#(and a matchmaker)

[wojtekaneko]

well that was awkward

[yapperingtinaa]

Luke and Kieran personally gifting Sylus a vinyl record, emphasizing this particular one to be extremely rare and special - especially with the attached note of your handwriting that wrote,

from me and the twins to you ♡

Sylus remained silent as he raised an eyebrow at the already unwrapped box of a single black vinyl disc, half wondering if the twins actually took their time to listen to his type of classical music just to buy this gift for him, before placing said vinyl record on the gramophone.

But Sylus was caught off guard by the melody that resonated in his office room; a serene tone, a familiar singing voice, your voice -

A recording of your singing resounding in the air, your sweet voice making his heart flutter with warmth and longing.

Luke and Kieran glanced at each other when their boss fell completely silent, only the sound of your singing surrounding the quiet atmosphere. They couldn't tell what Sylus was thinking with his back turned against them, but they could see the way Sylus traced his fingertips across the record player, him softly humming along with your voice.

They knew right then and there that they finally got their great boss the perfect gift they could ever think off, and all thanks to your (earlier hesitant) cooperation too. The beaming victorious smiled growing on their lips before both Luke and Kieran briefly froze up when Sylus's hands came to rest on top of their heads, their eyes widened at the sight of their boss's genuine small smile as he softly patted their heads.

"Thank you."

Best believe the twins teared up behind their crow masks when they left Sylus's office moments later, feeling like two proud kids after giving their father-figure guardian bossman the best present in his life.

[digitalmyyth]

Shenanigans ensue

[spookberry]

[insert cute caption here]

[reilemon]

Sweet Stardust

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: You'd never expect to be set up on a blind date with Xavier - the one man you’ve been hopelessly crushing on for months.

♡︎ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, smut, use of 'sweetheart' 'princess' 'honey', reader has hair (at least shoulder length, didn't specify texture), fingering, creampie ofc

♡︎ word count: 6.1k

♡︎ a/n: written for @who-mentioned-rhys-larsen ♡ this fic is part of the Blind Date Matchmaking event by @unintentionalseductress

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @/anitalenia

You take a slow sip of your iced tea, the coolness doing nothing to soothe the warmth creeping up your neck.

Why did you think this was a good idea?

Your fingers find the edge of your star-shaped earring, tracing the smooth metal absentmindedly as you glance around. The restaurant is elegant but cozy, the kind of place that requires a reservation but doesn’t suffocate you with formality. Secluded tables nestle in private corners, the polished dark wood of the bar offering a sense of quiet luxury. It’s nice— a perfect spot for a first date.

The thought only makes your stomach twist tighter.

You arrived earlier than planned, too anxious to sit alone in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts. Now, perched on a barstool, you’re starting to question every decision that led you to this moment.

The worst part? You don’t even know what your date looks like.

Tara assured you she’d pick someone good. And you trust her—she’s not just a colleague but a close friend, someone who knows you well enough to understand your type, your standards, your... predicament. That is, your utterly hopeless crush on Xavier.

Your gaze drops to your lap at the thought of him, an old ache stirring in your chest. You’ve spent months pining for him—your colleague, your neighbor, the man who has occupied far too much space in your head. But nothing has ever come of it. No flirty advances, no subtle signs that he might see you as anything more than a friend and coworker. And you’ve grown tired of waiting.

So, you let Tara set you up. Maybe this mystery man will be exactly what you need—a good distraction, someone to help you move on. If that’s even possible.

Still, one small consolation eases your nerves - you know you look good. The sweater dress you chose hugs your curves just right, soft and warm, the cleavage dipping just low enough to be tempting. Your heeled boots elevate your outfit, and, miraculously, your hair cooperated today, falling just the way you like it.

Tara instructed you to wear a recognition piece—something star-shaped, she had said. You thought it was too subtle, but you were relieved you had control over your outfit. Now, though, as you anxiously toy with your earring, you wonder if your date will even notice it.

What if he saw you already and decided to leave?

Your grip tightens slightly around your drink, your pulse stuttering at the humiliating thought. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe—

A small speck of light floats in front of you, pulling you from your anxious thoughts. You can’t help but associate them with him, as they always appear -

“Hey.��

The soft, familiar voice shifts your attention.

You turn, blinking in surprise, and your heart nearly stumbles out of your chest.

Xavier is sitting next to you.

When did he even get here?

He’s propped against the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood, his cheek lightly pressed against his hand. The dim glow of the restaurant catches in his deep blue eyes, glinting with something unreadable as he watches you.

Your breath falters for just a second, heat creeping up your neck. “Hi.” you manage, offering a sheepish smile, your fingers still toying with your earring.

His gaze flickers down, catching on the star-shaped piece before shifting back to your face. “Are you waiting for someone?”

You straighten instinctively, forcing yourself to stop fidgeting. “I am,” you say, glancing toward the entrance. “But I’m not sure what he looks like.”

His brows lift slightly. “A blind date?”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Yeah.”

You glance at your phone. You exhale sharply, shifting in your seat. “But I’m starting to think he won’t show up.”

Xavier hums, the sound low and thoughtful. “Maybe he’s just running late.”

You look back at him then, finally taking in the details of his outfit—he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, paired with light-colored slacks that somehow make him look even taller, more put-together, but still effortlessly him.

Your stomach twists with an uneasy realization —what if he’s waiting for someone? Swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat, you force yourself to ask, keeping your voice as casual as possible. “Are you waiting for someone?”

His eyes linger on yours for a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “Not really.”

You barely have time to process that answer before he turns his attention toward the softly lit dining area. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat, and then—he extends his hand toward you.

“Our table is ready.” he murmurs, his voice smooth, a soft smile curving at the edges of his lips.

Your breath catches.

Oh -

He’s your date.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

After settling into a table tucked in a cozy corner, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, you and Xavier placed your orders—drinks and appetizers to start. But your mind was spinning too fast, so you excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to breathe.

Inside, you grip the edge of the sink, inhaling slowly as you pull out your phone.

"Tara, did you bribe Xavier into being my date?" Your heart hammers in your chest as you type the next part. "Please tell me you didn't tell him I have a crush on him!"

Within seconds, a text pops up:

"Of course not!"

You wait, staring at the screen. Then a voice note appears.

You tap play, Tara’s familiar voice filling the quiet space of the restroom.

"He immediately refused when I asked him if he wanted to be set up on a blind date." You can hear her dramatic pout, but then it shifts—lighter, giddy. "But when I told him you’d be his date, he accepted. Anyway, have fun!"

You blink.

Your reflection in the mirror catches the exact moment your anxious frown softens into something else entirely—a shy, almost disbelieving smile creeping across your lips.

He accepted because it was you.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads down to your fingertips. You clutch your phone, staring at yourself, trying to tamp down the hopeful little spark.

Does this mean he likes me?

You bite your lip, willing yourself to stay grounded, to not jump to conclusions. It just means he didn’t hate the idea. That’s all. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Still, as you slip your phone back into your purse and wash your hands, your movements feel lighter, less burdened by nerves. By the time you push open the bathroom door and step back into the dinning area, that giddy warmth is still lingering in your chest.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You step into your apartment, and turn to lock the door after Xavier enters. It feels surreal. Xavier is standing in your entryway. In your apartment. Slipping off his shoes, asking where the guest slippers are. He shrugs off his coat, and before you can even think to reach for it, he’s holding out his hands—first to take the bouquet of flowers he bought for you on the walk back, then to grab your coat.

The bouquet is filled with your favorites. Did he ask Tara? Did he just… know?

You clear your throat, mumbling a quiet thanks, and step into the kitchen to grab a vase. The sound of running water fills the space as your mind is stuck on the simple, surreal fact that he’s here. Xavier is standing in your kitchen, looking around with quiet interest, his gaze flickering over little details—your recipe books stacked on one counter, the aprons hanging next to the fridge, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

“Cozy.” he comments, his voice warm.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

You cover your lips as a chuckle escapes you, shaking your head. “I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at Xavier with an apologetic smile, “I just always assumed you were bad at cooking since there’s burning smoke coming from your apartment almost every week.”

Xavier exhales a quiet laugh. “It’s not that I’m bad,” he muses, “I just have a bad habit of dozing off while waiting for something to cook.”

The low rasp in his voice makes your stomach flutter. You’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, how his knee has brushed against yours too many times to be an accident.

You clear your throat, scrambling for something to keep the conversation flowing. “I have dough at the apartment.” The words slip out. “I’m not sure what to make with it yet. Do you have any ideas?”

Xavier leans in slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he contemplates, but his eyes never leave yours.

“I bought strawberry jam today,” he murmurs. “It would be perfect with homemade bread.” His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest second before it settles again on yours. “I could help you with it—if that’s okay with you?”

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Your cheeks burn at the memory.

Just a few hours ago, you thought Xavier wasn’t interested in you at all. That your feelings were nothing more than a hopeless crush. But now—he’s here. He’s helping you find the perfect spot to set the vase, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

And you know - he does like you.

You saw it in the way he looked at you at the restaurant, in the way his usually distant, unreadable gaze softened, locked onto you. It wasn’t the casual attention he gave to others, the absentminded focus of a man who was simply being polite. No—this was different. His eyes had lingered, had traced the curve of your lips between words, flickering down for just a second too long before finding yours again.

And you felt it, too. In the way his knee brushed against yours beneath the table. In the way his fingers found yours by the end of the night,the touch tender and grounding.

And now, here you are—just the two of you in your cozy kitchen, setting everything up to prepare homemade bread.

You move around the space, trying to keep your hands busy, trying not to focus too much on the man leaning against the counter. You reach for the aprons hanging by the hook, and a playful smile tugs at your lips as you hand Xavier the one with the bunny print. He raises an eyebrow at the design before letting out a low chuckle, shaking his head in amusement but accepting it anyway.

"You picked this on purpose, didn’t you?"

"You’ll look cute in it," you tease, already tying your own cherry-print apron around your waist.

But before you can secure the knot, his fingers brush over yours. "Let me."

His breath against the shell of your ear makes goosebumps bloom along the side of your neck. He steps in behind you, his fingers tying the knot — but he doesn’t move away immediately. For a lingering moment, his hands rest on your hips, fingers splayed lightly over the fabric of your dress, and your breath catches. It’s so subtle, so fleeting, but the touch lingers even as he steps back and moves to stand beside you.

You exhale slowly, turning your attention back to the dough in the bowl.

Xavier rolls up his sleeves, the fabric sliding up his forearms, revealing the sculpted muscle, the veins subtly lining his skin. His hands flex as he reaches for the dough, fingers sinking into the soft mixture.

"I can handle the kneading," he offers, his eyes flicking to you. "Just instruct me."

You nod, too distracted to say anything.

Xavier’s hands press into the dough with steady, practiced motions, fingers flexing as he pushes forward, the soft mixture stretching and folding beneath his palms. You watch, transfixed, as the muscles in his forearms shift with each movement, flexing beneath his skin. The dough yields to his touch, stretching between his fingers before he folds it over itself again, his knuckles pressing in, wrists rolling as he coaxes the mixture into the perfect consistency. It shouldn’t be mesmerizing. It shouldn’t be distracting. But it is.

You swallow, completely absorbed in the way his hands work—the slow push, the press, the stretch, the way his fingers curl just slightly as he pulls the dough back. Heat pools in your stomach, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

And then he stops.

Your gaze snaps up from his hands to find his face already turned toward you, amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.

"Can you sprinkle more flour? Or are you just gonna keep staring?"

Your stomach flips.

Oops.

Heat spreads over your cheeks as you realize he caught you shamelessly ogling his arms like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. You scramble to gather yourself, clearing your throat as you quickly grab the flour.

"I was just making sure you were doing it right." you lie, voice slightly higher than normal as you sprinkle a light dusting over the dough.

Xavier hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he kneads again, the fresh coating of flour making his hands glide easier. But just as you think you’ve escaped the moment, he shifts—his hands no longer sticky with dough, moving faster than you can react.

A soft swipe of flour brushes against your cheek.

You blink, stunned. Xavier pulls his hand back, his smirk widening, too pleased with himself.

"Focus." he teases, the mirth in his eyes makes your stomach flip all over again.

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, so you grab a pinch of flour, and tap the tip of his nose. The faint layer of white settles on the tip of his nose, an almost comical touch against his usually composed expression. His gaze locks onto yours, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then—

A low chuckle spills into a soft, genuine laugh. Your heart stumbles over itself at the sight of him like this— warm and sweet, no longer distant. The sound of it makes you grin wider, but you don’t miss the way his eyes gleam with mischief. The playful glint is all the warning you get before his hand moves as he smears another streak of flour along your cheek.

“You should really focus.” he teases, voice rich with amusement, tilting his head as if inspecting his work.

You gasp, feigning an appalled expression. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

But you don’t get a chance to launch another attack, because he moves swiftly, catching your wrist in his hand. The contact sends a small jolt through you; it’s soft but firm enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your skin, holding you in place. You expect him to smirk, to tease. But instead, his expression softens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as he lifts your hand. And then—he presses a kiss to your knuckles. His lips linger for only a second, the warmth of them seeping into your skin, before he pulls away.

Your pulse is fluttering, your cheeks heating, and silence settles between you, stretching for just a beat too long.

You clear your throat, glancing toward the dough still resting on the counter, and force your voice to sound as steady as possible.

“So, what do you like to cook the most?”

Xavier hums in thought. “I like trying new things,” he muses, rolling his shoulders slightly, easing some of the tension in his muscles. “It doesn’t always turn out great, but I like the challenge.”

You tilt your head, intrigued, and then smirk. “So, you like torturing yourself with hard recipes?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Something like that.” His voice is a little quieter as he continues. “You make it look easy. Thought I’d try my hand at a few things.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if you heard him correctly. “Wait - have you been trying to remake my recipes?”

His fingers falter for just a second before he smooths his expression into something neutral. “Maybe.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “Xavier.”

He exhales, shaking his head like you’ve caught him in something ridiculous, but the corners of his lips twitch. “You make good food,” he mutters. “I wanted to see if I could make it too.”

You fight the urge to squish his cheeks that have flushed a tiny bit at the revelation. He actually remembers the things you’ve brought him, the little baked goods and dishes you’d made. And not only does he remember—he tries to recreate them.

His gaze flickers to you. “Maybe you should teach me.”

It’s a casual request, but you hear what he isn’t saying. He wants to see you more, and it sends another rush of giddy warmth through you.

“Okay,” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t doing flips. “What do you want to learn?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Egg tarts.”

The answer is so unexpected that you blink, then laugh. “Really? Out of everything?”

He nods. “They’re delicious.”

Finally, the bread dough is prepped, shaped, and ready for the oven. You slide the tray inside, and after cleaning up the counter and your hands, you remove the aprons and put them back on the hook.

As you turn to face Xavier again, you catch him watching you, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, leaning against the counter.

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the way his gaze makes your stomach tighten. Then, with a teasing lilt to your voice, you ask, “Should I go get you a blanket? Since you might doze off.”

His brows lift slightly, and then he huffs a short laugh.

But then, his voice drops, smooth as silk. “I think we can find a better way to pass the time.”

A soft laugh spills from your lips at first, but as soon as you catch the look in his eyes, the warmth in your chest falters, the laughter dying on your tongue.

The teasing spark in his eyes is nowhere to be found. Instead, a soft blush dusts his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. Then—he moves.

One step, then another, the space between you disappearing, inch by inch. The edge of the counter presses into the small of your back as he approaches, your body instinctively leaning away. His hands rest on either side of you, palms pressing flat against the cool surface of the counter.

His breath is soft, ghosting over your lips. The sheer weight of his attention wraps around you like a second heartbeat, syncing with your own, pulsing through your veins. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something—him, the counter, anything to steady yourself.

The rest of the world fades into nothing, and all that exists is him.

His lashes lower just slightly, his lips parting as he leans in, his gaze holding yours the entire time. He’s waiting, offering you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before the moment tips over into something neither of you can take back.

Then, barely above a whisper - “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t say a word.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, closing what little distance remains between you, and press your lips to his. Xavier exhales softly against your lips, the sound breaking somewhere between relief and disbelief before he finally moves.

His mouth presses more firmly against yours, molding to the shape of you, learning the way you taste, memorizing the way you feel beneath him. His fingers twitch against the counter, like he’s restraining himself from reaching for you, from pulling you against him, from letting his hands wander to the places he’s only ever dreamed of touching. But he lingers, soaking in every moment, every detail, every sigh and shiver you give him. You melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

Xavier pulls away for a moment, his breath warm against your lips. "Can I touch your hair?"

It’s such a simple question, yet it sends comforting warmth through you, and it makes you fall for him even more. You nod, your heart hammering in your chest as you tilt your head slightly in invitation. You press your lips to his again, needing to feel that warmth, needing to drown in the way he kisses you. The moment his hand settles on your hair, a slow shiver rolls down your spine. His touch is reverent, the slightest tug at the roots sending small tingles all the way down your neck. You sigh into his mouth, the sound soft and almost dazed, relishing in the way he handles you, like he wants to learn the texture of every strand under his fingers.

And then he steps closer, pressing his body fully against yours, erasing the last inch of space between you. His firm muscles shift slightly against you, the warmth of him seeping through his clothes, through yours, until you feel surrounded, consumed. And lower, against your hip, there’s something else—something hard and pressing insistently, showing just how much he wants you.

Your breath catches, your fingers faltering where they rest against his jaw.

Just a small movement—that’s all it takes, the softest drag of your hip against the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, to draw out a reaction from him.

Xavier’s body tenses, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers twitch against your hair, tightening slightly before loosening, as if he’s reminding himself to be gentle. His jaw clenches, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest second before they open again, darker now, heavier.

He whispers your name. "If you keep doing that—"

But you don’t move away. Instead, you lift your gaze to his. "Do you want to stop?" you whisper.

The moment hangs between you, before he exhales.

"No," he murmurs, "But if we do this, I need you to be sure."

And you are sure. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, feeling the pulse thrumming just beneath your fingertips. You guide his hand from your hair down to your waist. "I want this." you whisper, your heart pounding so violently you wonder if he can hear it. "I want you."

The tension in his body dissolves, his grip tightening at your waist, holding you there, against him. His breath stutters for just a moment, his nose brushing against yours, and then he kisses you. His lips move over yours with such aching tenderness that your knees almost buckle. His hands smooth over the curve of your waist, fingertips trailing lightly along your spine, sending shivers down your back, making you arch into him. Your fingers find the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric, gripping tighter as your body melts further into his.

Then he pulls away just enough to wrap his arms around you and effortlessly lift you off the ground. You gasp softly as he positions you carefully on the counter, ensuring you're comfortable. His fingers slip beneath the soft fabric of your sweater dress, and instinctively, you part your legs in silent invitation. He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, pressing into the space between your legs, his body crowding against yours. Then his hand ventures further, toward the ache pooling between your legs.

He pulls back just enough to watch you, his lips parted, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes flicker between your gaze and where his fingers now hover. Then—his fingertips graze over the damp fabric of your underwear and a sharp breath escapes you.

His voice drops to a husky murmur. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, not just from the way he touches you, but from the way he looks at you—devouring, mesmerized. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping up your neck, your ears. Your grip on his shirt tightens as his touch grows bolder, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your folds, teasing, coaxing.

Your lips part on a quiet whimper, and he catches it, swallowing the sound as he leans in again, capturing your mouth in another slow, intoxicating kiss. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing scrape that makes you shudder against him, makes your body arch instinctively. His fingers press firmer, brushing up, down—catching against your clit with just enough friction. You gasp softly, tightening your grip on him, your hips shifting involuntarily.

Then, his fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear, and you rest your hand against his shoulder, lifting your hips to help him slide the fabric down your legs. Heat blooms across your cheeks when you catch him tucking the lace into his pocket, and you’re even more flustered when you see the mischievous smirk on his lips.

His fingers trail back between your legs, but the first brush of his fingers against your bare folds makes you jolt.

"Relax for me, honey." His voice is soft, soothing, his lips just a breath from yours.

You nod, your breath shaky as you let your body give in. His fingers slide along your wet heat, teasing and exploring in slow, tender strokes. Your grip tightens on his shoulder as one finger circles your entrance, prodding and testing you. A quiet gasp escapes you as you tug at his shirt, pulling him closer—and you press your lips to his, your tongue tangling with his.

Then his finger pushes in slowly, making you feel every inch of that delicious stretch and every slick, teasing glide. He finds that sweet spot with ease, the one that makes your breath hitch and your toes curl. A soft curse slips from your lips as he strokes it again and again, spreading tingling warmth through you.

He savors your soft, breathy whimpers as he slides a second finger inside, curling them just right and moving them in deep strokes.

"Does that feel good?" he murmurs, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

You can only nod, unable to form words when he’s touching you so perfectly. Your gaze flickers downward—between your legs, where his fingers move, where his hand glistens with your arousal—and the sight alone sends another pulse of heat through you.

Xavier’s lips curve in a soft, knowing smile as he takes in your expression, your half-lidded eyes, your parted lips. His free hand lifts, cradling the back of your neck, tilting your head to expose your neck to him. His lips graze your skin, teasing at first, before his tongue flicks out, dragging a wet trail along the sensitive slope of your neck.

A sharp gasp escapes you as his thumb presses against your clit. He circles it in slow, lazy swirls, the pleasure deepening, pooling low in your stomach. Your thighs tremble, hips shifting involuntarily, chasing more, needing more.

"That’s it, honey." he breathes against your throat, his fingers plunging deeper, working you open. He latches onto your skin, sucking gently, his breath fanning over the damp spot.

The hand on his shoulder moves to hold onto his forearm, each precise stroke sending jolts of pleasure through you, winding that coil in your belly impossibly tight. You’re right there, trembling on the edge, every breath a shaky, desperate gasp. If you had any control left, you would be embarrassed by the broken sounds spilling from your lips—whimpers, soft cries, the only thing you can manage being his name, over and over like a plea.

Xavier groans low in his throat. “You sound so fucking beautiful,” he rasps, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me, princess. I’ve got you.”

His control is slipping—you can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his hips press forward, seeking friction against your thigh. He’s trembling, barely holding himself back, and the thought alone sends pleasure ripping through you. You shatter against him, burying your face in his neck as your release crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers, slick dripping down his hand. He holds you through it, his grip firm, his breath ragged, whispering praise into your hair, your pleasure undoing him just as much.

Your lips press against his throat, muffling the last of your cries as your body trembles against him, and he’s not so sure he can hold back any longer. His hand catches your chin, tilting your face toward his. His thumb brushes along your jaw, eyes locked onto yours, dark and desperate. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“I need to feel you.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, trembling. “Please.”

Your body is still pulsing with the aftershocks of release, but you know you need more.

"Yes." You whisper, wasting no time to slip one hand between your bodies, trembling slightly as you reach for his pants.

Xavier groans softly, helping you with the belt when your hands fumble, his own need evident in the way he works quickly to unfasten it. The moment he pulls himself free, your breath catches—he's so hard, flushed and aching, the sight alone making you even more wet. You can’t help but wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight, the heat, the pulse beneath your touch. When your thumb glides over the bead of precum on his tip, smearing it over the sensitive skin, a sharp hiss leaves his lips, his grip tightening on your waist.

"Fuck—" he exhales, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, stilling your touch before he brings your hand up, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of it. Then, as he lowers his gaze, positioning himself between your legs, his breath stutters again. His tip nudges against your soaked entrance, and just before he presses forward, his eyes flick back up to yours.

"I don’t have— Do you—?"

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you cradle his cheek, your thumb stroking along his jaw. "I'm covered," you murmur, brushing your lips over his. "And I trust you."

His exhale is shaky, his forehead pressing to yours before he finally moves. Carefully, the thick head of his cock begins to ease in, parting you with an aching stretch that has your body tensing before melting, your nails pressing into the firm muscles of his shoulders. You’re already so sensitive, still pulsing from his fingers, and this only adds to your dizzying arousal.

"Fuck," he grits out, his jaw clenching as he inches deeper. "You're so—"

The words die in a low groan as he bottoms out, pressing flush against you, his pelvis catching on your clit in a way that sends sparks through every nerve in your body. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him so tightly that he shudders, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Are you okay?" he breathes against your hair, his arms tightening around you.

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding as your body adjusts. Your lips part against the crook of his neck, sucking lightly on the skin there, grounding yourself in the feel of him. His first thrust is slow, dragging — so controlled it’s almost torturous. You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the way his breath shakes as he exhales through gritted teeth.

"Look at you—so beautiful." A deep groan rumbles in his chest as you clench down around him, your walls gripping him so tight it makes his thrusts falter, his cock stroking against that perfect spot over and over.

Your hands slide up, fingers curling in his hair, tugging gently as you tilt your face up, finding his eyes.

"Xavier—ahh—" your voice is soft, pleading, "I’m so close. I need you—"

His cock twitches inside you, throbbing against your walls, slick and tight and perfect. His fingers dig into your hips, trying to hold back, but it’s no use. A desperate moan spills from your lips as his thumb returns to your clit, pressing, circling, matching the frantic stutter of his hips.

"You feel so fucking good," he rasps, voice wrecked, hoarse. "Taking me so well, honey."

Pleasure crashes into you, shattering, overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him, pulsing, gripping, and Xavier curses under his breath, arms locking around you, holding you through it.

"That’s it—fuck—just like that,” he pants, breath shaky. “I’ve got you—haah—I'm so close."

His rhythm stutters, his hips grinding deeper, erratic, chasing the high. You’re still trembling, still lost in your high, but you don’t want him to stop—not with the way his cock throbs inside you, not with the way his breath stutters.

You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper. That’s all it takes.

Xavier chokes on a groan, his hands gripping you so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow. His cock pulses, his entire body tensing as his release crashes into him, his hips pressing flush against yours as hot spurts of cum spill deep inside you. His breath breaks into uneven gasps against your ear as he grinds through it, his cum slipping out, messy and warm between you.

"Can’t get enough of you," he mutters, almost delirious. His lips brush your temple, his hands roam over you, slow, reverent. Even spent, his cock twitches inside you, hips rolling in lazy, absent thrusts, as if he’s already craving more.

"Never gonna get enough of you," he breathes.

Xavier doesn’t move for a while, and you don’t want him to. His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest as his breath evens out, warm against your hair. His fingers trace light, absentminded patterns on your back, his other hand smoothing over the side of your waist, as if he can’t stop touching you. You sigh into him, boneless, completely melted in his hold, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied hum in response, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

His lips graze your forehead before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze is warm and tender as he takes in the sight of you in the afterglow, "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulder, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to say anything when all you want to do is hold onto this feeling forever.

So instead, you just nuzzle closer, in the crook of his neck where small, faint marks are forming on his skin. He smiles against your cheek, squeezing your waist before he loosens his hold, letting you shift against him.

And then your nose reminds you of something. Your eyes snap open, panic flashing through you as you sit up straight, hands flying to Xavier’s chest.

“Oh no!”

His brows furrow, confused at the sudden change. “What?”

“The bread!”

You scramble off the counter, adjusting your dress as best as you can, legs still shaky, as you rush to the oven, already bracing yourself for disaster. But when you peek inside, miraculously, the bread is still perfect. Golden brown, fluffy, not even close to burnt.

You let out a deep, relieved sigh.

As you take off the oven mitts after placing the bread on a cooling rack, you turn back to Xavier. He’s leaning lazily against the counter, pants in place, but his shirt still rumpled, his hair thoroughly disheveled. He looks impossibly handsome like this. But instead of letting yourself get distracted, you cross your arms, feigning a small pout. "You’re bad luck in the kitchen."

"Bad luck?" He tilts his head, and you instantly regret saying anything.

He pushes off the counter, strolling toward you with that confident ease, stopping just shy of pressing against you. "Didn’t seem like you minded the distraction."

Your face burns.

You could argue. You could roll your eyes, huff, tell him off for that smug little look he’s giving you. But what’s the point? He knows he’s right. And you’re too warm, too utterly spent to even deflect.

Before you can decide on a response, he moves.

One second, you’re standing there, legs still a little wobbly, and the next—Xavier scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. A startled yelp slips past your lips, but it dissolves into breathless laughter as you grab onto his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

But he only gives you a soft smile, before pressing his lips to yours.

By the time he pulls back, your head is spinning all over again.

He smirks down at you, adjusting his hold. “Come on, princess,” he murmurs, walking toward the bathroom. “We made a mess.”

As you gaze at his face, you muse how the once-distant, untouchable Xavier—the man who felt like a star too far away—has somehow become warm and steady and impossibly close.

And you’re just a giddy, melted puddle in his arms.

[adamsrcnan]

there's something to be said about the way jeremy refused to believe the worst of jean because he trusted that kevin would not have sent him to usc if he was as bad as the rest of the ravens. and at the same time jean trusting jeremy as his partner because again kevin would not have sent him there if jeremy was not a good person that could look after jean. something poetic about the unwavering trust that they both have in kevin !! kevin day !! the man that you are !!

[dclovesdanny]

Dead on Main

1/5

Danny heard his soulmate die when he was thirteen. The pleading cries in his head, his soulmate begging for help, haunted him. Even has a ghost, he’s always considered his soulmate’s death his most heartbreaking experience.(he tried not to think about how he had a breakdown in class while hearing his soulmates last thoughts. He tried not to think about how it was Jaz who picked him up from the office and not their parents. He was out of school for the rest of the week, inconsolable with grief. )

Jason, however, just wants to talk to whoever is making his soulmate, constantly die and revive himself. He was with the league of assassins, the first time his soulmate died, and had barely been able to hide what happened. He would find his soulmate though. He would save them. (He prayed to a god he had lost faith in that his soulmate only heard the bare minimum of thoughts. He still felt so guilty for making his soulmate hear his death.)

Clockwork new to truly avoid bad timeline, Daniel and Jason must meet and fall in love. He just had to make it so Daniel thought of a few more things that would lead to Amity.���

[rose24207]

My dad is a dumbass

Summary: Lucas is sent back in time to ensure his teenage father falls for his outcast mother instead of the wrong girl.

Genre: fluff, popular!Lando x bullied!reader, time travel

TW: bullying

A/N: I watched twinkling watermelon. SOMEONE SEDATE ME- anyways… *cough cough* English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

P2

Masterlist pt. 2

The moment Lucas felt the world spin beneath his feet, he knew something was very wrong. One second, he had been in his dad’s garage, tinkering with some old F1 tech Lando had insisted was too dangerous to touch, and the next?

He was here—standing in the middle of a high school hallway that smelled like sweat, cheap cologne, and regret.

Lucas stumbled, heart racing. The world had shifted—subtly, but undeniably. Everything around him was different. The posters on the walls advertised school dances from years ago. The fashion was outdated. The phones in students' hands were clunky.

His breath hitched.

This wasn’t just any high school.

This was your high school.

His parents had met here.

And from the way the students around him carried on, oblivious to the fact that a future-born kid had just dropped into their reality, it hit him.

He had traveled back in time.

And then he heard it.

A voice so familiar it made his stomach twist.

“Oi, Carlos, did you see that goal? Absolute beauty, mate!”

Lucas turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

There, leaning against the lockers, laughing with a group of friends, was Lando Norris.

Not Dad, the grown-up who nagged him about cleaning his room and told embarrassing stories to his friends. No, this was seventeen-year-old Lando—loud, confident, grinning like he owned the world.

Lucas nearly choked.

Holy shit. My dad is a dumbass teenager.

You always knew how to make yourself invisible. It was a skill you had mastered long ago—sitting in the farthest corner of the library, keeping your head down, never speaking unless necessary. It was safer that way.

High school had been unkind to you. The whispers, the taunts, the stolen lunch money—they had worn you down over time, molding you into someone small and quiet.

You thought you were alone.

Until a chair scraped across from you, and a boy you didn’t recognize sat down.

You stiffened, gripping your book tighter.

“Uh… do I know you?” you asked hesitantly.

The boy—Lucas, as he introduced himself—smiled, easy and relaxed. “Not yet.”

There was something strange about him. He didn’t feel like a normal teenager. His gaze was too sharp, too knowing. And yet… when he glanced at your book and casually remarked, “Pride and Prejudice? Classic,” you felt your heart stutter.

Nobody had ever paid attention to what you read.

“You’ve read it?” you asked, voice skeptical.

Lucas smirked. “More times than I can count.”

A flicker of warmth spread through your chest.

You hadn’t had a real conversation with someone in months.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

Lucas had a problem.

His dad was an idiot.

A lovesick idiot.

And not for the right girl.

Her name was Jessica. And she was, in Lucas’ professional opinion, the worst person on the planet.

She was the kind of girl who faked sweetness when people were watching but turned venomous the second they weren’t.

And seventeen-year-old Lando was eating right out of her perfectly manicured hand.

Lucas watched in horror as his father practically tripped over himself trying to impress her.

“She’s so obviously playing you,” Lucas muttered under his breath.

Carlos, standing nearby, gave him a weird look. “Do you know Lando?”

Lucas coughed. “Uh, no.”

Carlos shrugged. “Then why do you care?”

Lucas clenched his jaw. Because if my dad doesn’t stop being a dumbass, I might never be born.

He had to fix this.

The first time Lucas tried to break them up, it was simple.

He “accidentally” spilled his entire drink on Jessica’s very expensive designer bag.

“Oh my God!” she screeched, jumping back like she had been set on fire.

Lucas put on his best innocent face. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

Lando, ever the gentleman, immediately started panicking. “Jess, I’ll fix it, I swear—”

But Jessica was too busy throwing a tantrum about her ruined bag.

She stormed off.

Lucas grinned, satisfied. Problem solved.

Until the next day, when Lando was still mooning over her.

Lucas groaned. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Lucas wasn’t just here to make sure his parents fell in love.

He was here to protect you.

And it didn’t take long for him to see how much you needed it.

You never told him what was happening, but he saw it.

The girls whispering behind your back. The stolen lunch. The tripping in the hallways.

Lucas’ hands clenched into fists.

One day, he caught a group of girls sneering as you walked past.

“She’s so weird.”

“I heard she eats lunch alone every day.”

Lucas saw red.

“Funny,” he said loudly, making them freeze. “I was just thinking how weird you guys are.”

The leader, a blonde girl with too much makeup, scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“You spend all your time talking about someone who doesn’t even know you exist,” Lucas said, crossing his arms. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

Their faces burned red before they stormed off.

Lucas smirked. That’s what I thought.

Later that day, you hesitated before looking at him. “Why did you do that?”

Lucas shrugged. “Because you don’t deserve it.”

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “…Thank you.”

Lucas softened. “Anytime, Mum.”

You didn’t hear that last part.

Lucas had to be tactical.

He orchestrated run-ins between you and Lando.

He got you both paired as lab partners.

He even tripped Lando once just so he’d fall into your arms (which earned him a very suspicious glare from his dad).

And finally, finally, Lando started to notice you.

Lucas saw it—the way his dad’s eyes lingered too long, how he smiled softer around you.

It was working.

Until Jessica struck again.

She cornered Lando after school, batting her lashes. “Landooo, come to the party with me?”

Lucas froze.

If Lando went, he’d fall right back into her clutches.

Thinking fast, he jumped in. “Oh, he can’t.”

Lando blinked. “I can’t?”

Lucas clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Nope! He already has plans. With her.”

He pointed to you.

You turned scarlet. “W-what?”

Jessica scoffed. “Since when?”

Lucas grinned. “Since now.”

Lando looked at you, hesitant but intrigued.

“…I guess we have plans?”

You bit your lip. Then—shyly, hesitantly—you nodded.

“I guess we do.”

Jessica huffed and stormed off.

Lucas smirked. Checkmate bitch.

Days later, Lucas watched as Lando walked you home, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Lucas grinned.

His work here was done.

Now…

He just had to figure out how to get back home.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris

[sufroyo]

hit lord with adam last week now i can let my team down while having a cool icon ☺️🎉

[tommygotwrittenoff]

obsessed with buddie being set up on a blind date. eddie being like. blind dates are always so terrible buck. i suck at letting people down easy. and buck's like. haha you do. i also got a blind date friday, how about we grab a beer after if both our dates turn out bad? so when his date is late he texts buck: off to a bad start...they're late, hopefully you're having better luck. (he's hoping for the exact opposite). when eddie's about to call it off bc jesus he's been waiting forever, buck drops into the seat across from him with a weird expression. hi. ...hi buck, uh, thought you had a date, you ditch it or something? and buck's face goes a little pink and he ducks his head and says no. ...okay? so what are you doing here? not that i don't appreciate it, pretty sure i got stood up. and buck produces a small bouquet of flowers and says. um, sorry i kept you waiting, i got a flat halfway here and, uh, my go to guy was busy so i did it myself and jesus, how do you make it look so easy? and eddie just blinks at buck. at the flowers. at the slightly ruffled state of his hair and clothes. at buck's nervous expression. and he just. smiles. oh. and buck echos oh? eddie lets out a little laugh and says, i was kinda hoping my date wouldn't show so i'd have an excuse to just hang out with you. and the tense line of buck's shoulders relax and he says, yeah? so you're not gonna let me down easy? and eddie smiles and says, i don't want to let you down at all

[daddiesdrarryy]

James: Okay, you guys, there’s Reg. Watch. Just watch this

Regulus: *walking past*

James: See? Still pretending he’s not interested. Oh! He’s coming over. Just pretend like we don’t know him. We’ve forgotten who he is!

Regulus: Hey guys!

Remus: Hey Regulus!

Peter: Hello!

James: …

Sirius: Hey, Reggie. You know Prongs, my best friend? He’s nice. He’s not bad to look at, right?

James: Thanks, Pads

Regulus: Well, of course

Sirius: Do you want to go out on a date with him? You got my blessing!

James: Sirius!

Regulus: Sure. Is Sunday okay?

Sirius: Sunday’s perfect. He can’t wait

Regulus: On the date, I will be able to talk to him directly, right?

Sirius: Yeah

Regulus: All right, see you Sunday, Potter *leaves*

James: Okay. What the hell was that? You know what? Don’t answer me

James, giggling: I have a date with Reggie!

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's a mechanic, has a shop in Indy. It's only got two bays, but he owns it, he saved up the money, it's his. He runs it with Wayne, is building up a customer base. He loves it.

Within the year, a bakery opens up next door, separated from Eddie's shop by a narrow alley. He has a perfect view into the bakery's kitchen from the shop's office, and almost immediately catches a glimpse of the drop-dead gorgeous guy behind the mixing bowl. He's got sun-golden skin, swoopy brown hair, wide puppy dog eyes, the poutiest mouth, and a face dotted with freckles. Eddie gapes at him for a solid two-minutes, salivating over the bunch and pull of his muscles as he kneads a ball of dough. A wet dream come true.

Eddie's always sneaking glances at the shop next door, can't seem to keep his gaze off the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Over the next few months, he becomes familiar with this herd of kids that hang around the bakery at all hours. There's one, curly-haired and mouthy, who often makes the baker frown with his hands on his hips, but as soon as the boy walks away, the baker smiles all wide and fond.

It's a silly crush, no big deal. He has a weakness for brown-eyed pretty boys, so what? It's not like he's going to do anything crazy, like make a move.

It's past midnight, a few months after the bakery opens, and Eddie's in his little office, doing the monthly accounting. He's exhausted, tired of calculators and numbers, when a flash of light catches at the corner of his eye. He blinks a few times, sure it's the exhaustion setting in, but it doesn't go away.

Instead, there's a light on over at the bakery. It's a kitchen light, and the baker is standing at the stainless steel counter, looking unlike Eddie's ever seen. His hair is a soft wave, swooping onto his forehead. He wears grey sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt. Tonight, his movements are less precise and practiced; he's slow and contemplative as he gathers ingredients and mixing bowls.

It's been long enough Eddie should look away, but he forgets that it isn't a dream, that he's actually watching the baker roll up his sleeves as he whisks. It's inevitable that, eventually, the baker catches Eddie staring. He just smiles, though, and waves. Eddie manages to return the greeting before awareness smacks him in the face, and he flees the office and the building in acute embarrassment.

They share waves after that. Smiles. Laughter once when Eddie's reading over an invoice and walking, smacks face-first into the doorframe. Eye rolls after the baker gets into an impassioned argument with the curly-haired boy, one that involves a copious amount of thrown flour.

They exchange waves and smiles and goofy expressions, and it shouldn't escalate further, but one day Eddie steps into the shop's waiting room to find the curly-haired boy sitting behind the reception desk, flipping through Eddie's new dnd guide.

"What." Eddie says.

"You," says the boy. He's pointing and glaring and Eddie is a little scared.

"Me?"

"You like dnd?"

He hopes his sigh of relief isn't audible. "Best DM this town has ever seen." He postures and smirks.

"Doubt it," the boy says.

Eddie lets out an offended squeak, dramatically smashes his hand over his heart. "Insulted! Maligned! In my own place of business! Oh!" He falls into a dramatic swoon.

The boy snickers. "I'm Dustin," he says.

"Eddie." They shake hands and Eddie does not laugh at how overly serious this is all is. "Sir Dustin, what brings you to my fine establishment?"

Dustin shrugs. "Steve."

"Steve?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "The bakery."

"Oh," Eddie says. Steve. The baker is Steve.

He's having a little trouble breathing, sure he's done something wrong, a distinct feeling of doom settling on his shoulders. "Why?"

"He won't stop talking about the mechanic next door but refuses to introduce himself. Plus, I saw your D20 tattoo the other day."

Eddie's barely hearing him, reeling over the knowledge that Steve talks about him to his gaggle of children. He barely hears the rest of the conversation, but the next day Dustin shows up with the rest of the kids, Lucas, Mike, Max, El, Erica, Will.

They're loud, chaotic, wild, and somehow--before they leave--they've coerced him into running a one-shot for them. They come by in twos and threes for the rest of the week, eating all the snacks in the waiting room mini-fridge and talking at him and Wayne as they work.

It's Friday, it's sweltering, he's closing the shop for the night with the top of his coveralls hanging off hips, his sweat soaked undershirt tossed behind a tool chest. He steps into the waiting area and nearly jumps out of his skin to find a man there, holding a plastic container.

Steve.

"H--hi," he stutters. And fuck, he's shirtless. He's standing in front of Steve for the first time and his nipples are out. This is it, the moment he finally dies of embarrassment.

Steve's eyes are locked on Eddie's torso for a few seconds too long, cheeks flushing. He blinks, finally looking at Eddie's face. "I'm Steve. From the--the bakery next door?" He points. "I--uh--I wanted to stop by and apologize?"

"What?" Eddie asks. There's too much happening for him to keep up.

"Um, the kids?"

And Eddie can't fathom why he needs to apologize, can only stare at Steve in confused disbelief.

"It's just. They can be kind of a handful. I used to babysit Mike and the whole group of them started following me around, and--Anyway, I think Dustin took it upon himself to try to introduce us. I've been wondering where they keep disappearing off to, and Max told me today that they're here with you, and I thought I probably owed you an apology. You're trying to work and I know they can be a bunch of shitheads, and oh my god, I'm rambling, I really am turning into Robin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie is fucked. Oh he's so fucked. He's charmed, endeared, can't stop smiling at Steve who is somehow even more beautiful up close.

"I forgive you," Eddie says. "They're nice kids."

Steve lets out a hard breath. "They are, huh?" He smiles. "Don't let them hear you say that. You'll never get a moment's peace. And they shouldn't have been over here bothering you, anyway."

"It wasn't a bother. Though, they did eat all my snacks and swindle me into running a one-shot for them. Still not sure how that happened."

Steve laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corner. So fucked. So fucked. "I should've known that you play that game of theirs."

"Aw, not a dnd fan, Stevie?"

Steve blushes. "It's--there's a lot of math."

Eddie laughs, already knows he's never getting over this one. "You bake professionally."

"It's different?" Steve laughs. "Fine, fine! You got me, it's not my thing."

"Bet I could change your mind," Eddie says. He doesn't mean to be flirting, can't stop himself.

"I bet you could," Steve agrees. He moves his hand, like maybe he's going to run it through his swoop of hair, then seems to remember he's holding baked goods. "Oh, uh, please take these cupcakes as my apology for accidentally saddling you with my group of semi-feral children."

"You're already forgiven, but I'll never say no to a cupcake."

"You should stop by the shop tomorrow, then" Steve says. "On the house."

"You've already given me these." He wiggles the cupcakes in Steve's pretty face.

"I only save the free samples for the hottest customers." Steve does run a hand through his hair now, and it's dorky as fuck, but Eddie still feels like he's died and this is heaven. "See you tomorrow?"

Eddie can only nod as Steve backs out of the office with a cheeky little wave.

He goes to the bakery the next day, sure he just let his crush get away from him and imagined the entire interaction with Steve. Except, when he walks in, Steve smiles all big and pretty in his little blue apron, invites Eddie back to the kitchen.

And if they share their first kiss against the stainless steel countertops, it's between them, Wayne, and all the kids who spy on them from the shop's office window.

[pomegranatepip]

"Lazy" Mornings?

synopsis: zayne is a textbook workaholic but if it comes down to choosing between extra work and spending time with you. well. he's a weak man.

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

wc: 1.1k

content tags: fluff, zayne thinks he's funny (he is but noone tell him)

a/n: written for @ollieneedsamilkshake for @unintentionalseductress 's valentine's day event ^-^ sorry for making it banter heavy, i love zayne's sense of humor xD hope i did it justice

ao3 link

The bed is empty when you wake up, Zayne's side long since cold. You groan and shield your eyes against the onslaught of sunlight directly on your face through the bedroom window, before pulling yourself away from your cosy nest of blankets. You stretch, your joints stiff, and look around for any telltale signs of your husband.

He can't have left for work, can he? It was one of the rare days both of your days off from work aligned, though it was entirely possible he had been called in for an emergency given the nature of his job.

Sighing, you trudged into the living room. Noticing the study door was ajar, you made to close it when you noticed the light was on inside. When you peeked in, you saw Zayne still in his pyjamas, his back to the door, typing away on his laptop.

You smile exasperatedly. Of course he was working on his day off. You slipped into the room and tiptoed over to him before slinging your arms around his neck and dropping your head on his shoulder. He stops typing for a second to look back at you.

"Good morning, my love. Why are you up so early?"

You give him a noncommittal hum in response. "I could ask you the same thing. Why are you working on your day off and at-" you squint at the penguin shaped clock on his desk- "8 in the morning too? You should be in bed with me," you whine.

He smiles at that. "I just had some reports to review which I couldn't do yesterday. I thought I'd get them done early so I could enjoy my day off without any worries. Also," he adds, taking one of your hands into his own, "It's 7 a.m., not 8."

"You do realise you're not helping your case, right?" You lift your head to look at him and he uses this chance to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

A wry smile from him. "I'm merely pointing out that it's unusually early for you to be up so early on a weekend; you know it's routine to me."

You give up. "Fine," you concede, "you can finish your reports. But make it quick. I'll go start breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am."

Pleased with his response, you nip at his earlobe and laugh at how quickly it turns red along with his cheeks, and finally make your way to the kitchen.

Zayne pores over the file he's reviewing and sends it to Greyson after he's ascertained there are no changes for him to make. He takes his glasses off and leans back, his eyes tired from the strain of staring at his laptop screen. Just a few more, and then he'll be done.

From the kitchen, he catches the faint sound of humming alongside the noises of you making breakfast. He thinks he recognises the melody- it's the same song you've been singing for the past couple of weeks and inadvertently got stuck in his head too. He recalls your gleeful laughter and teasing when you caught him humming the tune to himself one day, and smiles in spite of himself.

The scent of pancakes wafts into his study, and he looks back at his laptop. Maybe the reports can wait.

You're flipping pancakes when you feel Zayne drape himself over you from the back. "Smells good," he says.

"Finished with your reports already? Or did you just miss me?" you tease.

"Neither. I got hungry."

"Wow. I'm going to be having this entire stack of pancakes by myself now. You can eat cereal while you think about what you did. And it's the plain kind too," you huff.

"You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I."

He watches you plop the last pancake on the plate and turn off the heat, and then spins you around to face him. "My apologies, miss. Allow me to make it up to you for my thoughtless words."

"Oh? And how are you planning to do that?" You make a show of being offended, but the barely concealed smile on your face gives you away.

A smile Zayne matches as he leans down and whispers, "Like this," before pressing his lips to your cheek much like earlier, except this time he didn't stop after just one. He tilts your face slightly to kiss the other cheek, and then trails down to kiss the corner of your mouth. He ghosts over your cupid's bow and a little involuntary shudder passes through you, making him chuckle quietly before he leans in.

He's gentle with the way he kisses you, his hands warm as they cradle your face. His earlier playfulness manifests in the form of a succession of soft pecks to your lips, eliciting giggles from you. He pulls back to spin you away from the stove and presses you back against the kitchen island, his hands splayed on your lower back and hip as he claims your lips with his own again.

After a minute or so, he breaks away. "Did you add nutella to the pancakes?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I did. How did you know?"

"I could taste it on you." He swipes his thumb on your cheek before one last sweet press of his lips to yours.

You roll your eyes. "Sue me. Besides, didn't you finish a whole jar all by yourself last week? I had to have my smores with chocolate syrup and it just wasn't the same," you mourn.

"I offered to run to the store to get more, but if I recall correctly, someone was too impatient to wait," he deadpans.

"It's not the situation, it's the principle. I was looking forward to that specific jar of nutella on my smores and you took that away from me. You need to apologise for that too," you say, hoping he'll take the bait.

He narrows his eyes. "You're playing tricks on me, aren't you."

"Who, me? Whaaaat. No way."

He sighs. "Alright. We can go to that new dessert place you've been mentioning for a while. How does that sound?"

"…you mean the dessert place you've been mentioning."

"I see it as a win win, no?"

"Of course you do."

"So you don't want to go?"

"No! I mean. That's not what I said."

Zayne smiles inwardly. "There's that new movie they're showing at the theater near the park too," he says as he finally gets to setting the table. "An adaptation of a book you were reading? We can go watch that and drop by the dessert place on our way home."

You sit down and pile pancakes onto your plate and his. "So you're not going to work on those reports today?"

He makes a show of weighing his options, though the hope sparkling in your eyes made his choice laughably easy.

"The reports can wait."

[sapocipo]

[steveseddie]

when the clock strikes twelve

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles “midnight” & @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas mini event “carol” | rated: t | wc: 1000 | tags: different first meeting, post season 2, new year’s kiss

read on ao3

It’s five minutes to midnight when Steve steps into the bathroom at Tina’s house.

If he’d known that coming to her New Year’s Eve party would mean welcoming the new year alone in the same bathroom where his girlfriend called their relationship bullshit, Steve would’ve stayed home.

“If it isn’t the King of Hawkins,” a voice says, startling Steve and making him turn around, his heart hammering in his chest. But it’s not a demodog or fucking Billy Hargrove, just Eddie Munson sitting on the sink with his legs swinging back and forth.

“Munson.”

“Welcome to my office, Your Highness,” Eddie says with a dorky salute.

Steve glances around them. “Your office?”

“This is where I do business, you see,” he says, flipping the lid of his metal lunchbox. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. “No, uh, I’m hiding from someone.”

Eddie perks up with interest. “Who?”

“Carol Perkins.”

“Your buddy Tommy’s girl?”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “He’s not my buddy anymore and she’s not his girl either. And for some reason Carol thinks the best way to get back at him for being a dick is to kiss me at midnight.”

“And you don’t want that?” Steve shakes his head. “Thought you and Wheeler were done– or are you not over her yet? Don’t worry, big boy. There’s still time for that New Year’s resolution.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s not about Nancy, I just don’t want to kiss the first girl who throws herself at me, you know?”

“I do not, Your Majesty,” Eddie says with an amused snort. “I’ve never participated in such activities.”

Steve tilts his head in question. “Kissing someone on New Year’s?”

Eddie looks away, nervously playing with a rip on his jeans. “Or you know, ever.”

He can’t see the way Steve’s eyebrows shoot up but he probably hears the surprise in his voice when he asks, “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Eddie purses his lips. They’re nice lips, Steve observes. It’s a shame no one has kissed them. “No, Harrington. Go ahead and laugh it up,” he says, his voice clipped.

“I’m not laughing! I’m just–” Confused that someone as hot as you hasn’t kissed anyone. Steve clears his throat, his blush getting worse with that thought even if Eddie can’t read his mind. “I mean. Why haven’t you?”

Eddie scoffs. “People aren’t exactly lining up to kiss the town’s freak,” he says. Then hesitates before he adds, “Specifically guys.”

So the rumors about Munson are true. “Oh.”

The confession makes Steve blush, despite Eddie being the one who admitted something. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid he’ll open his mouth and something stupid will come out. Something like– ‘I’m here! I’m a guy!’

So he stays silent, which makes Eddie wary.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna run? Call me names? Punch me?”

Steve can see that his shoulders are tense, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the sink tightly. It’s like he’s getting ready to run in case Steve reacts badly.

But running away or punching Eddie couldn’t be further away from what Steve wants to do right now.

“No, I–”

“Ten seconds to midnight!” Someone yells downstairs.

“I– I want to do something else,” Steve admits, his voice wavering slightly. He hesitantly steps closer to Eddie, who narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Five seconds!” The same voice yells and the crowd joins the countdown.

“Four!”

Steve stands directly between Eddie’s legs.

“Three!”

He puts his hands on Eddie’s waist.

“Two!”

Steve raises his eyebrows in a silent question– is this okay?

“One!”

Eddie gives a tiny nod.

And then Steve swoops in, pressing his lips against Eddie’s as the crowd downstairs cheers and Eddie’s watch starts beeping.

Somewhere in the distance, fireworks go off but Steve could swear he can feel them inside him when Eddie kisses back, looping his arms around his neck.

Steve tilts his head, determined to give Eddie a good first kiss. He licks softly at his bottom lip, making him gasp. Then he kisses him a little harder, softly touching Eddie’s tongue with his, feeling the way he shudders.

He knows this is probably longer than the usual New Year’s kiss but Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to stop. And apparently neither does Eddie, who pulls Steve closer and drags his teeth across his bottom lip.

It’s only when they need to breathe that they break apart.

Eddie’s eyes stay closed longer and only flutter open when Steve cups his neck and strokes an idle thumb against his jaw.

He decides that dazed and kiss-drunk are a good look on him.

“Happy New Year,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Eddie snorts amusedly. “Yeah, Happy New Year.”

The noise downstairs starts to die down. People are probably going back to drinking and dancing, maybe even leaving. He could easily slip out without running into Carol, but he doesn’t want to, not unless–

“Hey, uh, do you wanna get out of here?” Steve blurts out.

Eddie blinks. “Me?”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. “No, the other guy I just made out with in the bathroom.”

“And here I thought I was special,” Eddie says with pouty lips– fuck, Steve wants to kiss them again.

So he does. Just a quick press of lips.

When he pulls back, he places another small kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Say yes,” he says before doing the same on the other side. “And I’ll show you special.”

Steve hears the way Eddie’s breath hitches and feels a smirk teasing at his lips.

Only for it to be wiped away by Eddie grabbing him by his neck and pulling him in for more than a press of lips.

Damn, he’s a fast learner.

“Yes,” Eddie says once he pulls back, giving him a shit-eating grin.

Steve sends a silent ‘thank you’ to Carol Perkins before reaching for Eddie’s hand to drag him out of there.