think you know now. Fire and Ice.

Art reaches around to rub your clit at some point, slurring, "want you to cum first. You deserve it. So fucking good for us."

Patrick makes a sound of disagreement, tightening his grip in your hair as his hips begin to stutter. Not because you aren't being good for them—you're so fucking perfect—but because he wants to be able to see and hear you properly when you cum. He doesn't have the vocal capabilities to voice that aloud right now, though, so he just continues to thrust eagerly past your swollen lips until his climax hits him. You'd be worried about the obscene slew of noises coming from Patrick's hotel room if it weren't a presidential fucking suite. God, why does that make this so much hotter?

He groans out your name—or maybe it was Art's?—as he releases, holding your head in place to ensure it's all aimed down your throat. The salty taste isn't foreign to you, but you still grimace. Patrick takes it as an expression of pleasure, though, withdrawing from your mouth and leaning down to press his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss.

"You can cum," he murmurs. You weren't asking for permission, but you nod anyways. Art's grunts of exertion are the loudest sound in the room, the occasional whine slipping past his lips when your cunt squeezes harder around him. Slick fingers circling your clit until he feels you convulsing around him.

You mewl with pleasure, bowing your head forward, your arms and legs threatening to give way from your arched position. But Patrick catches your chin and tilts it upwards, watching the way your eyes roll back as Art fucks you through your orgasm and your spit-slick lips part around his name. “Art, fuck, yeah—“ It's only after Art announces his own climax with a low moan and collapses on top of you that Patrick is kind enough to wipe the drool coating your chin away.

It's all a bit of a blur after that. Shared kisses between the three of you in the darkness when the light has been switched off—sometimes between Art and Patrick, though neither of them have any intentions of acknowledging it. Gentle caresses against sweaty skin as you lay tangled in Patrick's queen-sized bed, praises whispered aimlessly into the quiet of the humid night.

—

You're gone by the time they wake up. A walk of shame back to your own hotel room in a shirt borrowed from one of their suitcases (you don't know which), mourning the loss of that ugly dress you wanted to sell on eBay afterwards to cover dinner for the month. Neither of them speak of the events that occurred the night before until after breakfast has been ordered and Art has taken several pills for his hangover, eating room service on the same chairs you all sat on last night, their jackets still strewn across the back of them.

"I think that was better than either of us getting laid alone," Art comments, poking at his egg with his fork. Both of them are littered with hickeys, but Art bears the worst of it. He's pretty sure most of the marks came from cuddling with Patrick in bed afterwards, but he’s too afraid to mention it. Not a can of worms he wants to open right now.

"Yeah?" Patrick prompts, with a knowing little smile. Even tired and hungover, Art has enough wits about him to know that something is up. He narrows his eyes, dropping his cutlery onto his plate and sitting up straighter.

"What?" He demands.

"Nothing."

Art leans forward. "There's obviously something, Pat."

"Just... when have I ever not approached a girl I wanted?"

It takes a moment for Art to really process what that means. Last night was a pleasurable, drunken haze, but he does remember Patrick's words in the reception hall. It makes sense now—that bullshit about Patrick waiting for you to approach him.

... Manipulative little bastard. That doesn't stop Art from replying with:

"Fuck you, man." A pause. "... But I think we should do that again some time."

[rafeandonlyrafe]

tiny heels and future plans

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, soft!rafe, dad!rafe, toddler daughter, p in v sex, unprotected sex, talk of pregnancy, wedding (not readers)

words: 1.5k

“you always look gorgeous.” rafe says, a slight grin on his face giving away that he's not fully conveying his true feelings.

“but…”

“but that dress is ridiculous.” rafe lets his laughter out, watching you frown at first before joining him in chuckling as you look in the mirror.

“it really is horrible, huh.”

“well, it's your aunt's taste so…” rafe shrugs. you twirl back towards rafe.

“tacky.” you both say at the same time.

“i hope her idea for the flower girl dress is better than this.” rafe looks to the door, knowing jada will be getting up from her nap soon. 

“actually, i told her that we would take care of it.” you watch as rafe smile grows, realizing your daughter wouldn’t be stuck in a neon yellow dress covered in ruffles like her mama is.

“thank god.” rafe sighs. “and about you changing after the ceremony?”

“i was not able to convince her of that… yet.” you tsk. when your aunt invited you to be a part of her wedding, you didn’t even assume for a second it would be understated simply because its her fourth. she’s never been one to shy away from a big event, but being the richest woman in the outer banks means she gets away with her taste being pastels and colorful patterns.

“maybe you could tell her you still breastfeed jada sometimes and need a dress with a better top for it.” rafe shrugs. he doesn’t care what you wear, but he knows you would prefer not to be stuck in that so called dress for the entire evening.

“that’s actually not a terrible idea.” you admit before turning around, rafes hands coming to unlace the corset back as you let the dress fall to the floor. no point in trying to avoid wrinkles when there’s a million layers of ruffles.

“mmm, now that’s much better.” rafe smirks, eyes moving up and down your body, now only covered in your undergarments

you both move with a measured quickness, predicting each others next movements with fluidity until you both end up on the bed, lips attached together.

rafe is just about to reach behind your back to unclip your bra when you hear little footsteps coming down the hallway.

“the one time i need her to stay napping for longer…” rafe groans, rolling off the bed to intercept your toddler so you can get dressed in peace.

“this is what you get for always wanting her to get up earlier because you miss her.” you laugh as rafe sends a look to you before closing the door.

--

“i saw you shed a tear.” you say, causing rafe to whip around.

“jesus, how could i not.” he shakes his head, taking jada from your arms now that pictures with the wedding party were finished.

“are you hungry baby girl?” rafe asks.

“yes!” jada’s eyes light up. “wedding cake!”

you made the mistake of telling jada there would be cake at the wedding when going over what the day would look like, but you have been able to use it to your advantage, like promising her a whole slice if she walks straight down the aisle without stopping or crying.

“we have to wait for auntie tilly to cut the cake first, then we can eat.” you explain. jada looks to rafe with big eyes, her bottom lip pouting out.

“jada, don’t look at me like that.” rafe groans. jada has learned that she can get her way anytime she pouts to her dad.

“i think theres french fries inside, why don’t we have those first, hm?” you offer jada, who is happy enough to accept the compromise for now.

“so, yellow bridesmaid dress all night?” rafe asks as you head into the venue, your aunt continuing to take pictures with her new husband, only 30 some odd years her junior.

“yes, rafe.” you sigh. “i have not been able to convince her since you last asked me half an hour ago.” “well, you look pretty either way.” rafe turns jada in his arms so he can look at her, holding her close to his chest as a group of people walk by. “doesn’t mommy look pretty?”

you both know you should let her walk more, but she’s just so little you’re afraid of her getting trampled by wedding guests, and the fact that she’s not stable in her little heels doesn’t help your anxiety. “yes!” jada squeals her answer before cuddling into rafes neck.

--

“poor sleepy girl.” you laugh, one hand rubbing up and down rafes back while the other strokes jadas.

“i told her this was the last song we were dancing to.” rafe doesn’t bother to whisper, no amount of noise could keep jadas droopy eyes from closing. the party would still be going on for a few more hours, but as the final note of the song plays, you make your way quickly out of the venue.

“im gonna sit in back with her.” you tell rafe as you load jada into the carseat, knowing that if she happens to wake up on the ride home she won’t be happy about leaving the wedding.

“sounds like a plan.” rafe agrees, rounding the car to go to the drivers seat, wanting to get both of you home as quickly as possible.

after you’ve gotten back and unloaded the car (or at least most of it, some can always wait for morning), rafe takes jada to change her into her pajamas while you manage to get yourself out of the mess of ruffles.

“ah, my timing is perfect yet again.” rafe smirks as he walks into the room, just having taken off your bra.

“and definitely no baby to interrupt us this time.” you smile as you flop back onto the bed. with as big of a day as jada had, it’s even likely that she sleeps in tomorrow. 

rafe sets the baby monitor down on the night table anyways, always a little more cautious than you.

“can i say something corny?” you ask as rafe lays down next to you, his eyes moving from your exposed breasts up to your eyes.

“of course.”

“im so glad that when we got married i knew it would just be us. like- i just mean watching my aunt marry and divorce, marry and divorce. knowing that we would just be together.”

“i completely know what you mean.” rafe agrees. when he first told you he loved you, he also admitted you were the first person he's ever loved, that he had to do years of work on himself to get to the point where he even could.

you know about his past only through what he's told you and the little bit of gossip you've heard around the island, having not lived in the outer banks before moving in with your aunt in your early 20s.

“and now look at us.” you smile. “we have jada, this house, and a beautiful family.”

“a beautiful family that…” rafe bats his eyelashes at you, and that's how you know this is something he really wants. “i would love to expand.”

“i-” you can't help but laugh, a big smile stretching over your cheeks. “i already stopped taking my birth control. i was going to talk to you about it tonight.”

rafe can't help but surge forward and kiss you. he should have known that you were already feeling the same, already together in your future plans.

you pull rafe so he's hovering over top of you, your arms moving up and down his toned shoulders and biceps.

“let's get started right now.” you smile up at him.

--

“please.” you whine out, back arching off the bed. “please, rafe, i need it.”

his thumb circles teasingly around your clit again, never hitting it quite right to send you over the edge. 

“mmm, i guess you should cum first.” rafe pumps his hips again, knowing he's not too far from spilling into you himself.

“considering you work so hard growing out little ones.” its funny that rafe has already started to refer to your multiple children, despite jadas sibling being just a thought for now.

“yeah.” you nod. “let me cum.”

rafe finally relents, thumb not just touching your clit but rubbing into you, pulling and pushing on your flesh as your nerves light up, feeling the sensation throughout your whole body as your back aches and you let out a cry, wishing you could keep your eyes open to watch as rafe jaw falls open as he cums into you, but they squeeze shut, stars showing on your eyelids.

“fuck, fuck- y/n.” rafe grunts before whimpering your name, collapsing onto the bed but not before taking you with him, keeping your hips flushed together so you're now laying on top of his, softening cock still inside of you.

“can't pull out yet.” rafe just says, squeezing your ass as you nuzzle into his chest, knowing his mission from now until you're showing is to make sure there's another addition to your family soon.

[supernovafics]

𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

pairing: bestfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k words

summary: in which a middle of the night conversation with steve reminds you both that things are changing 

warnings: explicit language, mixed pov, a bit of drunk!reader, one sided pining (allegedly), very angsty

author’s note: i’ve been working on a really long steve fic (which is like 90 percent done and will hopefully see the light of day very very soon) and i took a break from it and somehow this was born in a matter of days. inspired by the song midnight blue by electric light orchestra. enjoy<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You wanna get out of here?”

The music was loud, even as the night started to finally come to its end, but you still heard Steve clearly. 

“I thought you’d never ask, Harrington,” You turned to him sitting next to you at this empty table in the backyard of your aunt’s now husband’s house. 

The little smile you gave Steve made his eyebrows furrow. “How drunk are you right now?”

You scoffed as you shook your head. “Not at all.”

Your words were pretty much immediately proven opposite when you stood up from the table and stumbled a bit. Steve was by your side immediately, grabbing your arm to keep you from falling. 

“So, what was that you were saying about not being drunk at all?”

“Okay, that only just happened because of how long this stupid dress is, no other reason.”

Your bridesmaid dress had been the bane of your existence all day— it was way too long and designed to be tight in places that made everything more difficult— and then coupled with the heels you had to wear with it, you were honestly surprised you hadn’t toppled over sooner. You didn’t expect a wedding taking place in a backyard, even as huge and spacious as this one was, to be so incredibly fancy, but it was. 

Steve didn’t say anything in response to your previous words and instead simply slipped his hand in yours as you two started walking away from the table.  

“Do you wanna say bye to your mom before we leave?”

“No thanks,” You shook your head. “I’d rather her not see me drunk right now.”

Steve smiled at you. “Hey, that’s progress, at least you’re admitting it now.”

You only rolled your eyes at him as he led you two out of the backyard and toward his car. 

“This is your fault, by the way.”

The laugh Steve let out was immediate. “Ah yes, because I’m the one who kept giving you glasses of champagne, and it definitely wasn’t you grabbing one every time a server passed by.”

“I’m glad you’re taking full responsibility,” You said, smiling at him as you got into his passenger seat. 

The drive to Steve’s place managed to sober you up for the most part, and it also made you very tired. 

“Okay, here’s a t-shirt and shorts,” Steve said, holding the clothing items out for you to grab, but you didn’t because you were sitting at the foot of his bed, trying, and failing, to unzip the zipper at the back of your dress. He gave you an amused smile. “Do you need help?” 

“Yes, please,” You nodded as you stood up from his bed and turned around so that he could do it. You started slipping the straps off your shoulders once he was done.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said, leaving you to change into the clothes he gave you. 

You were in his bed with the Hawkins High t-shirt on along with the basketball shorts that you tied tightly at your hips when he returned with two glasses of water.  

You turned on your side to face him once he was changed out of his fancy wedding clothes and slipped into bed next to you.

“This is the second time in a row that you’ve been the sober one taking care of me. Next time you have to get drunk so I can take care of you,” You said and then booped the tip of his nose with your finger. “Things are starting to feel a little unfair in this friendship.”

Steve let out a laugh, and you figured he was thinking back to last week when you two went to a party at some old high school friend’s lake house; the punch had been lethal, to say the least. “Okay, I promise to get super drunk at your going away party next week.” 

At the mention of your goodbye party— which was meant to be a happy and joyous occasion to celebrate you moving to Chicago— your smile faltered. Hearing about the party, reminded you that things were changing; that everything was going to be entirely different soon. 

And you’d been avoiding that thought a lot lately, even as you slowly started packing up your childhood bedroom, and found a place in Chicago with the help of your mom because a friend of hers was renting a place out.

Pretty much everyone in your life knew that you weren’t the best with change, and you’d avoid it at all costs if you could, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t understand that sometimes it simply had to happen. It was a contradictory mindset— you hated change, but it also made sense to you. 

It did still really suck, though. 

You suddenly sniffled and one of your hands came up to wipe at your face, and you quickly turned around so that you weren’t facing Steve anymore.

“Hey,” His voice was soft. “Are you crying?”

You didn’t outwardly answer his question. “It’s stupid, but I’m just now realizing that this is the last time we’ll do this. After next week, there’s probably not gonna be another night like this one.”

What you didn’t tell him was that you had a feeling that once you left, your friendship wouldn’t be the same anymore. And how could it be when you were moving to a different state and you were going to go from seeing him almost every day to probably only a handful of times a year?

The pros were supposed to outweigh the cons, and on paper, they did. You had always wanted to live in Chicago, and you were moving there for what was essentially your dream job— two very solid pros. However, the biggest con was leaving Steve, and that suddenly felt like it outweighed everything. 

“It sucks, but in a good way, if that makes sense,” Steve told you as he shifted closer to wrap a comforting arm around you. “It really sucks that you’re leaving, but you’re leaving to do something that you really want to do, so that’s great.”

“It’s bittersweet,” You said the word he was looking for. Your hand found his beneath the blanket and intertwined it with yours. His words were completely right, and in a way, they did comfort you.

“Yeah, exactly,” Steve responded, giving your hand a light, reassuring squeeze. 

“You should come with me,” You whispered to him. It was the first time you offered, and you slightly regretted not asking sooner. 

But, you hadn’t because you knew how much he really liked his life here— working at Family Video with Robin and driving the kids around everywhere (which he claimed he hated, but you knew he secretly loved it). And then there was a part of you that wanted to pretend that things weren’t really changing, so that was another reason why you hadn’t asked him. 

“I can’t,” He whispered back. “It just wouldn’t make sense, y’know?”

You simply nodded, even though he probably couldn’t see you. His words shouldn’t have hurt you, and you really shouldn’t have suddenly felt so sad about everything and so scared about the future too, but you still kind of did. 

Suddenly, you were no longer tired, but you truly wished that you could force yourself to sleep. And when a few minutes of keeping your eyes shut and hoping that would make you fall asleep didn’t work, you pulled the blanket off of you and got out of bed.  

“Where are you going?” You heard Steve ask from behind you. 

And when you didn’t answer and instead continued walking out of his bedroom, he got out of bed to follow you.

Steve hadn’t wanted to say no to you. If the circumstances were different, he would’ve said yes and uprooted his entire life to move with you to Chicago in a heartbeat. But, he couldn’t do that. 

And he was glad that you didn’t push further on the topic because if you would’ve asked him what he meant when he said, “It just wouldn’t make sense,” he wasn’t sure what he would’ve said with in response; if he would’ve lied or mustered up the courage to finally tell you the truth. 

However, he knew that there was really no point in being honest anymore. He loved you, but you were leaving, so what would be the point of finally admitting it to you? 

This secret that he had been keeping tight to his chest for years at this point would only complicate things, and probably confuse you, and definitely ruin the friendship you two had if he told you. 

He’d gotten good at pretending that nothing had changed on his side of things, and he was okay with continuing to pretend if that meant keeping things good between you and him. 

In this moment, though, he wasn’t sure if things were good between you two. 

He wondered if you were pissed at him for saying no to moving with you to Chicago and if that was why you left his room. He followed you out into the hallway and down the stairs and then out into his backyard. 

You sat down at the edge of the pool and put your feet in. Steve didn’t question you— although he did want to ask where this sudden energy had come from because he could’ve sworn that you had been falling asleep in his car barely an hour ago— and instead simply followed suit. 

The water was warm because of the heater that his parents never turned off, and Steve watched as you kicked your legs every now and again. Neither of you said anything, and it was hard for Steve to tell if this silence was comfortable or not. 

After what felt like an hour’s worth of silence, he asked, “Are you mad at me?”

You shook your head at him as you sighed. “I don’t think I could ever be mad at you, Steve.” You kicked your legs again. “Things are just feeling a lot more bitter than sweet right now.”

Before Steve could say anything in response to that, you were standing up and then looking down at him. “It’s barely midnight. Let’s get in the pool.”

“Um, okay. You wanna change? I think you left your swimsuit here from when we swam a couple of days ago.” 

“No, it’s fine,” You said and then proceeded to jump in. 

“You sure you’re not still drunk?” Steve asked with an amused smile when your head emerged from the water. 

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him. “I’m as sober as a baby, Harrington. Now get in.” 

He smiled wider at you, things felt okay again. He jumped in the pool fully clothed as well, and you were smiling at him when his head popped up. 

You quickly complained about how heavy your clothes felt, and you pulled off the soaked t-shirt and shorts and set them on the ground next to the pool, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. Steve made a point of keeping his eyes locked on yours. On paper, this wasn’t that different from the many times he’d seen you in a bikini, but something about this felt a little different.

He, of course, pretended that it didn’t, though. Mainly because of how unfazed you seemed. 

Both of you ended up floating on your backs and looking up at the stars. There was a night back in middle school when you two had done exactly this, minus the pool. You two had been in your backyard staring up at the sky, and you rattled off the constellations you knew and then proceeded to make up names for others, but Steve thought you were telling the truth. And he probably would’ve thought that way forever if you hadn’t told him the next morning that half of the names weren’t true. 

He still remembered most of the fake names, and in this moment, he reminded you of them. 

You laughed immediately. “I can’t believe you still remember that.” 

“How could I ever forget the first lies you ever told me?” Steve joked.

“That was early on in our friendship. I wanted you to think I was cool.”

He let out an amused sound. “Oh, yes, because you knowing the name of every constellation would definitely make me think you’re cool and not the biggest nerd ever.”

“Shut up,” You told him, but still laughed. “My logic wasn’t all that great back then.” 

Steve only hummed in response and turned his head to look at you for a second. You were still looking up, but there was a certain look on your face that he couldn’t decipher.  

“You know the worst part about cities?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed at your question and how random it seemed. “What?” 

“You don’t get to see this every night.” 

He nodded even though you couldn’t see him. “You should add that to the cons.”

“How do you know I made a pro-con list?”

“Because I know you and every big decision you make has to have a pro-con list.” 

You got quiet, and Steve worried that he offended you, but he wasn’t making fun of you at all. He loved you and your lists. 

“Well, you should also know that you’re at the top of the con list,” You told him, and moved so that you were no longer looking up at the sky but instead looking at Steve, and he followed suit. “It says ‘There’s no Steve’ in all capital letters.” 

He could feel his heart squeeze in his chest upon hearing you say that.

“I feel honored. Truly,” He responded and gave you a playful smile because he didn’t want things to turn too serious again.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” You said softly, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around him. “A lot. So much. Maybe even too much.” 

Steve’s attempt at keeping things light failed, but he didn’t care. His arms immediately circled your waist. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

Things became quiet again, and when you pulled away, you splashed him with water. 

“What was that for?” He asked with a laugh as he wiped at his face. 

You gave him a small, sad smile. “Maybe I am a little mad at you.”

Your joking words came out soft, almost as if they weren’t entirely a joke, and Steve immediately felt bad. 

“I would go with you, and a part of me really does want to. Seriously. But, it’s just that…” He trailed off, not knowing the best way to say what he needed to. The words just wouldn’t form on his lips.  

You shook your head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it. I know that you like your life here, and you don’t wanna move to a city. Chicago has always been my “dream,” not yours. It’s okay. Honestly.” 

It’s not that, was what Steve wanted to say in response to your words. It was probably what he should’ve said. However, he realized that everything would be a lot easier if you just believed that.

“I’ll visit you all the time,” He promised instead. 

That made you smile. “Good.”

You two ended up back in his bed half an hour later. With dry clothes on and a comfortable silence lingering in the air. You fell asleep quickly, but Steve couldn’t, for some reason. 

His mind was running a million miles a minute, and his thoughts were going back and forth. For the first time, he was actually considering going with you to Chicago. He thought about how fun it could be; how new and exciting. 

His head became an unending push and pull. One side of him was telling him that he should do it and go, but everything else in him was saying the complete opposite. 

Being hopelessly in love with you here in Hawkins felt like one thing; he could pretend that he wasn’t pining, like he’d been doing for the past couple of years. But, if he moved with you to Chicago— just you two in a new city— he felt like it would be damn near impossible to not blurt it out and potentially fuck up everything. 

However, even though he knew that, he also kind of wanted to just lean into the part of him that was saying, “Do it. Go with her and see what happens. Maybe she even feels the same way.”

Sometimes Steve liked thinking about the moment things had changed for him; he could recall it quite easily. It was a month after his breakup with Nancy, and you dragged him to a random classmate’s party to help cheer him up because you knew that he was still feeling a little melancholic about it all. The party sucked so you ended up going to the movies, a midnight showing of some terrible horror film and you two were the only ones in the theater. 

You made jokes the entire time, trying to keep things light and fun, and something shifted inside of him. He suddenly felt so fucking grateful for you, that you were in his life and had been since middle school. He always felt lucky to have you in his life, but that time in the empty movie theater felt different.  

That time when your hand instinctively found his during a part of the movie that actually was pretty scary, all he could think was, I love you. I’m in love with you. 

It hit him so abruptly, and he initially chalked it up to still being sad about his breakup, but even after he felt entirely over Nancy, these new feelings for you never went away. And it was as if he instinctively knew that he could never tell you; it felt like no question that he’d have to keep it a secret.  

In this moment, Steve turned on his side away from you and closed his eyes, hoping that he could just force himself to sleep.  

But, no, he instead thought about something from earlier at the wedding, you and him dancing to a slow song that neither of you recognized. It was early on in the reception, before you started accepting every glass of champagne that came your way. 

You thanked him for coming with you to the way too fancy wedding— you had asked him last second when you realized just how many estranged and random family members you’d see and have to talk to and you couldn’t bear the thought of suffering through that alone, and he found someone to cover his Family Video shift when you called him in an anxiety-induced panic. 

Steve immediately told you that there was no need to thank him because he would always be by your side whenever you needed it, and you pulled him in for a hug and told him that you’d do the exact same for him too. 

“This is gonna sound super cliche and stupid, but hear me out. This is the best part about being best friends,” You had also said. “We’ll always be there for each other, and I don’t think anything’s gonna change that.”

Steve nodded and gave you a small, amused smile. “That is very cliche, but you’re also very right.”

He remembered how true his words felt in the moment. 

He now fully understood that he couldn’t let a confession potentially change everything that was so right and good between you two. It made sense why his initial thought when he realized how he felt was to bury it down and keep it a secret.

This, what you two had, was enough. 

And it felt okay continuing to believe that. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333