#learning to walk again... with heels...

[blingeesketchbook]

i don't think i've seen many "disguised tallest" designs before, so here's them in terrible stupid slutty human cosplay

[julietsf1]

Strawberry Season - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: she was his plus-one, his accessory, his afterthought. but Lando Norris? he made her laugh before her boyfriend even noticed she’d stopped smiling (6.7k words)

content: sad/comfort, slow burn, he falls first, stuck in bad relationship (non-graphic), mutual pining, mention of fish!

AN: I was having a nostalgic day and suddenly I remembered Shawn Mendes exists. listened to Treat You Better and now boom this was made. big kiss to you all!! don't forget you deserve someone who makes you smile <3

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The Hôtel Hermitage had a way of dressing the evening in silk and scent—amber light dancing off champagne flutes, velvet murmurs weaving between notes of string quartets, the faint hush of the sea just beyond the terrace.

You arrived on your boyfriend's arm, perfectly polished, smelling faintly of oud and confidence. Your gown—a midnight blue silk with delicate beading at the shoulders—glistened like the reflection of stars on still water. He, in a tuxedo he hadn’t even ironed himself, gave you a cursory once-over, the kind usually reserved for window displays or weather forecasts.

"You clean up well. When you try," he remarked, the words soaked in backhanded charm and just enough volume to make the sommelier glance over with subtle disapproval. "Didn’t expect that dress to actually work on you."

Then he kissed your temple like one might stamp a document—detached, obligatory—and peeled off toward a group of men with hedge funds and zero personalities, tossing the comment like a grenade dipped in cologne. He chuckled at his own wit before they even reacted, already anticipating the hollow laughter of men who mistook cruelty for charisma.

You blinked once, twice, then turned on your heel and made for the bar.

"One strawberry martini, please," you said to the bartender, your voice calm and glossy, though your chest felt like it was holding its breath. The bartender gave a subtle nod and began working in quiet sympathy.

You leaned your elbow on the marble and exhaled. Your reflection in the mirrored back wall looked elegant and mildly amused. That, at least, you could live with.

"Your boyfriend’s tux looks like it’s been through customs, dry-cleaned with a rock, and ironed with a shoe."

You turned. The man beside you held a glass of something expensive and looked far too pleased with himself. He was, annoyingly, the kind of handsome that didn’t need to try. Hair—perfectly careless. Smile—dangerously self-aware. The overall vibe? Trouble, tailored in what I assume is Tom Ford.

You laughed, sharp and immediate. "Do you know I spent half the afternoon trying to convince him to iron that shirt? Offered him a steamer. He looked personally victimized by the concept of chores. Hopeless."

He looked delighted. "So this was a collaborative failure. Now I feel bad for mocking it. Sort of."

"Don’t. I made one polite suggestion and he acted like I’d insulted his entire lineage. I refuse to be held responsible for his fashion choices," you said, the corners of your mouth finally giving in to a smile. The knot in your chest loosened just a little—this was the most fun you’d had all evening.

"I can’t tie my own ties," he offered casually. "So really, who am I to talk?"

"What do you do, then? Just let your girlfriend do it for you?"

"No girlfriend, just clip-ons. Or my mate George. He’s so posh he probably learned to tie a bow tie before he could tie his own shoes."

You laughed again, lighter this time. The sound surprised you with how easy it felt.

"Well," you said, "I can't even walk in my So Kates for an hour, so I’m in no position to judge anyone tonight."

His eyebrows lifted like you'd said you walked here barefoot. "That’s borderline inhumane. Those are incredibly uncomfortable, right?"

"Horrible," you admitted, sipping your drink. "But the real perk is that I now have a perfectly valid excuse to leave this party in about thirty minutes."

He tapped his glass against yours. "To noble suffering."

"And men who can’t tie ties."

"Ouch. That was personal."

You grinned, the martini smoothing out something tight in your chest. The conversation rolled along like it had always been waiting for an excuse to begin.

"Lando," he said suddenly, extending a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Lando," you replied, taking it, your grip easy, your smile laced with light amusement.

You tilted your head slightly. "I think I recognise you—from the racing, right?"

His brow quirked, caught somewhere between pleased and intrigued. "Guilty."

You sipped your drink, eyes glinting. "Well, it’s easy to remember a face like that."

"In the positive way?"

You rolled your eyes at him. "Please."

His posture straightened just a touch. The smirk didn’t leave his face, but something about it softened at the edges.

"I’ll try not to let that go to my head," he said, a beat late, his voice just a little warmer, his eyes twinkling amused. 

"You already did."

"Unfair. That was disarming. You’re very good at this."

"At what?" you said, feigning innocence.

"Catching me off guard in a way that’s... annoyingly effective."

"I have a talent," you said, sipping your drink.

"You do," he replied, gaze lingering just a second too long before he added, "and you’re very distracting."

You arched a brow. "Good distracting or 'tripped-over-my-own-feet' distracting?"

"Bit of both. Still deciding."

You laughed, shaking your head, the edge of your smile refusing to leave.

And just like that, the night took on a different hue. The room still sparkled, but its edges softened. You talked about Monaco in winter, about awful hotel carpets, about how Lando once tried to cook pasta in a kettle. There were no pauses, no polite silences. It was ridiculous and lovely and utterly unserious.

At some point, your boyfriend reappeared in the distance, laughing too loudly with someone whose blazer had dragons embroidered on the sleeves.

Lando clocked it instantly. "Should I spill something on him? Not on purpose, obviously. But also maybe very much on purpose."

"Tempting," you said.

He set his glass down. "But we’re too elegant for that."

"Allegedly."

The music swelled, a slow turn from something glittering into something that signaled the end of the night.

You sighed and glanced at the crowd. "I should go find him."

Lando leaned against the bar with a smirk. "Are you sure? He gives off strong 'brings up his net worth in casual conversation' energy."

You smirked. "You’re terrible."

"But right."

"No comment."

As you walked away, he called after you, "Next time, I’m bringing backup shoes for you."

You didn’t turn. But your smile stayed with you, long after the violins began their last swell.

…

The paddock terrace buzzed with the sort of energy only Monaco could host—where money didn’t whisper, it practically shouted through linen suits and Hermès bags, and everything smelled faintly of jet fuel and overpriced champagne.

You arrived on your boyfriend’s arm, your heels clicking softly on the polished concrete, your dress catching the breeze in a way that had drawn more than a few glances already. The adrenaline in the air was contagious. You couldn’t help it—you were excited. This was your home turf, after all. Monaco at its absolute peak.

You leaned over slightly, catching your first glimpse of the pit lane just below the terrace’s glass railing. The sound, the scent, the movement—it all made your heart flicker.

“This is amazing,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I can actually feel the vibration of the engines from here.”

Your boyfriend barely glanced up from his phone. “Yeah it’s whatever,” he muttered. “Look—those guys in the corner, that’s who I need to speak to. Go entertain yourself, will you?”

You opened your mouth, but he was already off, striding toward a group of Loro Piana-clad finance types who looked like they’d never broken a sweat in their lives. One of them gave you a cursory glance before turning his attention back to whatever new tax loophole they were dissecting.

Left alone, you drifted toward the edge of the terrace, your fingers lightly brushing the glass. You looked in the distance, taking in the beautiful track. The air that smelled like tyre smoke. Somewhere, a commentator’s voice crackled through loudspeakers.

Then you heard it—cutting through the din like it was aimed just for you.

“Hey, Strawberry!”

You blinked, turned your head.

Down in the pit lane, Lando was looking directly at you, leaning casually against the garage barrier with his helmet tucked under one arm and a grin that bordered on criminal. “Good to see you again!” he called up, already looking far too pleased with himself.

Your smile widened despite yourself.

He pointed upward, voice still carrying. “What? You thought I’d forget your cocktail of choice? Strawberry martini, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of you. A few heads turned to see who he was yelling at. You gave a little wave, pretending not to enjoy the attention.

"Fancy seeing you here."

“You look bored up there!” he shouted, cupping a hand around his mouth for dramatic flair. “Wanna come down and see where the fun actually happens?”

You raised an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued.

He motioned toward the stairs behind you. “Come on, Strawberry. I’ll even let you wear the team radio.”

You glanced back toward the terrace. Your boyfriend was still deep in conversation, probably pitching himself like a startup, laughing with one hand in his pocket and the other balancing a drink he hadn’t even offered you.

So, you turned back to Lando—who was now dramatically miming putting on headphones like he was in a music video—and tilted your head like you were still considering it.

"Alright then," you called down. "But if I trip in these heels, I’m blaming you."

"I'll catch you," he yelled back, utterly unfazed. “Or I’ll sue the FIA for putting stairs in a paddock. Either way—worth it.”

You made your way down the metal staircase, the heels clicking like castanets, and by the time you reached the bottom, Lando was already holding out a pair of headphones and an access bracelet with a kind of smug reverence.

“For you, madame,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your official ticket to the chaos.”

You put on the bracelet with a smile, already feeling a little lighter.

“For the record,” he said, holding out the headset, “I don’t offer these to just anyone.”

You took them. “Oh, so I’m special.”

“Undoubtedly.”

You slipped the headphones on as he stepped back, hands in the pockets of his race suit, clearly satisfied.

“Let me guess,” you said, voice a little louder now with the headset in place, “you do this for all the guests who look mildly unimpressed by the view upstairs?”

“No,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Just the ones I secretly hope stick around.”

You gave him a look—curious, not skeptical—and he added quickly, “Because you’ve got good race-watching energy. Very calm. Slightly elegant. Makes the garage look better.”

“Right,” you said, clearly amused. “You just want me to make you look cool.”

“Impossible task,” he admitted with a grin. “But I admire your optimism.”

The garage buzzed around you—technicians moving with purpose, radios crackling, tyres getting shuffled like oversized poker chips. And yet, somehow, everything in your little corner felt... light.

“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “I like stealing a few quiet minutes when I can.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot during weekends like this I can imagine.”

He glanced at you, thoughtful for a moment, like he wanted to ask something but decided against it. Then his expression shifted back to its usual mischief.

“Want to see something fun?”

You blinked. “Fun in a normal person way, or in a ‘you drive 300km/h for fun’ way?”

“Both,” he said, tilting his head toward the car in the middle of the garage—sleek, low, and absolutely radiating menace. “Come on. Get in. You’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “Earned it how?”

“For surviving the upstairs crowd without launching yourself off the terrace,” he said, already grinning. “Also, I feel like you'd suit it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want to see me try to climb into that thing in a dress.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “But I’ll make it look like I’m being a gentleman helping you in. Good for my PR.”

You laughed but still let him offer his hand. His grip was steady, warm, guiding you in with an ease that made the whole moment feel weirdly... natural.

Inside, the cockpit felt surreal—like slipping into another universe. Tight, sharp, oddly comfortable in a way that made you sit up straighter.

You looked up at him. “I feel like I need clearance from air traffic control.”

Lando smirked. “You look good in it.”

You raised a brow. “Is this part of your usual garage tour?” He grinned. “Only the deluxe version. Very limited availability.” 

“Mm-hmm.”

He crouched beside the car, arms resting on the edge, expression suddenly playful. “Alright—race start. Lights out. Whole world watching. What’s your move?”

You pretended to think. “Adjust my lip gloss. Then floor it.”

He burst out laughing. “Unreal. No notes.”

You smiled, settling back slightly in the seat, the hum of the garage around you fading into a softer kind of focus. His eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary, making you feel a bit warmer than you would’ve liked to admit. 

“Okay,” you said eventually. “I like your version of fun.”

“Told you.”

Just then, you heard your name.

Lando glanced up behind you, his smile dimming just slightly.

You followed his gaze.

There, at the top of the stairs, your boyfriend had finally noticed. Arms folded. Sunglasses pushed down just enough to show a flicker of something more than irritation. 

You shifted slightly in the seat, your back instinctively straightening, your smile thinning.

“I should probably head back,” you murmured, glancing up again. “Before that turns into a thing.”

Lando’s eyes were still on you.

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low and smooth. “I kind of like that I get under his skin.”

You gave him a warning look, but your smile gave you away.

“He’s... not great with this sort of thing.”

Lando leaned one arm casually against the car, just close enough that his shoulder brushed the edge of yours. “What sort of thing? Someone actually talking to you? Enjoying you?”

You swallowed. “He’s just protective.”

“He didn’t look all that interested twenty minutes ago.”

You didn’t respond.

Lando straightened up slightly, his grin flickering into something more assured, less teasing. “You don’t have to explain it. But I’m not sorry for this.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and for a second, you forgot the tension humming above the pit lane.

You laughed softly. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, grinning.

You climbed out carefully—again with his help, though he tried very hard not to smirk when your heel caught slightly on the floor.

“Thanks for inviting me down,” you said, adjusting your dress.

He nodded. “Anytime. Next time you should stay for the race.”

You paused at that, surprised, amused, and... something else. Then you turned, stepping away, the noise of the pit building back around you.

“Bye, Strawberry!” he called after you, voice light and full of sunshine. “Try not to break hearts on your way up!”

…

The lunch reservation was for 13:00. The cancellation came at 12:52.

“Something came up. Just a quick game at the club. Have to raincheck.”

You stared at the message like it might change if you blinked hard enough. It didn’t. The text sat there on your screen, casual and infuriating, like a shrug in Helvetica.

The maître d’ at the café had already asked if you’d like to be seated twice. You smiled politely, murmured a no thank you, and slipped out before you started feeling more humiliated than hungry.

The sky was unfairly pretty for a bad day—clear and soft, with sunbeams brushing the cobblestones as if Monaco itself had no idea someone had just bailed on you for nine holes and overpriced cigars.

You didn’t want to go home. You weren’t angry, not quite. Just tired in a way that lingered behind your ribs. So, instead, you wandered a few streets over—past a bookstore, a gelato stand, and finally, a small flower shop with wide windows and hydrangeas stacked like frosting.

You paused. Then pushed the door open.

The scent hit you first—green, sweet, almost cold from the water buckets lining the floor. Peonies, roses, lavender, tulips. All in quiet conversation. The florist gave you a gentle bonjour from behind a counter cluttered with ribbon and stems.

You wandered aimlessly. No plan. No occasion. You just needed to feel like something soft could still be held in your hands.

You reached toward a bouquet of pale pink peonies—petals feathered and ruffled, like they were mid-sigh.

“I was hoping you’d go for those.”

You turned—half startled, half already smiling.

Lando was standing in the doorway, sunglasses pushed up into his curls, a grin threatening the corner of his mouth. He was wearing a zip-up and trainers, casually gorgeous in the way some people just are when they’re not trying.

“I was going to say,” he added, stepping further inside, “you look like someone who could use a bouquet.”

“You following me now?”

He shrugged. “Just happened to be across the street. Monaco’s small and you have a way of catching my eye.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you.

Lando stepped past you and plucked the peonies from the bucket like he’d been sent here by divine instruction.

“Don’t,” you started, watching as he pulled out his card.

“I insist,” he said smoothly, not even looking back. “They look like you.”

That made you pause. “Soft and overpriced?”

He smirked. “Chic, delicate, vaguely intimidating… but in a very classy way.”

You huffed a laugh and shook your head as he paid, thanked the florist with a grin that probably earned him three free carnations, and handed the bouquet to you like it was an Olympic medal.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.”

You looked down at the flowers, then back at him. “I was just trying to walk off a lunch that didn’t happen.”

“Rough day?”

You nodded once.

He hesitated. Then: “Come on. Let me walk you home. Or somewhere. I’m excellent at distracting people.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you busy?”

“Not even a little.”

You stepped outside together, the late sun catching the edge of your bouquet. He fell into step beside you like it was instinct.

“So,” he said, as you turned the corner, “what car would you never be caught dead in?”

You squinted. “Like… ever?”

“Yes. Immediate judgment. Go.”

You thought. “Anything that looks like it was designed by someone who hates joy. Or a Fiat Multipla.”

“Very specific. I respect it.” He nodded solemnly. “For me, it’s the ones with faces. Like, cartoon villain faces. Headlights that judge you.”

You burst out laughing. “What kind of car trauma are you working through?”

“Deep and unresolved,” he said gravely. “I once had a rental that made me feel like it wanted to eat me. Never again.”

The conversation spiraled from there—into ugly rims, hideous spoilers, the tragedy of beige leather interiors. Every few steps, Lando pointed out a car and gave it a nickname. 

"That one’s definitely a Greg. Greg works in insurance and never tips."

You laughed. Actually laughed. The kind that catches you off guard and warms your ribs a little.

And then—your phone buzzed in your bag.

You glanced down. His name lit up the screen.

Lando noticed the pause.

You looked at the call. Then pressed the side button, letting it disappear. You didn’t say anything about it, and he didn’t ask.

But he smiled. Just slightly.

It was the quietest rebellion you’d made in a while. And it felt... right.

A few minutes later, as you reached your street, you slowed.

“This is me.”

He nodded, eyes flicking up toward the front of your building like he was memorising it for later. Or just being nosy. Hard to say.

“Thanks for—well, for all of that,” you said, lifting the peonies slightly.

“Anytime,” he replied, and you believed him.

You turned to go.

“Oh, and hey,” he called, stepping backwards down the street, that familiar grin slipping into place. “If you ever need help judging more terrible cars…”

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it lightly in your direction. You caught it—his number, scribbled on a business card with Lando (flower expert) scrawled beneath in messy handwriting.

“…now you know where to find me,” he finished.

You looked down at the card, then back up.

“I do now,” you said, smiling—soft, amused, and something else you didn’t want to name yet.

And you didn’t look back until your door had closed behind you—and the peonies were already in water. 

…

Your birthday started with a buzz—literally, from your phone. Noon. A text.

Happy bday x

No call. No emoji. No punctuation enthusiasm. Just lowercase indifference and a kiss like a formality. Like he'd done his civic duty and could now go about his day in peace.

By the time your boyfriend actually arrived at the party—a whopping two hours late, no explanation—you were already knee-deep in hugs, flowers, Aperol spritzes, and the cake was nearly finished.

The rooftop was busy. Sun-drenched. Monaco glittered in the background like it knew it was part of the aesthetic. Friends mingled, music hummed, someone had started making mimosas in a blender for reasons no one could quite explain.

And then there was Lando.

He’d arrived on time, casually cool in a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of sunglasses perched in his curls.

You hadn’t expected him to come, not really. But you’d invited him anyway—half as a joke, half because he was one of the only people lately who made things feel lighter. Since the flower shop, you’d been texting—mostly memes, random complaints about ugly cars, and his very intense opinions on croissants. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d started looking forward to his name lighting up your screen more than you should’ve.

So when he appeared with a cheeky smile and a gift bag in tow, you nearly forgot to keep pretending you weren’t waiting for him.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said, putting the bag on the gift table. “No refunds or returns.”

You grinned. “Perfect. I was just saying how I wanted to make my own life harder today.”

��Glad to contribute.”

Your boyfriend showed up five minutes later.

No apology, no excuse. Just sunglasses, a glance around, and a distracted kiss on the cheek before he handed you an envelope.

Inside was a gift card. For skincare.

“I figured you’d appreciate this,” he said, loud enough for the people around you to hear. “Don’t want an old lady by my side, yeah?”

Someone laughed awkwardly. You didn’t.

You smiled. Thinly. The kind that feels more like a paper cut than anything resembling joy.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, folding the card and tucking it into your bag.

Lando had seen it. The whole thing. He didn’t say anything at first—just sipped his drink, eyes glinting behind his sunglasses.

A few minutes later, he drifted close, nudged your elbow lightly, and said, “Mind if I borrow the birthday girl for a sec?”

You blinked. “Sure?”

He led you away from the crowd and toward the quieter corner of the terrace, near the railing. The music faded behind you. The breeze picked up, cool against your neck.

“I really wanted to personally give this before I have to leave.”

He pulled something small from his little gift bag.

A Cartier box.

You looked at him, suddenly cautious. “Lando, what—”

“Relax,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t mortgage a yacht or anything.”

He flipped the box open with a little dramatic flair.

Inside: a sleek, elegant watch—timeless and perfectly understated, the metal catching the sunlight just enough to glow. When you looked closer, you spotted it—on the back of the face, engraved in the corner, a tiny strawberry.

You looked back up at him.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets now. “So you know when it’s time to leave,” he said lightly, then winked. “Or when it’s time to stay.”

You laughed, a real one this time, head tipped back just slightly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I should be offended,” he murmured, carefully fastening the clasp around your wrist. “But you are right.”

“Don’t say anything yet,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. “I have a speech.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” He stepped a little closer, enough that you had to tilt your chin just slightly to keep looking at him. “Won’t say it’s well prepared, though.”

You glanced up. “No?”

He shrugged, then looked at you—not performative, just sincere with a glint of trouble behind it. “I figured you already knew. That you’re kind. And bright. And that you maybe make half of Monaco feel slightly boring in comparison.”

Your eyes caught his, something warm pooling between the humour and whatever was quietly rising beneath it.

“But also,” he added, tone shifting back to the familiar grin, “you’ve tolerated me for weeks, so I figured you deserved a prize.”

“Ah,” you said. “So it’s a pity watch.”

“It’s a prestigious pity watch,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” you said, fingers brushing over the charm. “Truly.”

A few friends called your name in the distance, but you didn’t move yet.

When you finally hugged him goodbye, it lingered. A second too long. Not enough to make it obvious—but enough that you both noticed.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, his hand pressed lightly against your back, and neither of you made a joke this time.

And that’s when it hit you. That soft, uncomfortable, quiet truth slowly creeping up on you.

You didn’t want to go back to the party.

You didn’t want to go back to him.

You just wanted to stay in that warm, safe, ridiculous moment a little longer.

…

It had been one of those dinners where the wine flowed more freely than the conversation, where the seating was all wrong, and the playlist too curated to feel spontaneous. You’d arrived on time, makeup set, dress clinging just right, genuinely hoping the night might turn things around.

He had promised he’d come.

You’d waited. You made polite conversation with strangers. You checked your phone under the table every ten minutes. At 10:14pm, a message finally came.

Running late. Take a cab? x

You stared at it. The ‘x’ annoyed you most—like it could soften the blow. Like it meant anything at this point.

You slipped out quietly, offering the host a graceful excuse. No one really noticed. You walked down the hill alone, heels clicking against wet stone. The rain started halfway to the road—first soft, then persistent, warm but unrelenting.

By the time you reached the corner, you were soaked. Your jacket was thin and decorative. Your hair clung to your cheeks. A cab passed. You raised your hand too late. Another didn’t even slow.

Then headlights curved around the bend.

A sleek black car eased up to the curb, quiet and smug.

The window rolled down.

“Need a ride, Cinderella?”

Lando.

You blinked at him through the rain.

He was in a hoodie, hair damp, wearing Nike slides like he’d rolled straight out of a student flat. His smile was all teeth and trouble, curls damp at the edges, and yet he looked exactly like what you didn’t know you needed.

You exhaled through a laugh. “What are you even doing here?”

“Padel,” he said simply, “with the boys. Charles insisted we needed some cardio. Alex brought protein shakes. It was big.”

You didn’t move.

He nudged the door open from the inside. “Get in. You look like a drenched sad poodle.”

You slid into the passenger seat, wet fabric against warm leather. The door thunked shut, muting the storm instantly.

The cabin smelled faintly of eucalyptus and sweat and jasmine air freshener. It was... comforting.

Lando glanced over. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though the answer was somewhere closer to no.

“Why were you walking?” he asked.

You stared out the window. “My ride bailed on me.”

He didn’t reply right away. Just gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Then, quieter: “Right.”

You could feel the temperature drop half a degree in the silence that followed.

He turned onto a quieter road, headlights sweeping over puddles, rain tapping steadily on the roof.

Then he cleared his throat. “Padel really roughed us all up today.”

You blinked. “Aren’t you professional athletes?”

“Oh, yeah. You’d think we’re all coordinated and elite and whatever,” he waved vaguely with one hand, “but I’ve never seen grown men lose their dignity faster than when we play anything outside of racing.”

You laughed softly. “You’re telling me Charles Leclerc isn’t good at everything?”

“God, no,” Lando said, perking up. “Charles is awful at most sports. He insists though he could’ve been a pro footballer. Brings it up every time he can.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Dead serious,” Lando grinned. “He once missed three serves in a row at padel, slammed the racket down, and said, ‘It’s because my reflexes are trained for football.’”

You snorted. “He did not.”

“And then there’s George,” Lando said. “Who, by the way, calls padel ‘cheap tennis for the common folks’ but still never declines an invitation.”

You laughed. “I assume this is the same George that helps you tie your bows?”

“Absolutely.” Lando continued, “And then there is Alex who has the coordination of a baby giraffe. He runs like he’s buffering.”

You were laughing now, fully, warmth curling in your chest.

“So what about you?” you asked, glancing sideways. “How much do you suck?”

“I’d like to think I’m one of the better ones in the group,” he said confidently.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s definitely not true.”

“I’m amazing at everything, especially other sports.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a god at golf,” he added, eyes twinkling. “Elite. Practically unbeatable. Some say Tiger Woods retired just to avoid me.”

“Some say?”

“Me. Just me. But I say it with conviction.”

You grinned, resting your head against the seat, the storm outside softening under the steady purr of the engine.

“You’re good at this,” you said after a pause.

“At what?”

“Distractions.”

He smiled, but didn’t answer.

A few minutes passed like that—quiet, easy, the kind of silence that felt earned. The kind you didn’t want to break.

Then Lando turned off the main road.

You lifted your head. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said, flashing you a quick glance. “Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapping you. Yet.”

“That’s reassuring.”

Two turns later, he parked in front of a small café tucked between shuttered boutiques. Soft orange light glowed from the windows. The sign above the door read Clémentine in fading script.

“I need hot chocolate,” he said. “And you, tragically, look like you do too.”

You laughed. “This your secret spot?”

He grinned. “Sort of. George’s girlfriend loves this place. Alex’s girl says it feels like a Wes Anderson film. Charles’s thinks they do the best croissants in Europe—which is wrong, but she’s charming so we let it slide.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So this is… an exclusive tier”

He gave a small, lopsided grin. “Yeah. You’d fit right in.”

You blinked, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

He looked over the roof of the car and winked. “Let’s go, Strawberry.”

…

Inside, the café was quiet and warm, the kind of place that smells like something’s always in the oven. The barista gave Lando a knowing nod.

“Deux chocolats chauds, extra cream, and an extra cookie, please,” he said as you slid into a corner table.

Your dress was still damp at the edges, and your heels had started to pinch, but the chair was soft and the lighting was kind. 

You watched him as he pulled off his hoodie—without a word—he held it out to you across the table.

“You’re shivering,” he said simply.

You hesitated, then slipped it on. It was warm, oversized, and smelled faintly like him—cologne, laundry detergent, and something like orange peel. It pooled around your wrists like it belonged there.

He dropped into the seat across from you, in a plain white t-shirt slightly creased and still damp at the collar. He looked maddeningly effortless. 

When the drinks arrived, he handed yours over carefully, fingers brushing yours as he passed the mug.

“I think you forget how extraordinary you are sometimes,” he said.

No grin. No teasing glint in his eye. Just sincerity, like it had been sitting quietly on his tongue for a while, waiting for the right moment.

You looked at him.

And for a heartbeat too long, the world went still.

Then, gently, you lowered your gaze, your hands tightening around the warmth of the mug. You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

Something softened in your chest. Something that hadn’t for weeks.

…

The invitation had come via text, in true Lando fashion.

Hiya there’s this art auction Friday. Charles’s girlfriend’s hosting. Could be fun. Come with? Low pressure, high snacks.

You hadn’t even known Lando liked art, let alone attended charity auctions hosted by the Monaco elite, but the message made you smile. You’d read it twice. Maybe three times.

He followed up, minutes later:

Bring your boyfriend, if he won’t spontaneously combust in a room without talking about stocks.

That was how you ended up on the guest list for a night you weren’t supposed to remember as the one where everything finally snapped.

You didn’t know Alexandra—not really. You’d seen her tagged in posts with Charles, always in Dior or vintage Alaïa, always looking like she’d been drawn rather than born. But the invite felt personal in a way you couldn’t explain. Like Lando had meant for you to have something nice.

You showed up with your boyfriend.

He was already half-distracted before you arrived, scrolling his phone as the car pulled up outside the villa, barely glancing at the curated sculpture garden or the warm lighting glowing out from the glass facade.

“Art shows, what a waste of time and money,” he said, adjusting his watch, not even pretending to be excited about going with you. “Hope I can do some decent networking, make something of my night at least.”

As expected, he made a beeline for the restroom the moment you stepped inside. You hated how much relief washed over you—but deep down, you just didn’t want his sulking to cloud your first impression.

But then—you spotted Lando.

He was standing near the champagne tower, wearing a charcoal jacket with the sleeves half-rolled and a grin like he’d been waiting for you.

He caught your eye and made a show of pretending to squint. “Strawberry?” he said dramatically as you approached. “Wow. Look at you, pretending not to know me in front of the important people.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was hoping you’d stay over there a little longer.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded solemnly. “But then I wouldn’t get to tell you how unreasonably hot you look.”

You gave him a dry smile. “You’re terrible at compliments.”

“And yet, somehow, you keep showing up.”

Just then, a lilting voice cut in—velvety, amused.

“Is this the infamous Strawberry?”

You turned.

She was every bit the Monaco fantasy: Alexandra, in vintage Saint Laurent, hair pinned like a Vogue spread, a glass of champagne in one hand and the quiet confidence of someone who knew every art dealer in the room—and their secrets. And yet, the way she looked at you felt nothing but warm.

“I’ve heard things,” she said, leaning in for a kiss on each cheek. “Mostly from this one, who dramatically insists he doesn’t talk about you, and then does. A lot.”

You laughed, surprised. “Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

Lando raised his eyebrows in mock betrayal. “Unbelievable slander in my own presence.”

Alexandra gave you an approving once-over, eyes twinkling. “You look incredible, by the way. Please tell me you’re staying for the cocktails after. We have a pianist who’ll play Taylor Swift if you bribe him with compliments or €20.”

“That might be the most compelling reason I’ve ever been given to stay at a party,” you said, grinning.

Alexandra gave you a grin from ear to ear, amused. “I’m really so happy to finally meet you! I can already tell we are going to be great friends! You should meet my dog.”

You smiled. “Oh my god! I would love to!”

“Already regretting introducing you two,” Lando said. “Feels like I’m third wheeling.”

“That’s your own fault, Norris,” Alexandra said, sipping her champagne. “You have been hyping her up for weeks, of course I’m excited.”

You looked at him. “Oh really?”

Lando didn’t even blink. “All good things. Mostly.”

Alexandra raised her eyebrows at you. “He actually tried to be subtle about it. It was cute.”

You bit back a smile. “I can imagine.”

“I’ll come find you later,” Alexandra added, brushing your arm. “Got to make sure Charles hasn’t lost Leo yet. So nice to meet you, lovely!”

She slipped off into the crowd with the grace of someone born to host art auctions and mild chaos.

“She’s my new favourite person,” you said.

“I’m going to pretend that doesn’t hurt,” Lando said. “But only because you look stupidly good tonight.”

He sipped his champagne, eyes back on the crowd like he hadn’t just said something that made your pulse tick strangely in your wrist.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t think of anything clever fast enough.

But the flush in your cheeks said enough.

You gave him a side glance.

…

Laughter drifted lightly through the space, more polite than genuine, the kind of sound bred in auction houses and villas with good acoustics. You let yourself drift for a while, away from the main crush of guests and the low buzz of clinking flutes and unsolicited business pitches.

Lando had disappeared into a conversation across the room—arms folded, half-listening, already looking for an escape route. You wandered along the perimeter, letting your eyes pass over sculpture and canvas, nothing really sticking—until something did.

A Monet.

Not loud. Not the centrepiece of the evening. Just tucked off to the side, quietly luminous. The colour was soft, the light dreamlike, and it hit you all at once—how rare it was to stand still in front of something that didn’t need to impress anyone to be worth something.

You didn’t smile, but you didn’t move either.

And then, out of nowhere, a voice landed at your side.

“You’re not seriously getting emotional over that, are you?”

You blinked once.

Your boyfriend had materialised beside you, the corner of his mouth turned up in that smug, half-bored way he always wore at events that weren’t about him.

“It’s just some smudged garden scene,” he added, barely sparing it a glance. “Looks like the guy couldn’t be bothered to finish it.”

You said nothing.

He chuckled, nudging your elbow like he was letting you in on a joke. “Honestly, my niece brought home something just like this last week—finger paints, but same idea.”

You turned toward him.

And for once, your voice didn’t waiver. “Do you ever get tired?”

He raised a brow. “Of what?”

“Of being so obnoxious.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “I was joking—”

“I know you were not. You just have to be an asshole all the time,” you said, stepping back. “I’m so done with this.”

You handed him your untouched champagne without looking at him again.

And then you walked.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just… forward. Certain.

Across the room, Lando caught sight of you. He paused mid-sentence, head tilting ever so slightly, eyes following the clean line of your exit. He didn’t know what had happened. But he knew enough.

And he didn’t see the man behind you calling your name, confusion creeping into frustration, his voice rising in your wake.

…

The days following the gala blurred into a haze of solitude. You hadn't anticipated the weight of ending a relationship that had, for too long, been a source of discomfort rather than joy. Even though it felt like a relief to be free, the fresh perspective you had now gained made looking back on the relationship seemingly harder, being disappointed in yourself for sticking around so long.The walls of your apartment seemed to close in, each corner echoing with memories you'd rather forget.

Then, an unexpected message illuminated your phone screen. It was from Alexandra.

Hii! I know we've only met once, Charles is hosting a yacht party this weekend. I'd love for you to come. It'll be fun, and I think you could use a night out. What do you say?

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Alexandra's warmth was palpable, even through text. The idea of attending a lavish yacht party was daunting, especially solo, but the prospect of genuine company was tempting. Before you could overthink it, you quickly responded you’d be there.

…

The evening of the party arrived with a golden sunset casting its glow over Monaco's harbor. As you approached the yacht, its grandeur was undeniable. Laughter and the clinking of glasses floated through the air, mingling with the soft strains of music. Taking a deep breath, you stepped aboard, the gentle sway beneath your feet reminding you of the fluidity of the moment.

You hadn’t arrived with a dramatic entrance, but you may as well have. There was something in the way you carried yourself—unhurried, unbothered, glowing without trying—that turned heads. The white sundress moved like water around your legs. Your hair was soft, undone. You looked like summer had chosen you personally.

"Hey! You made it!" Alexandra's voice rang out, genuine delight evident as she approached, her embrace warm and reassuring.

She beamed the moment she saw you. “You look like revenge dressed in satin. Come ruin someone's night—in a good way.”

"Thank you! I’m so excited!" you replied, grateful for her presence.

She linked her arm with yours, guiding you through the throng. "Come on, let's get you a drink and introduce you to some people."

So you mingled.

You laughed. You listened. You accepted compliments with a smile that didn’t flicker with doubt this time. The isolation of the past few days had left you sharper, oddly steadier. You hadn’t expected to feel so… grounded. You were alone, technically. But not lonely.

And then—across the deck—you felt it.

Someone watching.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

But you did anyway.

Lando stood near the upper rail, half-leaning into conversation with Charles and George, drink in hand, curls damp like he’d only recently dried off. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to be suggestive without meaning to be, and he was laughing at something George was saying—until he saw you.

Then he stopped laughing.

His eyes softened. Lit up. Like you’d just stepped out of a dream he wasn’t finished having.

He didn't move immediately. Just watched. And when you finally gave him a smile—small, knowing—he excused himself, barely disguising it.

You turned back to your conversation, heart thudding quietly.

When he reached you, it was casual. Or it would’ve been, if not for the very specific way he looked at you. As if seeing you tonight had knocked the wind out of him slightly.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice easy, but with that familiar edge of amusement.

You tilted your head. “Trying my best. Alexandra told me to come ruin someone’s night tonight.”

Lando’s gaze swept over you, amused. “I’ve got a pretty good candidate.”

You met his look head-on. “You volunteering?”

“I’m begging.”

You took a step closer, just enough. “Careful. I take those kinds of requests seriously.”

His voice dipped. “I was hoping you would.”

You laughed.

He smiled, pleased.

“I was wondering if you’d come,” he said, a little quieter now. “I didn’t want to push.”

“I needed a few days,” you replied honestly. “To unpick a few things.”

Lando nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something more, something gentler, but didn’t want to risk it here.

“Want to see the good part of the boat?” he offered instead, gesturing subtly toward the back. “It’s less busy, better view of the sea.”

“Are you offering a tour or an escape plan?”

“Both,” he said. “But this is not my boat so don’t blame me if we get lost mid-tour.”

You smiled, setting your glass down. “Alright. Lead the way.”

He offered his hand this time. Not his arm. His hand. Like it was only natural you’d take it.

And you did.

…

The further you got from the music and noise, the more the sea became the soundtrack. The laughter and clinking glasses behind you faded into something muted and unimportant. Lando walked beside you—not rushing, not talking. His thumb brushed against yours every few steps, like a quiet question he didn’t need answered yet.

At the stern, it opened up—a wide, quiet deck, low to the water, with just enough light to see but not enough to distract from the stars. The sea lapped gently around the hull. It smelled like salt and sun.

You leaned against the railing, feeling the breeze touch your skin. Lando stood beside you, but not too close.

“Nice out here,” you murmured, looking up.

He glanced over at you. “You suit starlight. That’s unfair.”

You gave him a look. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Absolutely,” he said, eyes warm. “I’ve been holding back for weeks.”

You laughed, quiet and real. He grinned, pleased.

But then, after a second, he sobered. His gaze drifted down, toward the water, and when he spoke again, his voice had shifted.

“You look happy,” Lando said lightly, almost teasing. “I almost didn’t recognise you without the polite ‘I’m-fine’ smile.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Wow. Go ahead and expose me.”

“I’m serious,” he said, this time softer. “It’s good to see you like this.”

You glanced at him, and for a moment, he didn’t try to dodge the feeling in the air. He looked out at the sea and back again.

“I hated seeing you pretend,” he said finally. “These past few months… at the garage, the brunch, the auction—you were always there, but it felt like part of you was somewhere else. You still smiled, still made jokes, still looked beautiful, but…”

He trailed off. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Just because he meant all of it.

You didn’t speak right away.

“You wanted to throw him in the harbour, didn’t you.”

A beat.

“Every single time,” Lando said, with no apology.

That made you laugh again, but quieter this time. Almost sad.

You looked down at the rail, fingers brushing the edge. “I wasn’t really fooling anyone, was I.”

“You fooled plenty,” he said. “Just not me.”

You looked away for a beat. Then quietly, “I haven’t been unhappy around you, though.”

Lando froze.

When you turned your head back, he was watching you like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“Say that again,” he said, almost joking. Almost.

You smiled, small and real. “You’ve been the exception, Lando. You’ve always felt like... a relief. Like I could let out a breath I never knew I was holding.”

His expression cracked open at the edges—something flickering across it, equal parts surprise and affection.

“I’ve been trying not to say something,” he said eventually, his voice lower now. “But it’s getting... impossible.”

You arched a brow. “To me or to you?”

He looked at you deeply, green eyes soft but with a sparkle. “Me. Definitely me.”

There was a beat of silence, hanging between you like a held breath.

“You just keep making it harder,” he added, almost laughing at himself. “Showing up looking like this. Laughing at my stupid jokes.”

You stared at him. He raised his hands, just slightly.

“I know I joke around a lot,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s easy to hide behind that. But I’m not playing with this. I’m not here to push or expect anything you’re not ready for.” He paused, letting the words settle. “I just… I need you to know. I’ve been falling for you since the gala.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed or dramatic—just honest. And they landed like something you’d been waiting to hear without realising.

You stayed still, listening.

“Since the dress,” he went on, his smile tugging softly at the corner of his mouth. “Since the strawberry drink. Since you made fun of my bow tie.”

You laughed—quiet and barely there. But it was real.

“Since you made me want to stick around,” he added, “even when you were barely looking at me.”

His eyes met yours fully now. “You’re magnetic,” he said, simple as anything. “Warm. Sharp. And really hot even when you look like a drenched puppy.” He exhaled lightly. “And I just… I didn’t want summer to end without you knowing.”

You stepped closer.

Close enough to feel the change in the air, the shift in his breathing.

You placed your hand on his chest, light but certain.

“Lando.”

He didn’t move.

“If I kiss you, is it going to be a problem?”

His answer was immediate, and sure. “No.”

Then, softer. “But only if you want to.”

You looked at him for a long, quiet second.

“I do.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding it since May. Maybe longer.

And then you kissed him.

Slow, at first. Curious. The kind of kiss that asks before it takes. His hand hovered near your waist, the other brushing your jaw with the gentlest touch—as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

But the second your fingers curled into his shirt and your lips parted slightly, that control cracked.

His arm wrapped fully around you then, the kiss deepening with a sudden warmth that made your stomach twist. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for weeks. Like he'd held every grin, every brush of your arm, every stolen look in his chest—and finally let them out all at once.

You felt it in the way his hand slid up your back, in the way his mouth moved with yours like he already knew the rhythm.

When you finally pulled apart, your breath hitched.

His forehead leaned against yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then you smiled, just a little. “So… did I ruin your night after all?”

Lando let out a low, breathless laugh. “You can ruin my life, for all I care.”

He leaned in again, this time without hesitation.

And then he kissed you—like he had nothing left to hold back. Like the wait had been worth it. Like it had always been leading to this.

…

It was the kind of Sunday that felt like a soft breeze. The kind where you woke up to Lando already beside you, hair a mess, voice rough with sleep as he offered to make pancakes—and then promptly convinced you to go out for groceries instead. A domestic detour. A small adventure disguised as an errand. Like you had so many of these past weeks with him.

You hadn’t argued. Not really.

Now, somewhere between the mangoes and the melons in your favourite Carrefour, you were watching Lando shake a pineapple like it had personally offended him.

“That’s not how you check if it’s ripe,” you said, barely holding in a laugh.

He looked genuinely betrayed. “It’s not? Then why did that woman on YouTube tell me to do it?”

“You watched a pineapple tutorial?”

“Research is key,” he said, placing it carefully into the cart. “Anyway, I came prepared.”

“You’re such a dork.” You rolled your eyes, smiling. “You pick the snacks, I’ll handle dinner?”

He winked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Then promptly wandered off to the crisps aisle like a man on a mission.

You lingered in the herb section, still debating parsley versus basil, when a voice behind you slid into your spine like cold water.

“Well. You look good.”

You turned.

He looked the same—your ex. A little too polished, sunglasses indoors, holding a bottle of overpriced green juice that screamed aesthetic punishment.

“Thanks,” you said simply. “I’ve been feeling better.”

It wasn’t petty. Just honest.

He blinked, clearly not expecting honesty.

You were just about to step away when—

“Oh, no. No no no,” Lando groaned from the next aisle, appearing with a look of theatrical dismay. “There’s a full seafood crime scene back there. Half the ocean’s laid out. I’ve never seen so much salmon.”

He stopped short when he saw you. And him.

His entire posture shifted.

He stepped up beside you, one hand sliding effortlessly around your waist, grounding and easy. He didn’t force it. Just filled the space.

“Hi,” Lando said, his tone calm, eyes flicking to the man in front of you. “I’m Lando.”

Your ex gave a tight nod, straightening slightly. “We’ve met.”

Lando’s gaze dipped to the man’s basket—almond milk, snack bars, and two tubs of something suspiciously protein-packed and aggressively vanilla.

“Solid haul,” Lando said, casual. Then, after the smallest pause, “Though I’d go easy on the sugar. Causes hair loss, you know. Wouldn’t want to risk it, considering your current situation.”

He didn’t smile. Just winked. Cheeky enough to pass for humour. Sharp enough to land exactly where it needed to.

Your ex blinked again. Offered no reply. Just turned back toward the juice aisle with the grace of someone trying not to trip over his own ego.

“Lovely to see you,” Lando called politely, already nudging the cart forward—his hand still warm around your waist.

You let him guide you down the aisle, heart flickering with quiet satisfaction.

“Hair loss?” you asked, giggling, once you were out of earshot.

He shrugged, eyes forward, lips twitching. “What? It was observational science.”

“You’re awful.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your temple. “But I’m yours.”

You laughed, soft and real, tucking into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

[anarkhebringer]

That post made me curious, so I looked up some general Native etiquette and social behavior studies and. Oh. I get it now.

[classyrbf]

professor!nanami part 3?

professor!nanami who makes you wear a pretty little butt plug during class, making sure your hold is prepped and ready for him later today. Your in the corner of the lecture room, squirming in your seat at the thought of his cock, stretching you open. You’re trying your hardest to get some sort of friction, your nipples hardening under your shirt and your pussy growing wetter with each lewd thought that fills your head. You’re not listening to a word that’s coming out of his mouth, but you are eyeing him like a piece of meat. The small bulge in khakis because his cock is just that thick, the veins running down his forearms and to his large hands, his plump pink lips that having you imagining him eating your sloppy cunt. He’s teasing you in the worst way possible and you can’t stand it, you can’t do a thing with all these people around.

So you take it upon yourself, walking down the steps and up to his desk while everyone writes down the notes on the board. “Professor Nanami?” You stand in front of his desk, rocking back and forth on your heels.

His eyes flicker up to yours, focusing on your glossy lips before trailing down to the obvious cleavage you put on display for him. “Miss y/n.”

“I really need a pencil…is it okay if I borrow one?” You bat your eyelashes at him, a devious smile on your face. “Please?” He reaches into the pencil cup on his desk, handing you one. “Thank you, Professor.” You turn to walk away, taking a few steps before purposefully dropping the pencil on the floor. You fully bend over, flashing him, showing him your dripping cunt and your cute little plug he’s given you. No panties of course. Nanami loudly clears his throat, earning a giggle from you as you grab your pencil and walk back to your seat. He eyes you the whole way there, glaring at you when you sit down and spread your legs enough for him to see under the table. His khakis tighten, his cock straining against the fabric and making it so painful for him. You’re a menace, but he should’ve known better.

Later that day, he has you in home, using the plug he bought you to fuck your ass. He pulls the plug in and out, in and out, watching the way your pretty hole swallows it right up. You hate it, but you love it, but you know it’s not as good as his cock, no, nothing is as good as his cock. It’s right there, throbbing at each whimper and whine you elicit, so damn needy for more. “That little stunt you pulled today in class almost got me in trouble, sweetheart,” he sternly spoke. You writhe in his lap, tossing your head back in frustration when he removes the plug, he slowly rubs the metal over your hole, teasing you.

“I’m sorryyy, I just—ah—wanted…your attention, Professor,” you huff. “I’m really sorryyyy.” You apologize again, biting down on your bottom lip as your hands reach up to play with your perky nipples, pulling and tweaking them.

“Learn patience. Remember?” He raises a brow. “That’s why I’m teasing you now. Just like…this.” He slowly inserts the plug back in your ass, your eyes roll back. “Awe, you’re so fucking wet you don’t even need any lube for your ass,” he chuckles.

“But…mmph—don’t you think I’ve been teased enough? I just wanna feel you inside me,” you pout, wiggling in his grip as he holds your legs open.

His cock twitches at your words. “I know you do, sweetheart, and I wanna feel you too, but the longer we hold back the more good it’ll feel. Just think about it, all that intensity building, the heat on your skin, the blood rushing to your cunt, the desire to cum, your heart beating faster and faster. It’ll be worth it.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, slowly pulling your plug out once more. You whine loudly, growing impatient despite his words. “Stay still,” he demands.”

“Sorry, sir.” You let out shaky breath, lifting your head to watch him play and tease your hole. It’s an ache you need to get rid of, something to satisfy you just a bit longer until you’re ready. This can’t be the only thing. It’s driving you absolutely crazy, messing with your mind. Your pussy is throbbing, your asshole is begging to be stretched and filled, and you just wanna be fucked dumb. “Professor, please! I’ll do anything!” You break, now begging.

He lets out a sigh, putting the plug down. “Fine, you can have my cock, but I’ll go as slow or fast as I want. Got it?” He hooks his arms under your legs, pulling them back so that your knees are by your ears. “No complaining, sweetheart.”

“Yes, yes, I got it! I just wanna feel you! Want you inside meeeeahhhhh!” You gasp, eyes wide when you slowly sink down on his thick cock, you hole stretching open just for him. The feeling of his throbbing cock in your ass puts a smile on your face, and an even bigger smile when he starts moving his hips. “Oh my fucking godddd.” He slowly pistons his cock in and out, inch my inch, letting you feel everything. From the tip down to the very base. You didn’t care how slow he was going, it still felt so good. He was right, the more teasing, the better the feeling.

“Such a good girl for taking my thick cock in your tight little ass, sweetheart. You love it, huh? Tell me you love it.” He starts moving slightly faster, but not too much, it’s still agonizingly slow.

“Mmmph, I love it, Professor. Thank you.” You breathily chuckle, a wide toothed smile still on your face, almost like you were drugged by his cock. “I love watching it go in and out…in and out…ah, fuck!” You moan, eyes fixated on where you two meet. Your toes curl from the amount of pleasure building and coursing through your veins, feeling the static on your skin. “It already feels so good!”

“Ohh,” he chuckles, “don’t tell me you’re about to cum, darling?” He thrusts his hips faster than before, only adding to your pleasure and beckoning your orgasm. “Is me going faster gonna make you cum, hm?” He grunts in your ear, fully pushing his cock inside you. “I told you, teasing works.”

“How…how am I gonna cum already?! Oh my god! Can I cum? Can I cum?! Oh fuck! Please, please!” It creeps up on you entirely too fast, something you’ve never felt before, but it has your mind spiraling and your body on fire. You can feel everything.

“Let it out, sweetheart, let it all out,” he growls in your ear, keeping the same pace as before. Incoherent babbling and moans escape your throat, eyes rolling back when your body spasms in his grip. “That’s it, good girl. Let my cock make you feel good.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, keeping you locked in the same position while he fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuckkkkk!” You cry out, sucking in a breath. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.” Your brows furrow in pleasure, shaking your head as if he was actually planning on stopping. Truth is, he wasn’t anywhere near done with you. Why would he be? He hasn’t even fucked you at full speed yet.

[girlyteengirlcore]

— until you learn

sevika x fem!reader

cw: established relationship, age gap (early 20s/late 30s), 🤏���� of obsessive sevika, verryyyyy dom/sub btw, strap-on sex, strap is referred to as “dick”, oral, dubcon (reader is a little bit intoxicated), orgasm control, clit stimulation, overstimulation, impact play, little bit of spit, squirting, degradation, aftercare

a/n: sorry for my little disappearance, this is my apology!! also, i’m so bad at the whole plot thing so i’m really sorry if the start of this sucks

wc: 3.2k

⌞friday night, 6:54pm ⌝

You had just finished getting ready for a night out with your friends, checking your phone every five minutes to see how far away your uber was. Once you got the notification that your ride has arrived you jumped up, nearly running out of the house. Your wife grabbed you by the arm, stopping you just before you reach the door.

"You forgetting something, doll?" Raising her eyebrows at you eagerness to leave.

"Oh sorry, babe," you stand on the tips of your toes, bringing your lips to hers.

When you pull away you give her a sweet smile, before turning on your heel and running out of the house. You glance back just before you hop in the car, waving at Sevika standing at the door.

"Update me regularly, please," the way she says it almost makes it sound like a question, but you know better than to assume she was asking. She was expecting you, telling you, to update her every now and then.

"Will do, love you!" You yelled your response at her from across the front yard, blowing her a kiss as you finally sat down and closed the car door.

⌞7:24pm⌝

It took about half an hour to get to the designated restaurant. Your friends spotted you from across the room once you arrived and went inside, ushering you over to your seat where you see they've already ordered some appetisers for the table. It feels like forever since you've seen them and it will probably be a while until you see them again, so you saver every hug from them as you go around the table.

You sit down and immediately get bombarded with questions about your life, you take some food as you answer all of their questions.

Once all of you had had your fill, you went up to the bar to order the first round of drinks. One round soon turned into two, then three, and once it got to four you suggested a bar hop. And when you actually found your second bar of the night, every second round of drinks signalled the trek to a new bar. However long the walk may be.

⌞10:13pm⌝

By this time it was about quarter past ten, and you only realised once you checked the time that you hadn’t been doing the thing that you promised to do. Update Sevika on the going ons of the night. She really doesn’t ask for much, truly, as she states in the multiple messages displayed at the bottom of your lock screen.

7:34pm

╰┈➤ Did you get there safe, baby?

8:06pm

╰┈➤ How’s it going?

9:03pm

╰┈➤ Baby

╰┈➤ Missed call

╰┈➤Are you okay?

9:22pm

╰┈➤ Missed call

╰┈➤ Missed call

╰┈➤ Where are you?

╰┈➤ I asked you to update me and you said you would, a simple ‘yes baby I’m fine’ would be amazing?

10:03pm

╰┈➤ I don’t ask for a lot and you can’t even do that much, I just want to know how things are going.

╰┈➤ I’m coming to get you

╰┈➤ Missed call

⌞10:16pm⌝

By the time you saw the countless messages and missed calls she left it was too late to message, she wasn’t going to answer since she was driving. You opt for the best option you could think of; sitting outside and waiting for her. You say goodbye to all of your friends, promising to see them again soon, wishing them the best for the time being. Then, you take your leave and find a comfortable space on the front concrete stairs of the establishment.

You’re scrolling on your phone when, soon enough, you hear a car pull up and park right in front of you. You look up and lock eyes with your wife through the open passenger seat window, she does not look happy.

Why were you getting excited? She’s about to berate you for disobeying her, so why are you feeling giddy?

You make your way over to the car, dragging your feet. Luckily you ordered some side dishes to eat while you were drinking, helping you to not get too drunk. But honestly, even if you didn’t, the feeling of her eyes burning into your head as you step inside the car would definitely do the trick.

“I’m really so—“

“Don’t wanna hear it.” She leaves no room for argument, no room for apologies, and absolutely no room for your endless excuses she knows you made up while waiting for her.

The rest of the drive home is silent. She left a cold bottle of water in the centre console that you graciously took, not bothering with manners since you know it won’t help your case.

You can’t lie though, the tension in the car mixing with the alcohol in your system was making you feel hot. You couldn’t help but imagine what she was going to do once you got home, smiling to yourself while looking at the window, trying your absolute hardest not to make it obvious that you were squeezing your thighs together. The butterflies in your stomach were making your clit throb with anticipation. The way she put her hand behind your head rest and turned around, using the palm of her hand to turn the steering wheel to back into the garage didn’t help the throb either.

You both sit in the stilled car for a moment, but you’re both still for different reasons. She’s thinking of what to say, while you’re waiting to be told what to do. She actually appreciates your behaviour for the first time all night.

“Sit on the bed.” You expect her to say more so you turn to face her, but once you receive a look that says ‘what?’ you get out of the car and head to the bedroom.

You’re waiting for some time before she comes in, stopping momentarily to glare at you, you shiver subtly under her gaze. She turns and closes the door, still standing facing away from you when she talks next.

“What is the one thing I asked you to do?” Turning around slowly to face you, walking over to you in a less than reassuring way.

“To update you,” your voice was small.

“Speak up, I can’t hear you,” she kneels down in front of you, staring up at you and yet it still feels like she’s looming over you.

“You asked me to update you.”

“Right. And what didn’t you do?”

“Update you.”

“I said speak up,” she says through her teeth, in an impatient manner.

“I didn’t update you. And I’m so sorry Sev, I just forgot.” Your apology was rushed, thinking she would interrupt you again. But she didn’t, she stayed silent.

“Take your clothes off.”

You swallow your nerves and lift your dress up over your head, sitting in your underwear. You don’t waste any time in taking off the rest, leaving you sitting completely bare in front of her.

“Lay on your stomach.”

You move further onto the bed, turning over and laying on your stomach just like she asked. She lifts up your hips with ease, placing a pillow underneath them. Then, the sound of her palm coming down on your ass fills the room. You hear it before you feel it. When you do feel it, it stings so badly that it feels cold.

She won’t make you count, she never does. That isn’t the point of this punishment. The point of it is to have to crying and begging her to stop while chanting empty promises along the lines of ‘I’ll never do it again!’ These pleas fall on unwillingly ears; she listens, relishing in the sobs that come out of your mouth every time she brings her hand down, then ignores you. Just like you did to her.

“Shut it. You want me to listen to you? Yeah? How do you think I feel, sweetheart?” She grabs your hair, turning your head to face her. The look in her eyes doesn’t do much to help the dripping between your thighs, but that doesn’t make it any less intimidating.

“I’m so sorry ‘Vika, I swear, it won’t hap- happen again,” stammering over your words due to your uncontrollable sobbing.

“You sure you’re not just saying that to get on my good side so I can play with your little pussy, babe? ‘Cause she looks pretty desperate,” the smirk evident in her tone.

“I’m sure.”

Out of nowhere she gets on top of you, straddling your thighs. She gets real close to your ear, make you shiver as you feel her lick the shell of it.

“Think you deserve to cum?” She hums in response when she sees you nod your head.

You feel her fingers slowly creep their way to your weeping pussy, but you stay still. You feel her knee nudge your legs open for easier access, but you still remain unmoving. It was only when her fingertip dipped slightly into you that you jolted, earning a chuckle from the woman above you. She gets off for a second and guides you to turn around. Still keeping your hips elevated but now you’re on your back.

She presses her knee to your shoulder, making it near impossible for you to move. And rubs your clit slowly with her hand, causing your eyes to close at the direct contact. You notice the light disappearing from behind your eyelids and open your eyes, only to see Sevika’s face above yours.

“Open wide, whore,” looking down at your lips with an expectant look.

You close your eyes agin and open your mouth, feeling a drop her warm saliva dribble onto your tongue. You swallow it immediately.

“You really are a slut, aren’t you?” A rhetorical question, of course. You both knew that answer.

Her other hand comes down to lift the hood of your clit up, making you clench around nothing as your clit is exposed to the cold air. Using her other hand to gather some of your arousal on a couple of her think fingers, a rub them roughly against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, back arching, and toes curling. Then, she shows you absolutely no mercy. Moving off of you and finding her place between you thighs, face to face with your drooling slit, licking her lips.

And she devours you, her hands do well to keep you from moving too much but even when you do, her face follows you. Never letting you escape the overwhelming pleasure. Sevika sucks your clit into her mouth, using her tongue to subjugate it to an unrelenting torture. As you feel your orgasm sneaking up, she lifts her head slightly, gaining your attention.

“Don’t cum yet.” What?

“I can’t hold it-“

“You’re going to have to, baby. I wasn’t asking.”

She gets right back to work, adding two of her thick fingers. While she seems to be enjoying herself, you have to fight off your pleasure while being forced to endure her tongue on your pussy. Not an easy task at all. You tell yourself to focus on your breathing, trying to hold it off for as long as possible but it doesn’t seem to be working at all. Little did you know, this is exactly what she wanted; to push to the point where you have to beg her to let you cum. Her favourite form of humiliation.

“Sev- vika, ohhh god, I can’t- I can’t hold it. Ohhhh my god, I can’t hold it— pleeeaaase baby! Fuckkk,” your pleas came out as screams through your teeth.

“Oh, I don’t know, baby. I really don’t think you deserve it, at all.”

The room was filled with the only words you could get out; pleasepleaseplease was all she heard, and she loved it. In fact, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once your hips started moving erratically, you both knew there was no holding it for any longer. She’s not worried though, she wasn’t planning on making you wait any longer anyway.

“You gonna cum, sweetheart? Go on, make a mess.”

The dam walls break, the noise you let out was ungodly. Your orgasm washing over you in such an intense way that your whole body starts shaking. The shivering didn’t stop Sevika from prolonging it, dragging your orgasm out by slightly slowing down the pace of her fingers. It was such a overwhelming sensation that you don’t even hear her get up, too fucked out from only one orgasm to see what she’s doing. The ringing in your ears stops you from hearing the sound of metal clanging together. She’s already fastened the harness around her hips and is lubing up the strap by the time you turn your head around, your eyes widening at the sheer size of it.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“I c- please Sevi, I can’t cum again,” trying to give her the sweetest look you could muster up, looking for some type of sympathy.

“Don’t give me that, you’ve got plenty more in you.”

She gets on her knees on the bed, using one of her hands to lift your hips up and the other one to guide her strap into your drenched pussy. Swiping it up and down to gather all of your cum that has dripped out of you, using it as extra lube. You wince as she pushes in. Inch by inch, she’s filling you up. She’s so slow too, making sure you feel every detail of the fake dick.

Once you adjust to the size of it, she lifts both of your legs so that both of your feet are hanging over one of her shoulders. Your hips are off the bed completely and she wraps both arms around your legs, and she goes crazy. She moves back, only bringing her hips forward whenever gravity makes you impale yourself on her dick. The sound of skin slapping soon fills the room, almost drowning out the beautiful noises you were making.

Your mouth lolled open, drool finding its way out of your mouth and down the side of your cheek.

“That feel good, baby?” She already knew but she loved to hear you say it.

“Mhm,” your bottom lip finding its way in between your teeth.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Y- yessss, oh my fucking g- gooddddd!!!” Voice changing as she angles her hips slightly upwards, pressing into that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

She doesn’t stop when you cum for the second time.

“Aww, look baby. You’re creaming all over me, does it feel too good, sweetheart?”

She doesn’t stop when you squirt all over her abdomen.

“Ohhhhhh, you’re makin’ a mess.” Bringing her hand down and rubbing sloppy patterns over your clit, forcing more out of you. Making you scream through your teeth. She chuckles through her teeth and your reaction.

She doesn’t stop after you start begging her for a break.

“I thought I told you I don’t wanna hear any of that, of course you can take more.”

“I- I can’t! Vika pl-“

“Don’t make me repeat myself, we aren’t stopping. Not until you understand— not until you learn the consequences of your actions.”

And oh my god did she stick to her word. She’s still pushing into you even now, even after you’ve stopped making noise and your mouth is just hanging wiiiiide open, even after you’ve cum another handful of times, even after she starts getting tired. She’s persistent, you’ll give her that.

She pauses for a second when she hears you mumble something under your breath, grabbing your jaw. She taps your cheek lightly.

“What’d you just say, baby? C’mon, speak.”

“I— I’m sorry,” tears, real tears pour out of your eyes. Not tears from the hours of overstimulation, not tears from the overwhelming pleasure you’re still experiencing, but tears from being genuinely sorry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t li- listen, I won’t- it won’t happen again. I love you.” Your words are quiet, almost a whisper, and slurred. And your sobs and hiccups weren’t helping you to become more coherent, but she still understood what you said. You didn’t even need to say anything and she would still know.

She pauses, her eyes are darting all over your face. And she leans down to kiss your tears away softly, lovingly.

“Okay, baby. It’s alright, I love you too. You’re gonna cum one more time and we’ll be done. Yeah?”

She hums when you give her a nod, but you’re surprised when she pulls out. She’s slow with it, not wanting to hurt you. You focus your eyes to see her kissing down your stomach, until she reaches your sore pussy. You clench around nothing when you see her just looking, staring. Then, she leans in.

Immediately dipping her tongue in, her eyes rolling at the taste of your cum on her tongue. She doesn’t waste a drop, swallowing it all.

“Relax, baby. Deeeep breaths, yeah that’s good.”

She guides you through the build up, helping you to overcome to pain of your sensitive clit being stimulated once again, helping you to calm down, telling you when to breathe in… then out. During this time, you rely on her words and actions to know how to behave. She’s calm, so you’re calm.

As your orgasm builds further, you become a little erratic in your movements. Breathing becoming faster and more unsteady, hips lifting off of the bed and pulling away? or were they grinding on her face? neither of you could tell, and back arching.

“Baby, calm down.” Her authoritative voice was still so smooth like honey, making you shiver. You nod.

“I’m- gonna, gonna cum. Pleasepleaseplease- Vika I’m gonna c-“

“Yeah, I heard you. Calm down and let it alllll out.”

And when that cord inside you finally snaps, she’s there. Following your hips, forcing you to ride it out.

⌞probably veryyyyy early into the next morning⌝

Your back is against her chest, she’s running her hand up and down your torso. The warm bath water engulfing you both, making you sleepy. You could feel her watching you, so you open your eyes.

“What are you looking at?” Playfulness lingering in your tone.

“My beautiful wife,” she says without even thinking.

You smile, closing your eyes again and leaning back against her chest.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Sore.” She chuckles at your answer, letting the comfortable silence fill the bathroom again.

After a couple of minutes she speaks again.

“Don’t ever make me worry like that again.” Her voice calm, but threatening.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“I mean it, baby.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Right,” rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

[seongwars]

Word Count: 497 Warnings: yandere!Caleb, dad!Caleb, dash of fluff, hints of breeding kink, baby trapping and coercion, 2 swear words, mention of pregnancy, not proofread Summary: Caleb comes home from another expedition

a/n: I had to take a break from writing strangers by nature because i was making myself sad so uhh here's a caleb drabble

“Daddy’s home!”

Your four year old jumped up from his Legos, bolting to the door with your chubby toddler hot on his heels. The front door creaked open just in time for Caleb to brace himself as the boys launched into his arms.

It wasn’t easy, being the wife of the fleet’s colonel. Caleb’s expeditions often kept him away for weeks at a time, leaving you to hold down the fort with your two boys and the endless chaos they brought with them.

But moments like this made it all worth it. Seeing the way the boys lit up as they reunited with their father made all the waiting worth it. Not to mention the nasty, sloppy, back bending, toe curling, eye rolling, reunion sex–hence your five month baby bump.

Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, Caleb still made time for all of you. He was the kind of man who wouldn’t miss a parent teacher conference, who insisted on reading every bedtime story no matter how tired he was. 

On Saturday mornings, he’d stand in the kitchen, attempting to make dinosaur shaped pancakes while the boys watched in awe.

“Daddy, how do you do that?” your four year old learned forward on the counter with his elbows. Beside him, your two-year-old waved his chubby hands in the air, babbling his own version of the question.

“It’s all in the flick of the wrist, buddy,” Caleb grinned, flipping the pancake. 

Sometimes the “dinosaur” ended up looking more like a blob, but to the boys, it was nothing short of magic. They clapped and cheered as Caleb plated his creation, declaring it a Whateversaurus Rex or the dinosaur of the day as conjured by your husband. 

And so, yes, you’d let this man keep you pregnant. How could you not? Every time you thought about saying no, about maybe slowing down and letting your body recover between pregnancies, he’d look at you with those adoring puppy eyes and pull you into his strong arms, leaving you utterly undone.

But you didn’t notice the way his eyes darkened when you said yes again, or the way his touch lingered just a second too long on the curve of your belly. To you, it was devotion, a husband marveling at the miracle of life, his love for you and your growing family. 

But to him, it was victory.

Because Caleb wasn’t just a loving husband. He was a man who refused to let you slip through his fingers. The thought of you walking away, of a life where you weren’t his in every sense of the word, was unthinkable.  

Everytime he had you folded into a mating press murmuring “just one more for me, baby" he was ensuring that you stayed right where you belonged—bound to him in every possible way as he fucked his seed over and over into your cunt.

You belonged to him. And he’d make sure it stayed that way forever.

[no-144444]

cruel- c.sainz

꩜summary: an argument means he says some things he doesn't mean. he's never gotten that cruel before though.

꩜pairing: carlos sainz x fem! fiancé reader

꩜a/n: kinda toxic relationship but like not really but like also so be aware :D

You two didn’t fight. It just… wasn’t like that. You argued. Calmly. Softly. Gently. He didn’t shout. You didn’t scream. Neither of you ever walked off without having the issue resolved. 

It had never been like this. Just one slip of the tongue about him not being there for the important things, like your promotion, or Laura’s graduation, or those nights when you just needed your boyfriend a bit more than the other nights. That, and the mention of your new friend, Jamie, you knew him from work. He off-handedly got you a bunch of flowers for your promotion, just doing something nice. Carlos didn’t like it. You fought him on it, telling him he shouldn’t care since he’s never here. It wasn’t meant to be as snarky as it came out, you were just frustrated, you just wanted Carlos back for yourself, not constantly working or thinking about how he himself could improve the car. Carlos was tough, sure. Tough on himself, tough on Williams, tough on James. He was the kind of tough that didn’t really disappear, even in his gentlest moments. But he wasn’t tough on you. He was softer around the edges, reining it in so you wouldn’t run away. His voice was less gruff. His eyes were less hardened. He didn’t want to give you a reason to leave him, well, more than the ones you already had. 

Tonight he was angry. The kind of anger that silences a room and makes everywhere his own. The kind of anger that puts you on edge for a few days, even if it’s passed. The apartment didn’t feel big enough, didn’t feel like a shared space, it felt suffocating as you sat on the couch, Carlos shouting his head off at you, screaming that you were inconsiderate, that you were trying to make him angry, that you weren’t thinking. “So what do you want me to do, huh?” he barked, his voice loud. You were sure the neighbours were confused. “Do you think I am just going to relax this whole season?! Williams is a place for learning- for growth. I cannot grow if I’m not putting in the work!” His voice was cutting through the tension in the air. He stared at you with pleading eyes, begging for an answer. 

“I’m not asking you to stop racing Carlos, I’m asking you to spend some more of your free time with me-” you held your ground. You weren't being unreasonable. You wanted your boyfriend to be your boyfriend for more than 5 minutes a day. He sighed and spun on his heels, facing the other direction, head in his hands. “I’m sorry I said what I said about the Jamie thigh-”

He spun around again, wide eyes meeting yours. “So it’s a thing now? It’s a ‘Jamie thing’ now?” he demanded. “Dios mío, Y/n he’s a co-worker, he’s not in love with you,” he scoffed and you felt yourself recoil. What did that mean? ‘He’s not in love with you’ is he insinuating he’d have no reason to be in love with me? That I’m unlovable? That there’s no way anyone else would date me? You thought to yourself, emotion building in your chest. If he noticed, he didn’t let on. “He shouldn’t be giving my girlfriend flowers-”

“It was a nice thing to do!” you argued, your voice rising to meet his, as you stood from the couch. You couldn’t take this bullshit anymore, this ridiculous disrespect when both of you knew he was in the wrong. “I got promoted! 8 people sent me flowers and none of them were my boyfriend! How do you think that makes me feel, Carlos? Do you think it makes me feel cared for? Appreciated? Like you’re proud of me? Well, it doesn’t. It makes me feel like you don’t even care that I have a life outside of being your perfect little WAG.”

He rolled his eyes, his fists clenching. “You know I wanted to do something with you in person-”

“When was that going to happen?” you spat. “Winter break? Come on Carlos, just admit you knew nothing about it until I brought the flowers home, and you only started caring then. This isn’t about Jamie, or what my promotion is, it’s about you feeling like putting our relationship on the backburner isn’t a problem. I’m not asking for flowers or dates every week. I’m asking you to take an interest in my life again, and if you feel like you can;’t do that, then I don’t really know what we’re doing here,” you shrugged, the first of a few tears falling. “I can handle myself most of the time, I just need help sometimes. I need you-”

He scoffed. “Can you handle yourself? You’re crying to me about a fucking promotion and wanting to be congratulated on it.” 

He realised he crossed a line. He saw the way your face hardened. He saw how you stiffened. You crossed your arms, willing yourself not to cry. Your voice was soft and fleeting. “That’s not fair.” 

“Life’s not fair.” 

Then the silence. The suffocating, intoxicating, charged silence that made you want to run out of your own home and never come back. You couldn’t believe him. You knew he was stressed, but this was beyond stress. This was him being cruel. He had no right to speak to you like that. You could tell he wasn’t even listening to your side of the story and of course you hadn’t told him about the flowers because you knew how he’d react. You just didn’t think it’d be this bad. You didn’t think he’d belittle and dominish you so much. You didn’t think he’d cared so little. You turned your back on him, walking into your shared bedroom, needing time to think. You didn’t see it, but he reached out for you, but he stopped before he grabbed you, not knowing what to say. 

The lock clicked into place and you finally let yourself break down, your hand flying over your mouth to stop yourself from sobbing. You tried to suck in a steadying breath, but all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and the weight of his words still pushed against your chest. You stared at the blue walls, your arms wrapped around yourself like it might somehow hold you together from falling apart. Your throat burned from the tears falling down your face, but you made no effort to grab the bottle of water on your bedside table, not when you knew Carlos had made it for you that morning. Fuck, how could so much change in one stupid fucking morning? 

This was uncharted territory. He could be sharp, frustrating, downright rude sometimes, but he wasn’t cruel, not to you. He could fight people on track like it didn’t matter if they lived or died, but he’d always hop out of that car with a soft kiss for you. Even in the beginning of your relationship, when it consisted of heavy and wanting glances where you cautiously tiptoed around each other, to something tangible, something steady, something real- Carlos had always been there for you. Maybe not physically, but he was there. He’d always text at the right times, call just when you needed him, say the right thing, always. He was passionate, sure. Sometimes he got it wrong, but he was never cruel. He never wanted you to feel like you needed to hide from him. 

You pressed your back up against the door, trying desperately to will the tears away, will that sinking feeling in your chest away, make everything alright again, forget today and all the horrible things he said. You couldn’t. You knew it wasn’t totally fair to pin all the blame on him. This fight wasn’t just about Jamie. It wasn’t just about him not giving you enough attention. It was both of you realising that if you didn’t work on it, your relationship was bound to break apart. 

And that scared the shit out of you. 

Carlos was protective, he always had been. But he was never possessive. He didn’t ask you to change. He didn’t ask you to not have guy friends. He didn’t feel intimidated by your male co-workers. Then Jamie rolled up with his bouquet of your favourite flowers, and he felt threatened. Then he panicked that he felt threatened, and he took it out on you. At first it was sweet, quiet mumbled in Spanish about how he shouldn’t be doing that knowing you have a boyfriend at home. Somewhere between then and now, it turned into a screaming match where Carlos insulted your very being.  

You let out a shaky breath, your mind rushing at a thousand miles an hour. The diamond ring on your finger weighed down your hand. You felt it more than you ever had before. Every negative thought your brain could muster brought itself to the surface as you looked over it. He gave it to you just to shut you up. He hates you. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care that you’re pulling away. He doesn’t care about you. You groaned, pouting as you looked at it. It was so beautiful. A proposal down by the harbour. Private. Small. Gentle. Carlos in front of you, tears in his eyes, asking you to choose him, because he already chose you. You sighed. 

Ding! 

Your calendar app sent you a notification. 

Carlos and Y/n’s Engagement Celebration Dinner! 

You scoffed at your phone, wiping your eyes. Worst timing ever. 

Meanwhile, Carlos stood in the living room, going over every horrible thing he’d said. He ran his hands through his hair repeatedly, something he did when he needed to think- or when he was pissed off. He knew you were upset, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice the way your eyes welled up with tears when he said what he did. He also knew his reaction was totally out of line, he was pushing you too hard without having a real reason, and the guilt of that settled in his stomach like an ulcer he couldn’t get rid of. This was the first time he’d directed everything at you. He was wrong, he knew that. But that anger persisted, burning in his chest like a fire that just wouldn't go out. He wasn’t angry with you, he was mad at the situation. Hell, he wasn’t even mad at the situation- he was fucking terrified he was on the brink of losing you. He was more terrified that that argument might’ve been the last nail in the coffin. 

He ran a hand through his hair again, scoffing out a heavy sigh as he walked out to the balcony, dropping down onto the chair he’d sat not 8 hours ago, having breakfast with you. He kept replaying it, over and over again, like a corner he couldn’t get quiet right, or a chicane he’d fucked up one too many times. His words were sharp. Cutting. Cruel. 

He contemplated trying to talk to you again. Trying to apologise, admit he was scared of losing you. But even he knew you needed space. His jaw and fists clenched as he stayed put on the balcony, watching over the roads he knew so well, wishing he’d done so many things differently. 

Ding! 

He opened his phone as fast as he could, hoping it was a message from you. It wasn’t. 

Carlos and Y/n’s Engagement Celebration Dinner! 

Fuck’s sake. He swiped a hand over his face and groaned. Of course he picked a fight on the one day you two needed to be a happy couple. 

You stepped out of the bedroom wearing a long white dress, something simple and plain. Just silk. Your hair up. A bag in hand. 

You were breathtaking. He stared. He’d gone with a white linen shirt and some white trousers, not really knowing what to wear since he had assumed you would’ve guided him. You didn’t. You also didn’t look up at him. The various keys stayed on the counter, untouched. If you left it any later, you’d be late to your own reservation. 

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you, promise you he didn’t mean anything he said, and apologise. You sat on the bench beside the door, lacing up your heels like they’d offended you in some way. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He didn’t want to. Your movements were sharp, jerky, and your mouth was set in a flat line. You looked up at him, your mouth opening like you had something to say. It closed again. You weren't sure if it was frustration or guilt, or anger written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in twists.  “Which car do you want to take?” he asked, clearing his throat. He wanted this to be about you, about the way you two loved each other, about how good the good times were, even in the midst of a bad time.

“Whatever you want, Carlos,” your voice was airy, lacking of its usual conviction. He gulped. You walked out the front door without so much as a glance over your shoulder. He cringed.

The Monaco air seemed much too cold for May. Sharp, like it was taking after your argument,the universe working to remind you of just how shit you already felt. Carlos locked the door behind the two of you, and you didn’t wait up for him so that you could take his hand. He didn’t open your car door. He just sat into his own seat, hands gripping the wheel so hard they turned white. He placed the keys into the ignition without so much as a look your way. The radio switched on, filling the strained silence between the two of you. 

The drive loomed over your head like a cruel punishment. You couldn’t cancel on everyone now. You couldn’t drive separately. You couldn't blow up. You just had to stay calm. That became increasingly difficult as you felt the emotions of the day overcome you, no matter how hard you tried to regulate yourself, the tears just kept burning your throat, that anxiety never left the place in your chest where it had settled over an hour ago. You focused your gaze out the window, watching as the streets of Monaco whipped by. You weren’t really paying attention to it, just trying to count and calm yourself down and your mind whizzed, focused on everything he did, and didn’t say.

He’d been louder than usual. Harsher. Crueler. His mouth worked before his brain could realise the hurt he was causing. Like he couldn’t stop it. But you knew he could’ve, if he really tried. You knew him. He had to control everything at 300 miles an hour, so he could definitely stop himself from saying the shittiest things he could think of to you. 

But he didn’t. Knowing that hurt more.

The silence was deafening, growing unbearable. You just kept telling yourself you weren’t going to break, then thought about those times you promised yourself you’d never make yourself smaller for a man, all those times Carlos promised you that you’d never have to. You spared him a glance. Gone was that sweet boy who was too shy to speak to you the first time. His jaw was clenched. His eyes stayed on the road. His shoulders were hunched like he was trying to hide himself. But you saw past that. You saw the way his expression didn’t reach his eyes. The way his shoulder sagged. The way he was tired in a way he’d never admit. Drained. Emotionally drained. 

You didn’t realise you were crying until the tear slipped down your face. Thank god you’d decided to pack your makeup bag just in case this very scenario occurred. You brushed it away quickly, knowing he hadn’t seen it. He couldn’t look your way. That just made your cry harder. More tears falling down, that sick feeling in your stomach, that weight on your chest, that burn in your throat. 

You sniffled as you watched the countryside whip past you, hues of pinks and purples painting the sky. You pretended that small ache in your heart wasn’t a call for comfort, for reassurance, for him, but you knew it was. You wanted him to turn to you and apologise. Promise you he loved you. Promise he’d do anything to not lose you. But you didn’t want to have to be the one to reach out. You wanted him to. You wanted him to care. 

Your hands were trembling in your lap. You hadn’t noticed. He did. 

He pulled over the car on the side of the road, not caring that his Ferrari 812 Competizione was in the dirt on a countryside road. You barely noticed you’d stopped. “Cariño,” his voice was soft, gentle. He reached over. He held your hands like they were the most fragile thing on the planet. 

You broke, tears falling. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, loud in the silence of the car. “I just miss you.”

He let out a heavy sigh, he squeezed your hands before he let them go, opening his door and rounding the front of the car. He was at your side before you could ever ask what he was doing.

“Come here,” He opened your door, the cool air rushing in as he offered a hand out to you. His tone was soft. So soft. So much softer than before. You took his hand without thinking much about it. 

He pulled you into his arms. His chest was warm and solid. Grounding. He squeezed you like you’d run away if he didn’t, and maybe you would. It made you feel safer. Cared for. Like someone was there for you. 

“I’m sorry Cariño,” he huffed out against your ear, you pretended not to notice the way his voice broke. “I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry too-” you tried, but he shushed you. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he shook his head as you let out yet another shaky breath. “I was a dick, and I was just scared of losing you. You’re just too nice to me, aren’t you?” he cooed, his thumb brushed against the side of your face as he looked down at your face. Your mascara was smudged. Tear lines down your face. He felt the splotchy heat on your chest and it pulled at his heart strings. “We’re going to be okay?”

You sighed, closing your eyes as your emotions took over again. You leaned your forehead against his chest. “What did you mean?” you whispered.

“What do you mean, my love?” he asked, a hand smoothing down your back.  

“He’s just your co-worker, he’s not in love with you,” you repeated. “As if no one would ever love me?” you let out a sad chuckle. “I just want to know what you mean.” 

He let out a shaky breath, internally kicking himself for saying such ridiculous things. He wanted to smack himself. “No my love,” he shook his head, your small sniffles twisting his heart strings as he tried to not let his emotion overtake his senses. “No. You’re wonderful and I was being stupid. Please don’t believe anything I said. You’re incredible. I’m so proud of you. You’re a genius. YOu deserve to be celebrated, and I’m sorry I couldn’t see that.”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah, you are stupid,” you agreed, a sad smile on your lips. He chuckled against your hair. “We’re going to be okay?” you asked. 

“I’m going to fight for you everyday,” he said it like it was a promise. An inevitable. A truth. You both felt that release of anxiety, though guilt lingered. You’d be alright. You’d fight for each other. You’d do what it takes to make it work. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment. Instead of pulling back completely, his lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek. His hands circled your waist, his breath on your cheek. You sniffled again, realising how much of a mess you must look. He didn’t care. He leaned in closer and your hands tightened on his shirt as he stopped, hesitating. He was dangerously close as an unspoken ache settled between you two. He held himself back as best he could, but all he wanted was to kiss you.  “Carlos,” your voice was just above a whimper, and he only leaned in closer, cradling your face with a hand as his lips found yours. He kissed you like he needed to, passionate but slow. Careful and cautious, like your first. Like he couldn’t get close enough. Like it’d never be enough, no matter how many times he kissed you. You pulled back, breathing out with a small smile on your lips. He could’ve sworn he’d gone to heaven and died when you looked up at him. “We’re going to be okay,” you spoke the words like you meant it, and he felt his stomach twist in the best way. 

He smiled. “You’re something else,” he shook his head, his voice low, a depth behind his words you couldn’t name. You chuckled, your cheeks heating. You pressed one last lingering kiss to the edge of his mouth and sent him a small smile. 

“We’ll be late,’ you reminded him, stepping back into the car and getting your makeup bag out to start fixing your makeup. He shook his head, chuckling as he slid into the driver’s seat. His hand found your thigh, holding tightly. 

It felt like he would never let go. You didn’t want him to.

williams & merc masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru with a correction kink <3

you’re just an intern.

at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself each time you’re summoned—again—to satoru gojo’s office. third time this week. fourth if you count that humiliating run-in by the printer, where he leaned in just to correct your grammar mid-sentence. he even laughed—low and warm in your ear—when you said “further” instead of “farther.” like he’d been lying in wait all day, just to pounce.

he doesn’t look up when you enter. fluorescent lights buzz faintly above, casting sterile halos on the ceiling. the air smells like bergamot, printer toner, and something deeper—woodsy, masculine, sharp. he’s reclined in his chair like a man with nothing but time—sleeves rolled to the elbow, wristwatch catching the light as he lazily spins a pen between his fingers. his shirt’s unbuttoned just enough to show a sliver of collarbone, pale and smooth. a vein pulses faintly along his forearm. black-rimmed glasses frame half-lidded eyes, unreadable as they skim the report in his lap.

it’s bleeding red.

circles. slashes. smug little arrows dissecting your sentences like they’re cadavers.

“close the door,” he says, without looking up.

you do. the click sounds too loud in the hush of his private office. a wilted ficus slouches in the corner. a coffee mug on the desk reads “grammar daddy” in fading blue marker.

“you used ‘effect’ instead of ‘affect.’ again.”

his tone is light. amused. bordering on cruel.

“it’s a common mistake,” you mutter, setting your bag by the coat rack, heart thudding too fast.

he finally looks up. something sharp flashes behind his lenses—a glint that twists in your gut. his mouth twitches. not a smirk. the prelude to one.

“sure,” he murmurs, nudging his glasses higher with one long finger. “but you’re not common, are you?”

he crooks his finger, beckoning. wrist limp, pen still spinning. he doesn't blink.

you walk over before you can stop yourself, heels muted against the polished floor.

“come here. i’ll walk you through it.”

you hesitate.

his head tilts. that almost-smile widens. but it doesn’t soften.

“don’t worry,” he says, voice dipping lower. “i like correcting you.”

he flips to the next page. red ink streaks through your argument like blood in water.

“this paragraph meanders. no clarity. cute, though.” his eyes lift to yours, then trail—slowly—from your mouth to your neck. “watching you try so hard.”

“i’m not cute,” you snap, too fast.

he hums. not disagreeing. just watching. one finger taps the desk like a metronome.

“sure you are. especially when you’re wrong.”

you stiffen. his hand catches your wrist before you can retreat. his grip is light. firm. he guides you around the desk like you’re a slide under his lens. your hips nudge the edge. he shifts forward slightly—knees brushing yours—as he settles you between his legs.

he smells like cedar and clean linen and something darker underneath—like heat. he’s still holding the pen, and now it traces a slow, teasing line up the inside of your thigh. right over your skirt.

“do you know why i keep correcting you?”

your voice catches. “because i make mistakes.”

his grin sharpens. “no,” he says. “because you want to learn. because you’re mine to improve.”

his free hand slips beneath your skirt—knuckles brushing hot against your thigh—finding the edge of your underwear. then past it, peeling the soaked lace aside. like he owns you. slow. deliberate. dragging fingers down your dripping slit, slick with your arousal, before sliding in with a wet squelch.

you gasp—your knees buckling as he steadies you with his other hand on your lower back. his fingers are long, thick, moving with lazy confidence as they breach your tight cunt, stretching you open.

“don’t look so surprised,” he whispers, breath brushing your cheek. “good girls get rewards.”

his fingers curl inside you, coaxing, exploring your pulsing walls. his thumb brushes your perspective, finding your swollen clit in slow, insistent circles—rhythmic and unrelenting, making you clench around him.

“god, you’re already wet. soaking.” he chuckles, low and rough. “what’d i say? you like being corrected.”

your head drops back, hips twitching into his hand. your breathing’s ragged, lashes fluttering as you try to keep quiet. one of his hands slides up your spine, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades to pin you in place. firm but possessive.

he watches you—pupils blown wide behind his glasses, jaw tensing slightly as he adjusts the angle of his wrist. his knuckles press deeper, grinding against your sensitive walls. his fingers scissor, spreading your slick folds with a lewd, wet sound. and when your thighs start to shake, he grins like he’s just won something.

“look at me,” he says.

you try. your vision’s a blur, but you meet his gaze, only to find him watching you with that precise, clinical hunger. his tongue traces the inside of his cheek. he tilts his head slightly, almost as if studying the way your lip trembles.

“see?” he murmurs, fucking you open with steady thrusts, his fingers drenched in your juices. “you fall apart so pretty. i haven’t even gotten serious yet.”

you whimper. the sound makes his eyes darken.

“say ‘please,’” he says. “beg for your next mistake.”

your pride sours in your throat, but you’re too close—too far gone.

“please,” you breathe. “satoru…”

his name sounds ruined in your mouth. broken. desperate.

he presses a kiss to your temple. too gentle. a contrast to the vicious curl of his fingers inside your throbbing pussy.

“good girl,” he says, lips brushing your skin. “you learn fast.”

and then he adds a third finger, forcing your tight walls to stretch around the thick intrusion with a slick, burning stretch.

it burns. stretches. your hips jerk and he groans, deep in his chest, like he’s feeling it too.

you clutch the desk. your breath comes in sobs now—hot, unsteady.

“you want to cum?” he asks. “you want to drip all over my hand like the dumb little slut you are when i correct you?”

his words shouldn’t make your cunt clench this hard. but they do.

“you’re lucky i like you messy,” he growls. “you’ll thank me when i fuck that attitude out of you for good.”

your orgasm hits like a storm—fast, loud, humiliating. your body locks up, thighs trembling around his wrist as your juices gush, coating his fingers in sticky, wet spurts. he keeps pumping through it, relentless.

“shhh,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “still got one more draft to go.”

he doesn’t pull out. not yet. just slows. dragging his fingers against your pulsing, cum-slick walls like he’s etching you into memory.

and then you hear it.

the click of his pen again.

this time, he caps it with one hand, fingers still buried inside you, and writes in neat red ink across your inner thigh.

mine.

not just an intern anymore. you’re his unfinished draft. and he’ll spend all night perfecting you.

a/n: i had way too much fun writing this for someone who will absolutely throw hands if you try to correct my grammar. it’s called range. thank you for reading and remember—only hot men with red pens are allowed to bully you 😛

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 MAYBE I JUST WANNA BE YOURS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai does not get jealous. he especially doesn't get jealous over someone he's not even dating. because he's not dating you. he doesn't want to date you... right?

(wordcount: 5k; fem!reader, nsfw, lots of smut LOL idk what got into me this is the first fic ive written with more smut than plot in ages. but anyway: jealous!dazai, fingering, oral (f->m), semi-public/public sex. whiplash from dazai's thoughts (as always). unedited.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihi. SO this actually wasn't going to be connected to anything, but i decided like mid-fic that i wanted to make it a continuation to the adareader universe ive been considering building. i was too lazy to go check for inconsistencies, so if there's any dihfausihdfsudf just ignore them LOL. when i eventually make the masterlist for it and officially connect them all, ill go thru and double check for them. first i need to write them something with actual substance and not just horny posting LOLLLL.

Dazai is not a jealous man.

He’s not.

In fact, he’s the most un-jealous person in the whole world. He has no reason to be jealous, especially over you. He’s not dating you. Dazai never asked you to be his girlfriend, and that was intentional because Dazai doesn’t want a girlfriend. More specifically, he doesn’t want to be someone’s boyfriend. You’re just a friend—a friend that he sometimes fucks and occasionally seeks out to spend time with. He doesn’t want someone relying on him in a way a girlfriend would, and he certainly doesn’t want to rely on someone in the way a boyfriend would, because he doesn’t want the rug pulled out from under him when it inevitably goes to shit. 

The thought is suffocating, it makes his skin crawl.

Almost as much as the realization that the cop the two of you are assigned to be coordinating with is clearly head over heels enamored by you. Dazai scowls from where he’s standing a few steps behind you, watching as you go over the details of the file that the man brought to you—Dazai didn’t care to learn his name. And yes, Dazai means you because when the officer came over with the file, he didn’t even acknowledge Dazai’s existence and walked right over to you.

He still hasn’t acknowledged Dazai’s presence, staring at you with an adoring expression as you read through the file. Dazai thinks if this were some sort of cartoon, the officer would quite literally have hearts in his eyes—it’s disgusting, Dazai can hardly stand to watch it.

“Dazai,” you finally say, voice a soft hum. He likes the way you say his name—it rolls off your tongue prettily, and it makes his chest oddly warm. He’s not used to people saying his name with such softness; he’s used to anger, irritation, fear, but never this. He’s wondered how his given name would sound, he’s spent many nights imagining it, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other wrapped around his cock, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask you to call him by it. That’s a step too close to actual intimacy and he’s not willing to take it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Dazai realizes you must have said something after you said his name, but he didn’t catch it because he was too absorbed in the way you said his name to notice.

“Come here,” you say again, nodding your head for him to drag himself out of the corner he’s sulking in to come to you. He feels a bit too gleeful watching the way the officer’s expression shifts in surprise as he turns to look at Dazai, finally noticing him.

Dazai pushes himself off of the wall to take a few steps closer to you, and he may or may not stand a bit too close on purpose just to see the other man frown. He stands behind you, chest brushing your back as he looks over your shoulder to scan through the file you’ve been reading. It takes him twice as long as it usually does because he didn’t realize that being in such close proximity to you would make him as dizzy as it did, and he’s too stubborn to back off now. 

Your hair smells like vanilla, and Dazai can smell the faint scent of your favorite perfume dabbed on your neck, worn off throughout the long day. His attention strays from the file to you, tracing the smooth curve of your neck, dipping down to your collarbone and swallowing when he realizes that the top three buttons of your dress shirt are undone, the stuffiness of the tiny room and the lack of air conditioning causing small, visible beads of sweat to form on your skin. His breath catches as his gaze lowers just a bit more and-

You turn to look at him and his gaze snaps up before it can drop to dangerous territories, and Dazai catches the amused look in your eyes—you know exactly what he was looking at. Instead of having some shame, because Dazai has no shame, he shifts just an inch closer to you, one of his hands resting on your hip. He watches the way your lashes flutter the same way they always do when you’re trying to pretend you’re not affected by his touch, and his lips curl up into a small smirk.

“What do you think?” you ask after a second. 

To your credit, your voice isn’t as strained as he expected, so Dazai ups it a notch, fingers sliding from where they’re caressing your hip to trail across your inner thigh. All out of sight from the officer on your left, but Dazai can tell he’s aware that something is going on from the way his enamored expression starts shifting into a more awkward one.

Dazai gives him a smug, sardonic smile before saying, “I think our friend over here should go get us the CCTV tapes—that’ll be much more useful to us then a bunch of reports.”

The other man’s face shifts in confusion, brows furrowing and lips curving down, but before he can say no, you speak up and agree, “That would be great.”

Dazai rolls his eyes when it makes the man straighten and nod, “I’ll get it right away.”

Before he steps out of the room, Dazai tosses another look over his shoulder, this one colder than it is smug, and he says maybe a bit too snidely, “Don’t come back until you have them.”

The officer doesn’t reply as he leaves the room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, Dazai is pulling away from you to walk over to it. He locks it quickly and then turns to face you, tilting his head to the side as his gaze roves over your body. You’re leaning back against the table, eyebrows raised, and Dazai doesn’t stop himself this time when his gaze lowers to the swell of your breasts just barely made visible by your partially unbuttoned shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, motioning for you to come over to him.

You don’t budge. Instead, you raise your eyebrows and say dryly, “There are cameras in here, Dazai.”

He pointedly looks up to the two corners of the room that they’re in and then back down to where he’s standing, silently telling you that this is a blind spot. After a moment’s hesitation, you push yourself off the table and make your way over to him. Dazai tilts his head back against the wall, looking down at you through his lashes as you come to stand directly in front of him. He pretends that his throat doesn’t bob when he feels your fingers slip into his belt loops.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, but your eyes are glittering so he knows you know exactly what the problem is—and to think he thought you weren’t cruel, you might just be the worst type of cruel there is, hiding it behind pretty smiles and sweet words. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous because that cop has a crush.”

“I don’t get jealous,” Dazai replies with a simpering smile, lifting one hand to cradle your cheek, breath catching as your eyes flutter shut, pressing your face into his hand. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Dazai thinks that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—he’s thought it since the day he met you, but he thinks it especially now when you’re leaning into his touch like it isn’t poisonous, like his hands aren’t stained with blood and his soul isn’t black and rotten. You deserve better than him, and that’s another reason why he refuses to take that next step: he knows one day you’ll realize it too. You’ll realize that you’ve fallen for a mask, that the man you care about doesn’t actually exist, it’s a thing that can barely call itself human pretending to be him.

He wonders if you know. He wonders if you know that something is wrong with him—he thinks that you must have some inkling after the bout of paranoia he had a few weeks ago when he was at your apartment, but he doubts you know the extent of it. He doubts you know that thoughts running through his head whenever that officer looked at you were anything but just casual jealousy; that every time he leaned in closer to you, Dazai’s fingers twitched in the direction of the gun given to him by the Agency that he’s only supposed to use in emergencies. 

Old habits die hard, Dazai has always been quite trigger happy. They never should’ve put a gun in his general vicinity.

 He leans down to ghost his lips below your ear, savoring in the way he feels you take in a sharp breath. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls your head back just enough to kiss the spot beneath your jaw that makes you writhe, and just as he expects, you let out a breathy moan against his ear that makes his head dizzy, your hands darting up to cling at the sleeves of his jacket.

“Dazai,” you gasp as he kisses down your neck. He hums in response, his free hand resting on your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Are you sure…”

“I’m sure,” he says, and then adds smugly, “When am I ever wrong?”

He doesn’t have to see your face to know that you’re probably rolling your eyes at him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to make a witty remark about the first time the two of you met. His grip tightens on your waist as he flips you around so that your back is to his chest.

His hands immediately work to unbutton your slacks, lips finding their way back to your neck to pepper kisses up and down your skin as he watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He lets out a low groan against your skin when he slides his hand into your pants and feels just how damp your panties are.

“This better be for me,” he mutters more to himself than to you, nipping at the skin of your neck. His voice is a bit more rough now as he asks you, “Lace?”

He lifts his face from your neck to look at you. Your eyes are half lidded as the pads of his fingers trace the cloth of your panties, head lolled back against his shoulder, breath ragged and lips parted, but there’s something teasing in your gaze as it flickers up to meet his.

“The ones you like,” you breathe out, and Dazai swallows thickly. “I was gonna see if you wanted to come over after this.” 

“Shit,” he whispers, putting pressure right over where your clit is hidden, watching the way your thighs tremble. “Look at you, only I make you feel this good, yeah?”

“Don’t tease.” The whine that clings to your words makes Dazai’s head spin. He can already feel his cock straining against his pants and tries to ease some of the friction by pressing you back into him, rolling his hips against your ass. “Dazai-”

“Shhhh,” Dazai soothes with a grin, kissing up your neck to your ear when he hears the distress in your tone. “I’ve got you.” 

With practiced ease, he slides his fingers beneath your panties, middle finger dipping between your folds. He inhales sharply, immediately losing his grin when he feels how wet you are.

“This better be for me,” he repeats, a bit more seriously this time as he slides his finger between your folds, putting pressure on your entrance but not quite pushing in. “Hm?”

He waits for a response, relishing in the way your whole body trembles against him. He doesn’t even know if you know what he asked, you already seem so fucked out—lips wet and parted as you breathe in and out shakily, lashes fluttering and chest heaving.

“Tell me,” he presses, his free hand sliding up your body, untucking your shirt so he can slip his hand beneath it to feel your skin.

“‘course it’s for you, Dazai,” you say after a few seconds of confusion, like you were trying to remember what he asked. “What kind of question is that?” 

Dazai doesn’t respond to that, letting out a pleased hum as he kisses your jaw again. He also doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, quickly plunging his middle finger deep inside of you. The sudden intrusion has your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry that escapes your lips—he almost wants to pull your hand away, but decides against it because he doesn’t want anyone else hearing you like this.

You try to rock your hips to get him moving, but Dazai’s hand flattens against your stomach, holding you still against him.

“Dazai-” you gasp his name again, this time your voice is more pitched, caught between a whine and a complaint.

“Patience,” he coos, but his voice is strained and his breath is heavier as your tight walls hug his finger, imagining that it’s his cock instead. He drags his finger out until only the tip remains inside of you. He teases your entrance again, tracing a gentle circle but not pushing back in. “Bet you could already take two fingers for me, yeah?”

“What if he comes back?” you suddenly ask panic flying through your eyes as if you’ve only just remembered where you are. Dazai is distinctly displeased by the thought of another man crossing your mind while his fingers are inside of you. “Dazai, what if-”

“He won’t,” Dazai answers you, making his displeasure known as he nips your neck. 

“How do you-”

“The corner that the disappearance took place on—it’s a blind spot for the CCTV cameras,” he answers before you can finish. Dazai knows this because he killed a target in that exact same spot two and a half years ago. “He’ll be gone for a while. He won’t want to come back empty handed to you.” 

Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to question him anymore, sliding his middle and ring fingers inside of you and watching as your jaw falls slack. To make up for the displeasure he felt at you bringing up that irritating cop, he fucks you hard with his fingers—you barely have time to bite the palm of your hand before his fingers are stretching your walls.

He thinks he might be pushing his luck—he doesn’t know if the cameras in the corners of the room pick up sound, and if they do, he doesn’t know how well they pick it up. Even if you’re doing your very best at muffling your moans, there’s no hiding the sloppy sound of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt—it’s wet and filthy, and it has Dazai’s head dizzy. 

His eyes drag up from where his fingers are plunging in and out of you back up to your face. Your pretty eyes are almost fully rolled back as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge and your lashes are wet. One particularly rough snap of his wrist has your hand falling limp from your mouth to your side and your lips parting in a moan that Dazai doesn’t dare allow anyone else to hear. Quickly, his free hand darts up to grab your jaw hard, turning your face toward him so he can press his lips to yours messily, swallowing the keening moan before you can let it out. 

He kisses you deeply, tongue tracing the inside of your mouth gently in contrast to the rapid thrusts of his fingers. You try to kiss him back, but you can hardly even breathe with how deep his fingers fuck into you. He knows you're close—he can feel it in the way your whole body is trembling, and how your pussy flutters around his fingers, so he picks up the pace, just as desperate to bring you over the edge as you are to get there.

He’s the only one that can make you feel like this. He’s the only one that can make your body shudder and writhe, he’s the only one that can make your eyes roll back in pleasure, he’s the only one and he needs to prove it.

“C’mon, baby,” he pleads against your lips. The pet name that spills from his lips is not the teasing bella he likes to hit you with like he intended—it comes out strained, breathy, just as desperate as he feels. The lack of control scares him a bit, but he’s too out of it for it to take hold. “C’mon, once on my fingers, then as many times as you want on my cock when we get home, alright?”

He doesn’t know what you’re trying to say, the noise that spills from your lips, muffled against his mouth, is a moan, caught between his name and a please and something else he can’t make out. Distantly, he thinks that the bandages on his forearm must be ruined, he can feel your slickness dripping down his hand to his wrist and he can hear the lewd sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you. He doesn’t care—in fact, the thought only makes his lower abdomen tighter. 

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, the only word she can make out and Dazai grins.

“Yeah, you are,” he rasps, scissoring his fingers inside of you and rubbing his index finger over your clit, and you’re gone. 

Dazai groans when he feels you moan his name against his lips, hand dropping from your face to your waist to hold you upright as your knees buckle. You cum hard on his fingers, hips stuttering and stilling, and he can feel tears spilling over your cheeks. His cock is painfully hard now and he wants nothing more than to unbuckle his pants and replace his fingers with it, but he thinks that would be pushing his luck—he’s never had any semblance of control once his cock is inside you and he needs to keep an ear out for footsteps approaching the conference room. 

He rides out your high, pace slowing as he continues to fuck his fingers into your sensitive cunt, wiping your tears with his free hand once you’ve steadied yourself. You tremble, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, and Dazai only removes his fingers when you claw at his wrist for him to stop.

His fingers are dripping with your cum, and though Dazai is aching for a taste himself, he instead lifts them to your lips. You’re still trying to get ahold of yourself, leaning back against his chest and breathing heavily, but you instinctually part your lips for him. His breath catches when you take both of his fingers into your mouth, lashes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around his digits as you taste yourself off of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand dropping down to rub the heel of his hand against his cock, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure. He has no idea how he’s going to hide this before the officer gets back and…

His thoughts trail off when you finally push off of him, your legs are still trembling, and your eyes are still a little hazy, but your gaze drops from his face to his rapidly rising and falling chest down to where he’s rubbing his cock through his pants. And then, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he repeats, voice breathy this time and pupils blown wide as he watches your fingers work at the buckle of his belt.

Dazai almost wishes that the officer would come back soon, just so he could walk in on you with a faceful of Dazai’s cock. But if that happens, all of Ango’s work will go out the window because there’s no way he’s letting someone see you like this and walk out alive. 

Dazai’s cock twitches as soon as you free it from its confines. He’s already leaking an embarrassing amount of precum, and his tip is flushed red, but you waste no time before ghosting your lips across his length, suckling gently at the vein running along the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around his tip.

Dazai chews at his lower lip, thighs tensing as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and shove his cock down your throat. Instead, his throat spasms as he swallows, reaching out to cradle the back of your head gently, carding his fingers through your hair soothingly.

“Lookit you,” he breathes out, voice wavering as he swallows another low groan. His fingers tighten in your hair just a bit, but he doesn’t push your face down on his cock, head falling back against the door as you work his cock further down your throat. His breath is ragged and heavy as your tight muscles spasm around him, desperately trying to adjust to the intrusion, and he can feel your nails digging into the bandages wrapped around his hips. “That’s my girl.”

Another loss of control that should probably concern him, but you’re quick to take his mind off of it with the way he can feel you let out a whine around him, nails digging a little bit deeper into skin as you take him fully into your mouth, lips flush to his pelvis and nose buried in his pubic hair.

His head falls forward as he pants, watching your throat struggle to adjust to him. He strokes your hair gently, silently beckoning you to look up at him because he worries that if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll let out a pornographic moan, one that will be impossible to deny if anyone over hears.

Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, eyes wide and glassy with fat tears that roll steadily over your cheeks. 

Beautiful, he thinks hazily, and his—all his. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else gets to imagine you like this—you’re his. 

He chokes over air, free hand coming up to cover his mouth and hips jerking forward. He feels you gag around him and his hand drops to caress your cheek in apology, trying to wipe away your tears, but it’s clumsy and frantic—the sight of you on your knees for him, tears streaming down you face as you take him down your throat, is enough to send him spiraling over the edge.

His vision spots with black dots, the taut cord in his abdomen tightens and then snaps. He’s hardly able to muffle the moan that spills from his lips as his eyes knock back and his head falls against the metal of the door. His whole body tenses and spasms as he cums down your throat, he gasps for air, thumb still stroking your cheek as you struggle to swallow all of his cum.

It takes a minute for Dazai to regain some semblance of control over himself. By the time he has, you’re standing on shaky legs and tucking his sensitive cock back into his pants. His hazy gaze focuses on your face—your lips are wet and swollen, your eyes are still glassy, and this time Dazai doesn’t have an excuse as he lifts his hands to cradle your face and says quietly, “Mine.”

Your smile is teasing. “‘I don’t get jealous,’” you mock lightly, leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as his hand slinks around your body to your back, pulling your body flush to his as he deepens the kiss, sinking into the familiar feeling of your lips sliding against his. 

“I don’t have reason to be jealous,” Dazai murmurs, this time with a different meaning. He pulls back slightly so he can button your pants back up and tuck your dress shirt back into them, making sure you look presentable before the officer gets back.

Instead of teasing him again, your smile softens and you affirm, “You don’t,” and Dazai’s throat tightens. 

The thought of being in an actual relationship has always been suffocating to Dazai. Imagining having to spend the rest of his life with one person, having someone rely on him when his will to live is fickle at best and nonexistent at worst, becoming dependent on someone who could leave him on a moment’s notice… It makes his stomach churn with disgust, his chest tight with anxiety.

But when that faceless someone turns into you, Dazai realizes that the thought of a relationship is not quite as unappealing as it’s always been to him. Does it still make him skittish? Sure, but does it outweigh the green hue that colors his vision whenever someone looks at you and thinks you’re not his? Does it outweigh the bolt of fear he feels whenever he sees someone display interest in you, wondering if maybe you’ll get sick of his flighty behavior and give them a chance?

Absolutely not.

Dazai hears footsteps approaching the door he’s leaning on, and quickly unlocks it, motioning for you to stand back by the conference table. When the officer opens the door, the two of you are standing there casually like you never moved.

The officer gives you an apologetic smile that makes Dazai’s eyes twitch. “It doesn’t seem like there’s any CCTV footage from the area.”

Before you can respond, Dazai smiles tightly and says, “Wow, and it took almost twenty minutes for you to realize that—no wonder the police keep coming to us for help.”

You elbow Dazai, but he’s unrepentant, giving you a sweet smile before turning a cooler one back onto the officer. “If you don’t mind, we can finish the rest back at our office tomorrow now that we have the files. We have a date to get to.”

He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re raising your eyebrows at him, but he keeps his gaze trained on the officer, finding sick satisfaction in the way the man’s eyes dart between the two of you, a dawning expression crossing his face.

“A… date?” 

“A date,” Dazai confirms, picking up the file and motioning for you to leave. He pointedly ignores the amused expression on your face as you make your way out of the room, walking past the officer who dumbly steps out of the way. “Thanks for the help… or, well, lack thereof.”

It’s only when the door slams shut behind the two of you, do you finally echo, “… A date?”

Hesitantly, Dazai confirms, “A date?”

When you don’t immediately respond, Dazai’s smile starts to freeze, considering that maybe you don’t want to date him and he read all of this wrong. You want to keep things casual, no strings attached. But after a few agonizing moments, you hook your arm around his and lean into him.

“Where are you taking me then, hm?”

“… It’s a surprise,” he replied.

A surprise for both of you, because Dazai hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. 

A tenseness that he hadn’t even realized was in his shoulders dissipates when you laugh and press your lips to his upper arm before resting your head against it. 

“Alright,” you agree, although he’s pretty sure you know damn well this is all spur of the moment. “Let’s go then.”

Though Dazai tries to rifle through all of the options of places you like to go, when the two of you step outside, all coherent thought washes right out of the window when you turn to look up at him, the setting sun casting an ethereal glow over your face.

“What is it?” you ask when he freezes in his tracks to admire you. “Dazai?”

For just a split second, Dazai can imagine it. He can imagine a life with you, and there’s no sign of any of the suffocation or discomfort he usually feels when he thinks of long term commitment too hard. He imagines waking up to you in the morning and falling asleep to you at night, he imagines spending his days laid up in bed with you sharing kisses and sweet nothings and he imagines dragging you around the city to show you off to anyone and everyone. His thoughts start to spiral out of control, and he’s glancing down at your ring finger, wondering-

“Dazai?”

Dazai’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt, and he swallows thickly when a more realistic image comes to mind—the expression on your face when you find out about his past, the disgust, the fear, the realization that he’s just not who he made himself out to be, that he’s been lying to you since day one.

“Nothing,” he says after a moment, voice a little raspy, so he shakes his head, giving you a disarming smile and clearing his throat. “You’re just so stunning that it leaves me at a loss for words, sweet bella.”

You don’t seem to buy it, but you don’t press, arm tightening around his as you make your way back over to your car.

As soon as you look away, his expression shifts into a more downcast one as his gaze tracks back over to you. It’s only a matter of time, he remembers. His past will catch up with him sooner rather than later, and no matter what you may insist about the past being in the past, he knows everything will change when you finally realize what all he’s been hiding from you.

… but maybe there’s not too much harm in indulging while he still can. He just has to keep reminding himself that he can’t get too attached.

“You should let me drive,” Dazai says sweetly. “So I can drive us to the place and keep it a surprise for you.”

You laugh in his face. “As if.”

You usher him over to the passenger seat before making your way back over to the driver’s side, and Dazai finds a genuine smile unconsciously curling at the corners of his lips. One that quickly falls when his fingers wrap around the handle of the car door.

He thinks, maybe, it might be far too late to stop himself from getting attached.

[gojosconsort]

anything from professor nanami if you haven't yet 🙏

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. oral (m receiving), age gap, cum, semi-public

“you’re staying late again?” professor!nanami asks, adjusting his glasses as he stacks papers on his desk. the classroom’s empty, lecture long over, but you’re leaning against a desk, skirt a touch too short, blouse unbuttoned just enough to catch his eye. he’s your stern, hot professor and you’ve been testing his patience all semester.

“just need some… extra help,” you say, stepping closer, heels clicking on the hardwood. his jaw tightens, eyes flicking to you, then back to his work. “extra help,” he repeats, setting a pen down, “you’re passing my class. what’s this about?” you shrug, playful, “maybe i just like your teaching style, professor.”

he exhales, sharp, standing, towering over you, his suit hugging his broad frame. “careful,” he warns, voice like gravel, but you’re already sinking to your knees, crawling under his desk. “fuck,” he mutters, stepping back, but you grab his belt, tugging him closer, “let me help you relax, sir.”

nanami hesitates, eyes dark, but he sits, chair creaking, thighs spreading as you settle between them, hidden by the desk’s shadow. “this is reckless,” he says, but his hand finds your hair, fingers threading, not pulling—yet.

you grin, unzipping his slacks, pulling his cock free—thick, heavy, already half-hard, tip glistening. “reckless? i call it studying,” you tease, licking a slow stripe up his shaft, tasting salt, feeling him twitch.

he groans, low, hand tightening in your hair, “watch that mouth.” but you don’t, swirling your tongue around his tip, sucking lightly, making him hiss. “shit,” he breathes, thighs tensing, and you take him deeper, lips stretching, throat relaxing as you bob, slow at first, savoring his weight. his cock’s hot, pulsing, and you hum, the vibration drawing a grunt from him, his head tipping back.

“you’re too good at this,” he mutters, voice strained, free hand gripping the desk’s edge, knuckles white. you pull back, spitting on his cock, slicking it, stroking with one hand while sucking the tip, sloppy, spit dripping down your chin. “learned from the best,” you murmur, winking, and he curses, “fuck.” you dive back in, taking him deep, gagging softly, but you push through, nose brushing his pelvis.

nanami’s close, breath ragged, hand guiding you now, firm but gentle, setting a rhythm—slow, deep, then faster, his cock hitting your throat, making you choke, eyes watering. “good girl,” he groans, voice breaking, and you moan, the praise soaking your panties, thighs clenching. you bob faster, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing the underside, feeling every vein, every pulse, spit pooling at the base, slicking his balls.

“fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he warns, hips twitching, fighting to stay still, but you want it, sucking harder, hand pumping what your mouth can’t take, fingers brushing his balls, teasing. his desk creaks, papers shifting, and you imagine someone walking in—another professor, a student—finding you under here, mouth stuffed, and it only makes you wetter, needier.

“look at me,” he orders, and you glance up, eyes glassy, lips stretched around his cock, spit and precum smearing your face. his gaze is fire, glasses fogging slightly, and he groans, “so fucking pretty like this.” you hum, vibrating around him, and he’s close, cock throbbing, swelling. “where do you want it?” he asks, voice tight, and you pull back, panting, “mouth,” before diving back, sucking with everything you’ve got.

nanami snaps, hand fisting your hair, hips bucking, fucking your mouth now, shallow thrusts, careful but desperate. “shit, fuck,” he groans, and you feel it—hot, thick cum flooding your mouth, hitting your throat, spilling over your tongue. you swallow, greedy, some dripping down your chin, and he keeps cumming, rope after rope, until he’s spent, cock twitching, softening slightly.

you pull off, gasping, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him. he’s a mess, glasses askew, chest heaving, staring at you like you’ve ruined him. “fuck,” he breathes, tucking himself back in, zipping up, hand still in your hair, gentle now, pulling you up. you stand, thighs slick, and he cups your face, thumb brushing your swollen lips, “you’re trouble.”

“worth it, though,” you say, smirking, and he laughs, soft, adjusting his tie, trying to regain his professorly composure. “get out before i fail you for distraction,” he says, but his eyes are warm, smitten. you grab your bag, blowing him a kiss, “see you next class, sir.”

[lieslab]

If we could only turn back time

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: After a Dispatch article leaks, your betrayed boyfriend kicks you out of your shared apartment and you're silenced in the worst way possible.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 5.1K

Trigger warning: Misunderstood trope, physical assault, anger, yelling, a car accident, plus graphic descriptions of physical injuries, and doctors/hospitals.

A/N: I had three hours of sad One Direction music, one request, and a dream. Requestee, you asked for angst and I have given it my all. I hope this meets every expectation and more <3

_ _ _

You were the light of Bang Chan’s life. At least, that’s what he thought. For months, his love grew for you. Over time, he opened up more and more. You crawled into his heart and made yourself at home. 

And then you tore it open. 

He thought he finally had the love of his life, but it turns out, you were just like the others. Not really loving him, but dragging along, clinging onto clout, and when the next man came, you jumped with both feet. You didn’t even say goodbye, but neither did he. 

There was no warning for either of you. One day, the two of you were head over heels for each other. The next, everything fell apart. Hearts cracked like stained glass. Tears fell, but the words from both of you didn’t provide the comfort the other so desperately craved. 

In the end, two hearts ripped apart. The world tipped in the wrong direction. You both lost your footing and for weeks, nothing would be the same for either of you, ever again. 

~ ~ ~ 

When you came home from buying groceries, the apartment was quiet, like usual. Chan’s warm presence had been gone since this morning. Up at the crack of dawn, he disappeared to continue making his dreams come true. 

You missed him when he was gone, just as he missed you, but dreams were important. No matter what happened between the two of you, it was the one thing you both agreed that it was important. No matter where your life took you, the most important thing was keeping focused on your dreams. 

Yes, the two of you were in love, but that wasn’t stopping either of you from pursuing your passions. Not yet engaged, the two of you vowed to be supportive of each other. Through thick and thin, in the risky moments, and everything in between; you swore to be there for one another. 

Your bare feet glided across the tile floor with ease. Without Chan, the apartment felt empty, but that didn’t stop you from trying to make it feel warm and fuzzy. Over on the side counter, you turned on the candle warmer. Maybe by the time Chan got home, the apartment would be full of a welcoming vanilla buttercream. 

You swore his cologne had hints of vanilla. He disagreed with you and insisted you didn’t know your scents. Just to prove a point, you bought the vanilla candle, and yet, he refused to see it.

He could be stubborn like that sometimes. Certain things he couldn’t see. No matter how hard and how obvious you attempted to make these things, he refused to see them. Sometimes, it was more frustrating than anything, but you learned to deal with every part of him; the good and the bad. 

You had your own set of flaws, too. Out of everyone existing in the world, there was nobody that you wanted to be with more than Chan. The two of you were still so young. There was a lifetime of adventures and fun to have. You were hoping the relationship between the two of you would last forever. 

It ended when Chan stormed through your front door. The bang of the front door slamming against the sidewall sent your heart racing. You grabbed a can of peas for defense and held your breath. 

Footsteps stormed through your living room. Your fingers turned pale around the can. A sigh of relief fell from you when you saw the furrow on Chan’s face. “Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me. What’s wrong, baby? What happened?” 

You put down the can and walked towards him. Your hands stretched out to grab his face. To your surprise, he swatted them away. Your eyes widen at the faint sting. “What are you-” 

“You don’t get to baby me after what you did!” 

“I-I did something? What did I-” 

“Shut up! You don’t get to pretend like you don’t know! You know I’ve felt like a piece of shit because I can’t be here twenty-four-seven! You know I travel for work and yet you still choose to hurt me in the worst way possible!” 

Confusion filled your face and it just pissed him off more. He jerked his Samsung phone from his pocket. You watched as he typed in the password. Your actions from the past few days rolled through your head like stop-motion. Each silent click, more scenes filled your head. 

None of them stood out. You couldn’t recall what you did wrong, but Chan was furious. Your mouth opened, but words didn’t come out. He flipped the screen to find the bold words of a Dispatch article. Your heart hit the ground with a sickening splat. 

Trouble in paradise: A Rocky Road Ahead For Stray Kids’ Bang Chan’s Romantic Relationship. 

Attached, two photos of you grinning at another JYP idol from another group. In one, you were waving at them. In another, you were leaning over and hugging them. 

“It’s not what it looks like!” 

“Really? Because you know what it looks like to me? It looks like you were attempting to hide a close relationship with someone in a younger group.” 

“That’s not true! Chan, it’s Dispatch! You can’t possibly believe that I-” 

“I want you out of my apartment.” 

Your face fell at his words. “You…you wouldn’t. Please, just let me explain and I-” 

“When have you ever talked about him? Never! You’ve never been close to another idol! Yet now, you’re hugging him?” 

“Chan, please!” 

“Get out!” 

“But-” 

“Out!” His voice raised. “Get your stuff and get the fuck out of my apartment! Don’t bother coming back!” 

The words were loud enough to frighten you. You left the grocery bags scattered on the kitchen island and took off. Tears filled your eyes. You wanted to explain, but he kept cutting you off. 

Too heated to think about the situation, his insecurities got the best of him. In the kitchen, he slumped against the counter with his head in his hands. Warm tears filled his eyes at the sound of your sniffles. 

He wanted to comfort you, but the hurt was too much. He grew to love you with everything he had and within one Dispatch article, his swollen heart popped. How could you do this to him? After everything the two of you had been through, why did you have to ruin it? 

Tears blurred your vision and you didn’t look back. You jerked items from the closet and tossed them in your suitcase. Grabbing handfuls from each of your dresser drawers, you tossed them in with everything. Even the toiletries, you didn’t have time to organize them. 

Chan wanted you to go, so you’d leave. At the end of the day, this was his apartment. You paid rent, but his name was the first on the contract. He paid the down payment, not you. 

You gave him one last desperate look as you passed by, but he didn’t see it. His name fell from your mouth in a weak croak, but he didn’t pull his hands from his eyes. “Please, just go away.” 

You spun around, gripped your suitcase tighter, and then you did. 

~ ~ ~ 

All night, you drove around without a destination in mind. You refused to call one of Chan’s members and plead for help. It’d only stir up drama in the group. That was the last thing you wanted. 

Numbness hung over your head. You still couldn’t believe everything that happened a few hours ago. If he would have listened, he would have understood. The tears dried up a while ago, but the empty feeling in your chest didn’t go away. 

Seoul’s late afternoon crept into another dark night. Gray blotted skies drifted into a pitch black. Neon lights reflected off the paint on your car, but the warm colors didn’t warm your heart. 

The car felt lonely without Chan. You’d give anything to hear his laughter from beside you. The playful banter while he reminded you to turn on the correct turn signal. It’d been a constant inside joke between the two of you. Ever since you accidentally flicked on the wrong signal and turned the wrong way, he’d never let it go. 

The way he tipped his head forward. Messy tendrils of dark hair fell over his forehead. His squeaky laugh warmed your heart. Such a far comparison from the anger that rattled the apartment walls earlier. 

You poked his dimples between the stoplights. On nights when the two of you wanted to get away from everyday life, you found peace in this car. You’d drive and be in control for once. He’d sit beside you with a hand on your thigh. 

Simple conversations filled the car. Love pooled between the two of you. Shared laughter, quiet conversations, and the secret getaway that your car provided you’d do anything to turn back time. 

You loved him for a reason. You always had and you always would. Just because photos told one story, it didn’t mean they told the entire story. Snippets didn’t capture the truth. The context was important, but Chan was too distraught tonight. 

Too stressed out. Too angry. Too frustrated. Things built up and that article was the breaking point. Those photographs became thorns in your relationship. In one day, the roses wilted. Withered petals gathered at your feet. 

Tomorrow would be better, you reassured yourself as you drove. Tomorrow, Chan would realize he was wrong. He jumped the gun in this situation. In the morning, he’d call you and apologize. 

Tomorrow, you’d be welcomed home with a heartfelt apology and a bouquet of fresh flowers. A glass full of red wine, sweets, and a home cooked dinner. Tomorrow, things will be okay again. These tears were temporary. This hurt wouldn’t last forever. 

At a stoplight, you grabbed your phone and dialed Changbin’s number. On speaker phone, you waited and waited, but he didn’t pick up. If anyone would know the truth and be able to rationalize Chan’s brain, it was him. 

The red light from the stoplights highlighted faint tear streaks. You sniffled, wiping your long sleeve across your dripping nose. Your eyes shut and your voice cut out and quivered as you spoke. 

“Please know that I didn’t mean to cause him or you guys any harm. I ran into him the other day and asked if he could help teach me a dance. He’s one of JYP’s best dancers and I know Stray Kids are busy. His group is on break and I just thought I could surprise Chan with a dance.” 

“Saying it out loud, I get that it’s stupid now. I was just hoping it’d cheer him up. He’s been so stressed lately. I thought the least I could do was make him laugh.” 

“If you get a chance and if he’s willing to hear it, please let him know I love him. I love him and I’m sorry. Dispatch is stupid and I hate them. You can even ask that idol and he’ll tell you the same thing. I’m so sorry, Changbin. I’ll talk to you later. I have to find a place to stay tonight.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shut your eyes. After clicking the end call button on your phone, you threw the device into your passenger’s seat. Maybe if you were lucky, Chan would hear out Changbin. Level-headed and rational, you knew Chan appreciated the advice he gave out. 

A car horn honked behind you. Your eyes quickly reopened and the green light stared back at you. Unblinking, you grumbled beneath your breath. “I’m going, I’m going, geez.” You inched out into the intersection, expecting to continue going straight. 

You weren’t expecting your car to jerk left. Your screams blended with the sound of crushing metal. Orange sparks flew. The sickening scent of burnt rubber and diesel hit your nose. Your seatbelt cut into your neck and briefly cut off your air flow. 

The last thing you remembered was the horn of the semi-truck vibrating your entire car. 

~ ~ ~ 

It wasn’t Dispatch that was the first one to find out about the devastating car accident; instead, it was Jeongin. He sucked in a deep breath as he walked into the hospital. Last night, after struggling with the flu, someone admitted his friend to the hospital. 

He mumbled beneath his breath, trying to figure out what to say. A blue medical mask sat over his nose and mouth. He knew to keep his distance, but he still felt awful that they were here. 

Hospitals were lonely. In the brief moments when families and friends disappeared. When the nurses were following their routine rounds and doctors were checking in on other patients, people were left alone. The isolating white walls. The uncomfortable piercing beeps from the heart rate monitor. The cold IV drips, distributing medicine directly into the bloodstream. 

Surgical stitches ached. Disease weighed heavily upon the lungs. Intubation and the mechanical push and pull of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Hospitals were the opposite of warm and welcoming. Cold and sterile, he rather wished his friend was at home. 

The colorful bouquet of multicolored flowers was the brightest thing in the hallway. Closed doors with numbers passed by as he walked. The nurse’s announcement of his friend’s room number echoed in his head. 

It dissipated when he heard your name from a nurse in a cracked room. Before he knew it, he was pushing the door open and stepping inside. On the hospital bed, you were unrecognizable. Scrapes and cuts laced your face. Both plum purple eyes swelled shut.  

The right side of your face puffed up unnaturally. Black stitches poked out from the bottom of your lip. That was just your face. That wasn’t beginning to touch the cast on your arm and the rest of your body hidden beneath the blue covers. 

He knew it was you. He recognized the promise ring on your ring finger. He had helped Chan pick it out. He glanced around, searching for Chan, but he wasn’t there.

“Are you lost?” 

He glanced up to find the nurse. Her blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail. She observed him through black, circular-rimmed glasses. 

He shook his head and repeated your name. The nurse frowned and he pointed to you. “Is this-” 

“Are you family?” 

“Brother.” 

You weren’t biologically related, but it felt true deep down. 

~ ~ ~ 

Changbin tried to bring the situation up to Chan, but every time he spoke your name, Chan would shut down. From what Changbin knew, Chan didn’t know what happened to you. The rest of the guys did, but they all received the same results. Every time they spoke your name, Chan grew irritated and short-tempered. 

“I don’t want to talk about them! Stop bringing them up! Enough!” 

The charming and charismatic leader unraveled at the seams. His heart was full of love for you and you ruined it. That wasn’t something he took lightly. The hurt oozed out in other ways. 

His songs weren’t coming together as easily anymore. He used to get your feedback when he went home, but now the apartment was empty. The bed was colder without you. He was lonely, but he wouldn’t admit it. 

He snapped during dance practice. After he snapped at a manager, a manager lectured him about authority and respecting his elders. Nobody understood the hurt that he was going through. It didn’t help that Dispatch began showing up and bothering him. 

They could take all the pictures they wanted. He’d never give them the satisfaction of breaking his heart. Instead of listening, he put on his airpods and cranked up the music. He shoved through the camera flashes with his baseball hat low and a face mask covering the rest of his face. They didn’t deserve to turn his heartbreak into entertainment. 

He’d never let them break him. They already did it once. You were gone and the longer you went without a call or a text, he assumed they were right. They caught you cheating and you accepted it. You didn’t fight for your relationship. 

You didn’t call and beg for him to take you back. You didn’t call and try to explain. He sent you one text, but you never opened it. He was at a complete loss without you. 

Some would call him stubborn for it, but he’d say that he was just trying to protect himself from more hurt. 

~ ~ ~ 

The lonely days for you didn’t stay lonely for long. Jeongin discovered you hours after your accident. The days slipped by, but you weren’t alone anymore. Unconscious and pumped full of medicine, sure. They were far from lonely. 

Every evening, the guys took turns hanging out beside your bed. Seungmin would sing the songs you liked. Jeongin told you funny stories of Chan, trying to bring you back to consciousness. Minho brought you warm comments from the fans who found out about your accident. The rest of the guys had their own things, but Chan’s voice never filled the room. 

Stuck in a coma, things were dark. Occasionally, you could hear the beeping of your machines. You could feel your lungs expand and compress unnaturally. Your body felt like a shell more than anything. Voices came and went, but never Chan’s. 

In the darkness, you couldn’t see. You weren’t sure if you were dead or not. Stranger’s voices appeared in soft whispers and then they faded. You weren’t sure what was going on, but you knew you were exhausted. 

Those audible voices and sounds never lasted for long. You couldn’t feel pain. Every sensation within you felt numbed. A heavy fog filled your head and something clouded your vision. 

You attempted to open your eyes every so often, but they didn’t budge. Someone glued them shut. Every limb tingled with tiny pins and needles. You didn’t know if this was death, but it didn’t feel comforting. Somewhere between the realm of the living and dead, doctors kept you in a medically induced coma. 

How else could they heal the swelling of your brain? ~ ~ ~  

“I can’t take this anymore!” Felix cried out. He shoved himself from the chair and pulled out his phone. “This is such bullshit! I’m tired of keeping this from him.”

“Well, we’ve tried. What do you propose we do? Tell him to get to the hospital without mentioning his significant other’s name?” Seungmin crossed his arms over his chest. “Good luck. We’ve tried everything and it’s been twenty-something days.” 

“Actually, that’s exactly what we should do. How much longer can this go on for? This is pathetic, even for him! I get that he’s hurt, but look at them!” He reached over and gestured towards your bed. 

You remained intubated and unmoving. The swelling in your puffy eyes faded a little more each day, but they still looked awful. The stitches in your lips disappeared, but a fresh pink scar remained. 

Swirls of purple and blue smeared along your face. Broken bones reset and were on the mend. You were a living miracle. The first responders were afraid you wouldn’t make it, but when they pulled you from the wreckage, you continued breathing. 

So he unlocked his phone and hit Chan’s contact name. 

“Hello?” 

“Chan?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You need to get to the hospital right now. Call me when you get here.” 

“WHAT?” 

“I can’t talk. Just call me when you get here.” 

“Felix!” 

He grimaced and hung up the phone. Seungmin shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You probably gave him a heart attack. He’s going to kill you when he gets here, you know?” 

“That’s a problem for later.” ~ ~ ~ 

Chan flew from his apartment. His heart pounded in his chest and he couldn’t breathe. Losing you was hard enough. If anything happened to a member of his group, he’d never forgive himself. 

“Come on, come on!” He fumbled with his seat belt in one hand. With the other, he swung his car door shut. In seconds, he jerked the car in reverse and slammed the pedal. 

He lurched down the driveway, spun the wheel with a rubbered squeal, and shifted the car into drive. The engine roared and he sped down the road. 

What-ifs grew stronger on the way to the hospital. His breath caught in his throat and he struggled to stay calm. Last he knew, everyone was fine so what happened? Who? How bad was it? 

The moment he parked, he whipped out his phone and dialed Felix’s number. When Felix responded, his voice came out frantic. “I’m here! Where are you?” 

“Room one-twelve. I’ll meet you half-way. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Wait, who is-” 

Click. 

“Fucking hell!” He cried out. He grabbed the keys, sped from the car, and rushed towards the automatic door. 

Everything was a blur inside. Voices appeared from the waiting room. The receptionist glanced over the front desk and eyed him, but she didn’t stop him. He glanced left and right and opted to go left. 

The carpet disappeared beneath his feet and turned into squeaky clean white vinyl. An easy material to clean and disinfect daily. He rushed forward when he saw Felix appear down the edge of the hall. 

The squeak of his shoes didn’t matter. He ignored the doctor he passed that told him to stop running. By the time he reached Felix, he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Who is it? What happened? Tell me!” 

“Just, come on.” 

“Felix!” 

Felix didn’t budge. He grabbed Chan’s wrist and pulled him along. His chest filled with anxiety and his lungs compressed. When the pair appeared at the right door, Felix dropped his wrist and slowly pushed the door open. 

He expected to find Han or Jeongin. A broken and battered Hyunjin or Changbin hooked to oxygen. This was the intensive care unit. This was for the severe cases. The patients that required a close eye and keen detailing. 

Upon seeing you, his face fell. The bruising upon your face. The tube down your throat. Your lifeless skin and unmoving limbs. There was no sign of the life the two of you created. 

No reassuring smiles, or laughter. Seungmin sat solemnly beside your bed in a chair. “I’m shocked that you finally made it.” 

“What the hell happened?” He hurried to the opposite side of your bed. His hand reached out, but he didn’t touch you. Too frightened by your state, he didn’t know where he could touch without causing you pain. 

“Try their hand,” an unfamiliar voice spoke up. He whirled around to find a nurse in blue scrubs. “Their hands survived the crash. You can touch their hands if you wish.” 

“Sorry, I came in to get some vitals. It’ll only be a few moments and then I can leave you alone. Visiting hours are open until eleven o’clock tonight. I’ve never seen you here before, so I thought you should know.” 

“How long have they been like this?” He whispered. Tears filled his eyes and his heart ached. 

“Since the night you told them to leave your apartment.” 

“What?” 

“Felix!” Seungmin’s voice shot out sternly. “It’s not like that, Chan. Yes, the accident happened that night, but don’t beat yourself up over it. A driver of a semi-truck was speeding and couldn’t stop in time.” 

“That was nearly a-” 

“I’m sorry, hyung.” Felix’s hand appeared on his shoulder. “We tried to tell you, but every time we tried to utter their name, you were angry. We should have found a better way to tell you, but…” He trailed off, unsure of what else to say. 

The nurse grabbed your vitals and disappeared to give the guys time with you. Chan collapsed to his knees and grabbed your hand with both of his. For nearly a month, you’d been stuck in this bed. He thought you’d given up on the relationship with him. 

This entire time you haven't texted him back. Not because you were angry. Not because you were sad. Not because Dispatch’s rumors were true. But it was because you physically couldn’t. Intubated and trapped in a medically induced coma, you couldn’t reach out, even if you wanted to. 

“I’m so sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry, I-I thought that they-” 

“Easy, hyung.” 

“What did I do? What the fuck did I do? If I wouldn’t have kicked them out of the apartment, this wouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have been so angry. I should have let them explain.” 

Seungmin shot Felix a look. He shrugged and gently rubbed Chan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Channie. You were hurting and you didn’t mean for this to happen.” 

He was supposed to be the leader. A strong pillar and an even stronger influence on his younger members. As the eldest member, he was supposed to be reliable. At that moment, he crumbled. Tears appeared in his eyes as a sob broke from his chest. 

No wonder you had been so quiet. He called you once and hit your voicemail. He longed to hit the call button, just so he could hear your voice again. He squeezed your hand tighter and pressed it against his cheek. 

“Wake up. Wake up, baby, please! Come back to me. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I'm so sorry!” 

Tears blurred his vision. He struggled to comprehend your mangled face. Your other hand sat wrapped in a cast. You must have been so broken when you arrived here. He wasn’t here to comfort you. He wasn’t here to try and console and cheer you up. 

A wheeze fell from his throat. The betrayal slicing through his heart disappeared. This time, he felt like he was the one that had betrayed you. He hurt you in the most unimaginable way possible. 

You laid here broken and half-dead. You spent hours fighting for your life alone. And where was he? Walking around your shared apartment drowning in his own self-pity. He’d never forgive himself for this. 

“What is this?” He finally whispered after his sobs faded away. His throat was raw. His voice came out scratchy. “How bad is it?” 

“The doctor said they should wake up at any time. They weren’t breathing on their own. A medically induced coma ensured to make sure their brain’s swelling could stop.” 

“It was that bad? They’ve been suffering through all that alone?” His bottom lip quivered. He grew afraid of the response he’d receive. 

“No,” Seungmin spoke up. “Jeongin found out first. He was the one that notified us. He said he tried to tell you, but when he showed up at your apartment, you told him to leave.” 

Horror filled Chan at the memory. Later that same night, back when you left, Jeongin appeared on his front porch pale. Instead of hearing out the younger member, he told him to get lost and slammed the door in his face. Deep down, he was afraid to be viewed as weak in front of the younger member. 

The memory stung his heart. Poor Jeongin just wanted him to know the truth and he slammed the door in his face. No wonder Jeongin seemed so nervous around him. He was probably worried that Chan would find out the truth and yell at him for not telling him. 

He rubbed his face and pawed at his eyes. “So does everyone know?” 

“Everyone besides you.” 

“Sorry you’re late. None of us knew how to get you here. You’d never listen when we tried to talk about them.” 

“I was such a stupid, selfish asshole.” 

“You were hurting,” Felix corrected him. 

“And a stupid, selfish asshole.” 

“You were.” 

“Seungmin!” Felix cried. 

“No, I want him to know that he was. I’m not going to sit here and pity him. You were a jerk, Chan. I hope you remember this moment whenever you try to act like an asshole again.” 

The words were a slap in the face, and yet he wanted to laugh. As harsh as Seungmin’s words were, they rang true. He was a jerk and maybe, in the cruelest way possible, this was his karma. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but paused when your fingernails scratched at his hand. The tube in your throat caused you to choke. You couldn’t fully see as your eyes half-opened. Still swollen, your vision remained limited. Silhouettes appeared and voices became more distinct. 

“Get a nurse!” 

Footsteps hit the ground. You gargled and reached your opened mouth. “No, no, no! You can’t touch that yet.” 

“Easy, love. Try to relax and don’t fight the tube. It’s breathing for you right now.” 

The distress and quickened-pace of the heart rate monitor hit a hiccup. Chan’s familiar voice grounded you, but you still struggled with the tube. Your lungs wanted to expand, but the machine compressed them. You choked again, still fighting the pesky thing. 

More footsteps. Another silhouette. Glasses on an unfamiliar face and latex rubbing against your skin. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m going to take this out now, okay? On the count of three. One, two, three!” 

You gasped and coughed at the removal. Your lungs filled with air of your own accord. More coughing. You attempted to swallow, but your mouth was so dry. The lingering phantom of a headache filled the side of your head. 

“Try a sip of this, sweetheart.” 

The nurse’s tone was honey to your ears. You swallowed the water the moment it hit your lips. One swallow and then another. Two more and suddenly, you were gulping like crazy. 

“Easy, or you’ll choke,” Chan gently reminded you. 

The nurse pulled the glass away when you finished. “Do you know where you are?” 

“Hospital?” 

“Do you remember your name?” 

“Chan?” 

“I’m right here, honey. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere. Do you remember your name? This nice nurse wants to help you get better. Your doctor is on his way.” 

Every question asked, you answered it perfectly. A buzz of excitement swirled around the room from your consciousness. Seungmin and Felix left the room to give everyone the good news. 

When the doctor concluded you were stable, he disappeared with the nurse. A silence fell between you and Chan. You still couldn’t see perfectly, but you could feel the weight of his hand in yours. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry for that night.” 

“I don’t want to talk about that night.” 

“I was an idiot.” 

“Dumbass,” you weakly corrected him. 

“I see getting hit by a semi-truck hasn’t taken away your sass.” 

“If I can survive this, I can survive anything.” 

“I love you and I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, I love you and I don’t want to hear anything else about that. I’m so tired. Can you sing me to sleep or something?” 

“If I do, promise you won’t die?” 

“I promise.” 

Even if you couldn’t make out his face, you knew his voice, and that was good enough for you. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght

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Ko-fi

[noonecareslol]

࣪˖ ִ ೀ 𝐀 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Hwang In-ho x Fem! Reader

Summary: When the games aren’t in session, and In-ho is lonely, he finds himself in the first row at the ballet. Watching you. Suddenly he's falling in love.

TW: Channeling my love for older men. Injury. Reader lowkey gets sad for a sec. Age gap (reader is 25 In-ho is 49). Just FLUFF! In-ho learning how to love someone again. Quite literally head over heels for you. Allusions to masturbation. Size kink if you squint.

WC! 5k Part 2! -> here!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It is quite obvious that In-ho is an old soul.

He enjoys old films, old clothing, old theatre, and old music. The little jazz set that plays, “Fly Me To The Moon” is a cherished possession of his, along with his vintage whiskey decanter.

He wears a musky cologne he’d been gifted by his late wife, and his closet is lined with leather dress shoes and perfectly pressed slacks. His dimly lit room on the island is vastly similar to the one in his Seoul apartment, everything perfectly neat and clean.

Yes, In-ho is an old soul.

And in between the games, when he would return to Seoul, he’d find himself bored. Especially during the night. He’d miss his wife, the whispered hope of a promised future.

Often he would distract himself by putting his whiskey decanter to good use, pouring the aged whiskey into his glass over and over again. He would linger by his shelf full of movies he’d seen hundreds of times, tracing his fingers along the cases until he landed on a title. A small smile would play on his lips before popping it into the DVD player and taking a seat next to his beloved cat.

He would find himself mumbling the lines as the actors spoke them on screen, his hand absentmindedly petting his cat. When the movie is over, and the quiet resumes, he’d move to his bedroom.

He’d ensure his cat followed before changing into his expensive pajamas and climbing into the king-sized bed. His cat would join him and he would drift to sleep, dreaming of, well, nothing.

He would close his eyes and wake up without any dream having occupied his mind.

This routine became comfortable. Each night he would get home from whatever he’d been doing before, drink, watch a movie, play with his cat, and sleep without any dreams.

But this night, this night was different.

It was a cold night. And all In-ho wanted to do was drown in glasses of whiskey and watch “Dial ‘M’ For Murder” with his cat.

But as he walked past a line of people waiting to enter a theatre, a poster caught his attention. He blinked once, twice, before walking toward the lit-up frame.

A strikingly beautiful ballerina caught his attention first. She held her arms elegantly above her head, her leg pointed behind her, her other leg resting on pointe as she looked to the side. She was breathtaking.

The Seoul Ballet Company Presents: Swan Lake

Opening Night November 1st

Suddenly the thought of whiskey and Alfred Hitchcock left his mind as he joined the line. I mean, who would miss out on opening night?

Especially when the lead was so pretty.

“We have one ticket left in the front row.” The woman behind the ticket booth clicked her pen unenthusiastically as she watched In-ho pull his leather vintage wallet out of his coat pocket.

A grin rested plainly on his lips as he fiddled with his cash, “That’s perfect. How much?”

The woman slowly turned and punched a few numbers into her register before turning back to him, “80,000 won.” She clicked her pen again.

“Do you have change for 100,000?” He held the two 50,000 won in front of him, watching as she stared at him blankly.

She blinked once before snatching the bills from his hands, “Nope!” In-ho sighed. For someone so slow she took those bills awfully fast.

In-ho drew his lips into a thin line before taking the ticket and placing it in his wallet, “Thanks.”

“Yeah enjoy the show or, like, whatever.” The woman took out her phone and began to text as he walked away, obviously not giving a shit about her job.

But as In-ho walked through the double doors, his breath caught in his throat. The theatre certainly did not disappoint his love for old architecture.

The large barrel vaulted ceilings were beautifully ornamented and adorned with intricately painted designs. Gorgeous crown molding edged the ceiling and stretched to the floor. And a large crystal chandelier rested as the centerpiece, warmly lit and inviting.

In-ho took his seat, a smile evident on his lips as he sighed contently. However, he hoped his cat wasn’t too worried about his whereabouts. Maybe she could come along next time? She is a very sophisticated cat, after all.

As the chandelier and house lights began to dim, the crowd became quiet with anticipation and excitement. And it would be dishonest to say that In-ho wasn’t a little excited as well.

He looked to his left at the woman sitting next to him. She was a small elderly lady with a pair of glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were filled with excitement as she scanned through the pamphlet, a wide smile plastered on her face.

She wore a vintage necklace around her neck, layered with pearls. In-ho smiled, it was nice to see someone who also had a knack for old taste.

The soft notes of Swan Lake began to play, and In-ho watched as the curtains opened, revealing the beautifully decorated stage. Large trees with hanging vines arched over the set, greenery and flowers blending into the painted backdrop.

A foggy mist flooded the stage as dancers began to move elegantly across. But the lead had yet to make an appearance.

In-ho watched rather impatiently, and failed to notice the woman next to him lean in, “Right now, the prince is going hunting with his crossbow. But he will find that the white swan has turned into a beautiful woman, and has fallen under a curse.” The old woman pointed slightly to the prince, her voice whispering just loud enough for him to hear.

His eyes trained on the prince as he danced with his crossbow, “Thank you. I must look confused.”

The old lady gave a small laugh, “I used to dance for this company, i’ll never miss an opportunity to explain the ballet.”

In-ho watches as she subtly mimics the prince's moves, her hands moving elegantly in front of her. Her eyes were closed, the sound of the music bringing emotion to her face.

Her eyes flick open as the music changes softly, “Look.” Her eyes lighting up as she nods slightly to the stage.

In-ho watches as you finally take the stage, fluttering your feet as you move elegantly toward the prince. Your hands held high above your head, moving gracefully as you bourrée.

He watched as your back muscles contracted, moving as if you had wings. His eyes trained down to your legs and to your pointe shoes, watching as you danced with ease.

Your white feathered skirt moved along with you, the bodice elegantly framing you perfectly. The feathered piece in your hair catches In-ho’s attention, causing him to study your face.

That poster was nothing compared to your beauty.

You held a soft look, but In-ho didn’t fail to notice the focus that caused your eyebrows to furrow slightly. Your movements were soft and graceful, your demeanor innocent and melancholic.

You were perfect as the white swan.

You were perfect.

He wondered if you were just as innocent as you portray yourself to be, “God, she’s beautiful.”

The elderly woman hummed in agreement as she watched In-ho’s gaze remain sharp on the white swan, an all-knowing smile spread across her lips.

As the ballet continued it seemed that the rest of the audience had disappeared. In-ho felt as if you were only dancing for him. No one else.

He swore you looked at him a few times, him being the focus point of your graceful turns.

And when you transitioned into the black swan, all thoughts in In-ho’s head became dark.

Oh, how he liked this side of you.

Your movements were sharp, determined, and seductive. And he found himself adjusting in his seat as his slacks became increasingly tight. You were so close to him. Just a few feet from his touch as you danced on stage. He could take you right now. He could fuck you, make you feel things you’ve never felt before.

And as you leaped on the stage, the white swan jumping to her death, In-ho felt a tear slip from his eye. You were magnificent.

The audience filed out of the theatre, fanning themselves with their pamphlets and discussing the ballet. You had received a standing ovation, and In-ho took pride in being the first one to stand and clap.

He had finally caught your attention. And when you locked eyes with him as you bowed, you felt your brain turn to mush.

He was handsome. Like, extremely handsome.

His face was perfectly chiseled. His eyes crinkled as he flashed a perfect smile, his hair slightly falling in front of his face and covering his dark eyes.

You didn’t blink once as you remained under his gaze, and it wasn’t until another dancer pulled you up that you realized you were bowing for far too long.

You avoided his eye contact as you walked off, embarrassed he had made you turn into putty just by his stare.

And as In-ho exited the theatre, he took his time lingering by the lamp post. He’d secretly hoped to see you leave.

He doesn’t know what he would say if he did see you. Maybe he would compliment you, or ask you a meaningless question. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d push you against the lamppost, and let his desire consume you.

He’d just wait a little bit longer.

10 minutes.

15 minutes.

30 minutes.

The woman from behind the ticket booth locked the door as she brought down the metal gate, “Excuse me, did the woman who danced as the white swan leave yet?”

She turned around smacking her gum, “Yeah. Why?” She sized him up, placing a hand on her hip as she cocked an eyebrow.

In-ho felt his face flush, “I was just going to compliment her.” He put his cold hands in the pockets of his coat, shifting his weight onto his other foot.

“Yeah well,” The woman smacks her gum as she walks up towards In-ho, handing him a flier, “They have open practice every Friday. Tickets are only 10,000 won.”

He took the flier from her hand, folding it and sliding it into his pocket, “Thanks.” She nodded her head and walked past him, slipping into her jacket.

In-ho turned and started his walk to his apartment only a block away. When he arrived, he heard the familiar sound of meowing by his front door.

And as he opened the door, he came face to face with his cat waiting on the couch, “I’m sorry Elisabeth, but I’m too tired for a movie tonight.”

She gave an annoyed meow before reluctantly following him into his room, hopping onto the pillow beside his. In-ho got dressed in his pajamas, ready for another dreamless night as he slipped into the sheets next to Elisabeth.

But this time, it wasn't dreamless.

In fact, he had dreamed a very vivid dream.

He had dreamt of you.

And as In-ho woke up the next morning, his hand immediately went to his nightstand, picking up the flier.

It seems that the pretty ballerina has stolen his heart.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Plié! Ron de jambe, retiré! Good!" You held your arms in front of you, your right leg coming up at a bend, "Pas de chat, écarté! Don't rush it, Fiona!"

Your ballet teacher weaved between you and the other students, her tight bun sitting perfectly on her pointed head, "Développé, demi-pointe! No! Not pointe, demi pointe!"

Her thick French accent bellowed throughout the theatre, "Good y/n! Très bien!" A wide smile painted your lips as you continued your dance, your friend Fiona rolling her eyes at your praise. You giggled as you went into second, your arms outstretched to the side.

"Well done! Take a water break and stretch, we'll take five." You brought your hands to your knees, leaning over slightly as you caught your breath.

Fiona dramatically flopped on her back, a hand coming to her forehead as she breathed heavily, "I've died, she's killed me." You tossed her water bottle into her hand with a laugh as you sat next to her, your eyes scanning the theatre.

Familiar faces met your eyes. Elderly couples, former dancers, and little kids with their moms. Oh! And the man who you haven't stopped thinking about.

Wait.

You hit Fiona's shoulder hard, not taking your eyes off him, "Fiona. Fiona, look." She sat up, holding her shoulder as her eyes trailed to where you were subtly pointing.

"Oh, it's the hot dilf." Fiona took a drink from her bottle, watching as In-ho looked around while taking in the architecture.

You slapped her shoulder again, "Shut up! What if he hears you?" You get up from the ground, pulling Fiona up with you and tossing your water bottle back into your bag.

She followed suit, taking one last drink before tossing it in her own, "First off, stop hitting me. It's abuse." You rolled your eyes as you both took your spot by the barre, "Second, he's in the back corner of the theatre, he's not hearing shit. Except for our teacher's constant yelling."

You didn't respond, instead, you continued looking at him. His black turtle neck sweater hugged his biceps perfectly, and you didn't fail to notice his empty finger where a ring would sit.

"Okay! Lets continue! Tendu, plié! Ron de jambe, plié!"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

It had been two months since In-ho first started spending his Fridays pining over you.

Each Friday, he would come home, change into an outfit he had dry-cleaned and pressed, feed Elisabeth, and head to the Theatre. He would take his spot in the far left corner, and watch as you danced and laughed with your friends.

He found himself looking forward to Fridays. Which is strange, because he's never looked forward to anything before. Well, besides the games. But he had been so focused on you, that he had fallen behind on his work. Something he'd never done before.

You plagued his mind.

He dreams of you. When he's asleep and awake. He'd find himself walking by the Theatre on other days when you were practicing, hoping to see a glimpse of you.

He found himself listening to Etta James and Nat King Cole more often than not. 'A Sunday Kind Of Love' and 'Unforgettable' filing his apartment as he cooked his dinners. 'My Fair Lady' and 'Gone With The Wind' replacing his classic mystery movies.

He even found himself stopping by flower boutiques, smelling the tulips and Orchids. He wonders what your favorite flower is. Perhaps it is Lilies, the flower that represents innocence and purity.

He wondered a lot if you were a virgin. Often imagining the feeling of your body under his large one late at night when he can't sleep, and when his hand finds itself under his pants.

You had him wrapped around your pretty little finger and you didn't even know it.

Vice Versa, you found yourself looking forward to Fridays as well.

It was the only day you could see the stranger who you had been thinking about constantly.

You liked his style, the way he carried himself with a confidence that intimidated you. His large frame towered over everyone, and he stood out from the crowd. He was perfect. It was as if god himself sculpted him with his own hands.

And oh my god.

You were down bad.

Fiona constantly teased you about it. Making fun of how you stopped wearing your loose cover-up, "Im just hot, that's all Fiona. It's warm in here." You lied. And Fiona was obviously aware of that.

You started offering to stay late with your teacher and help clean up, hoping to catch the stranger before he left. But your teacher always insisted you should go home and rest, and who were you to disobey her.

You've always been perfect. At school, at dance, at everything. When auditions came for Swan Lake, there was no question in anyone's mind about who would get the lead.

But since opening night, things have been slightly different. You often got distracted during practice, your eyes always finding the man in the back corner. You started falling out of your turns, forgetting to bring your pointe shoes, and, worse of all, you had been forgetting to point your toes.

And here you were. Walking to the center of the stage, ready to run through your variation in front of everyone. It was an easy variation, but the end was complicated. You had to do several pirouettes, which you have always been good at. But today you decided to test yourself.

You knew your teacher was becoming increasingly disappointed in you, it plagued your every thought. So, as you spun perfectly, you decided to see how many pirouettes you could perform.

17, 18, 19, 20.

Your leg is wobbling, but you choose to ignore it.

21, 22, 23-

You hear Fiona call your name as your foot slips out of pointe, twisting as you fall on top of it, "Oh my god!" The sickening sound of your ankle cracking causes your heart to drop. The stinging feeling of tears replaced by the overwhelming pain that was now shooting up your leg.

Everyone huddles around you as the teacher runs to call an ambulance, but Fiona kneels at your side, "I know this isn't the right time but, the dilf is running over here right now."

You close your eyes, trying to control your rapid breathing. You wished the stage would open around you and swallow you whole, just put you out of your misery.

In-ho jumps with ease onto the stage, his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbow, "Move." He pushes past the dancers huddling over you and grabs your face.

Your eyes flick open at the feeling of warm hands pressed against your cheeks. Oh my god, he was holding your face. Your heart fluttered but you didn't notice, you were too worried about the fact that your ankle was bent the wrong way.

In-ho's hand softly brushes over your ankle, causing you to wince. At first, he's skeptical about touching you. Was it too fast? Too sudden? Too bold?

But he didn't have time to think it over as he put his strong arms under you, lifting you gently as he stood. Fiona watched with a smirk on her face as she saw shock fill your eyes, his biceps flexing as he pulled you close to his chest.

Without a word, In-ho steps down from the stage and carries you through the exit, "I have an ambulance coming!" Your teacher ran after him yelling, her typically neat bun somewhat loose and frizzy now.

In-ho motions to his pocket and Fiona responds, grabbing his car key and unlocking his Mercedez-benz, "It will take too long. I'll drive her."

For a split second, you catch his eye, and you could've sworn to god your pain disappeared for a moment. And if it were a different circumstance, In-ho would kiss you. He would kiss you right here with you in his arms.

But the shared look was short-lived as he very carefully sets you in the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt gently. Your ballet teacher leans down to the window, "Don't worry! Fiona can dance for you!"

Your heart shattered.

And tears began to flood. You ignored In-ho's words of reassurance as he took off, speeding to the hospital. The drive was quiet except for your soft cries. And In-ho wanted nothing more than to cradle you and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

"Im sorry im getting your car dirty." You looked at the tear-stained headrest you laid against, wiping your sore eyes with the back of your hand.

In-ho cuts a car off as he turns, ignoring the beeps from the angry driver, "It's okay. I have another one." The subtle money brag wasn't missed by you. In-ho just wanted to impress you.

"What are you? Like a CEO or something?" You turned to face him, giving a pitiful sniffle as he gave another sharp turn.

He chuckled, and you felt your heart beat faster. Was it because of the adrenaline? Or was it because the man whom you've become obsessed with is quite literally acting like your night in shining armor, "Im... Im a game show host."

You nodded, an impressive smile growing on your face, "That's cool. Im y/n by the way."

He flashes a smile, the same smile from the night you first saw him, and a blush creeps up on your tear-stained cheeks, "You're sitting there, with a fucked up ankle, and you're making small talk?"

You suddenly feel embarrassed. He's just some random guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time, nothing more. "Sorry. Just trying to distract myself."

In-ho frowns. Did he say the wrong thing? His grip tightens on the steering wheel, "No! Don't be sorry. If I'm being honest, I've been dying to know your name."

His eyes flick to you before looking back in front of him, "Im Hwang In-ho." A small smile creeps onto his lips as he pulls to a stop in front of the ER.

"Well, Mr. Hwang, it's nice to meet you."

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

"Well, it looks like you have a fracture." You give a long exasperated sigh as the Doctor holds up the X-rays, "The fibula is fractured below the level of the syndesmosis, which is the joint between the tibia and fibula."

You look at In-ho, who, for some reason, seems more stressed than you do, "What's the healing process like? Will she need surgery?" Your head snapped to the doctor at the mention of surgery. Surgery for dancers is like a death sentence.

No. More. Dancing.

"Fractures like these are considered stable, meaning that they are unlikely to worsen with correct treatment and management. You'll just need to wear a boot for a while." The doctor noticed how your concerned look didn't falter, and gave a sigh before placing a hand on your shoulder, "You can still dance."

The breath you were holding escapes your lips as you feel a heavy weight fall off your shoulders, "Thank you so much." The doctor rubs your shoulder before leaving, instructing the nurse to fit you for a boot.

In-ho watches as you close your eyes, a smile resting on your face. He cocked his head, how could you be so beautiful in a moment like this? His eyes take a minute to trail down your body, taking you in, something he's grown fond of doing.

Your hair is a mess, your cheeks are red and tear-stained, your ankle looks like a snapped twig, and you're picking at your cuticles. But god.

You are perfect.

Just as beautiful now as you were months ago.

An unfamiliar feeling has taken over his chest ever since he saw you. A tightening, warm feeling that he hasn't felt in years. At first, he ignored it. Maybe it was just heartburn? But as it progressed, he got worried. The next thing you know a doctor is laughing in his face.

Calling it 'love'.

In-ho immediately left after he heard that, making sure to write a very passive-aggressive review on Yelp. What doctor diagnosed a patient with 'being in love'?

In-ho was not in love.

...

...

Right?

It wasn't until he watched 'Funny Face' that he realized the estranged doctor was correct. The moment Fred Astaire saw Aubrey Hepburn and was immediately captivated by her beauty, he knew it was true.

He didn't care that he was more than twenty years older than you, or that he had bigger things to worry about, all he cared about was you.

And that made him so confused.

You had managed to captivate his heart, soul, and body. And he felt like a teenager with his first crush all over again. So as he saw you look up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, he couldn't help what happened next.

He stood from his chair, taking large steps towards your frame. You furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him stand between your legs, careful not to hit your ankle.

His big hands reach down and grab your face, slamming your lips into his own. Your eyes grow wide, confusion flashing across your face before slowly giving in, pulling his head down lower.

His touch was gentle, the opposite of his kiss. His hands softly caressed your red cheeks, while his lips hungrily chased after your own.

You tugged at the baby hairs that rested on the back of his neck, desire and hunger feeding off you as he slipped his tongue into your pretty mouth. A low growl escaped his swollen lips, and you felt arousal begin to pool between your thighs.

You whine as he removes his hand from your face and steps back, crossing his arms. His gaze has always been intimidating. But now that he's seen you fall on your ass, cry, and melt under his touch all in one day, it is much more intimidating.

You've been vulnerable in front of him. Something you could never do before. But you didn't care if he saw your flaws, you were perfect to him.

He saw a future when he looked at you. He saw a family, something he had longed for many years ago. He saw hope, love, and promise.

He saw you.

Beautiful, perfect, irresistible you.

And as he looked at you, only one question entered his mind.

"Do you want to meet my cat?"

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃 𓈒 𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

a/n: chat. its 2 am. but i am DETERMINED to post this. i just love you guys sm mwah mwah. also, wasn't in a smut mood. still getting used to writing smut LMAO.

also random disclaimer: i have never done ballet. so if any terms are wrong or if my spelling is trash PLS LMK!

@bohemiandelilah @menabuser16 @verouys @speedymagazinewhispers @metalbaby2 @nellabear @marymun @orihime188 @nanascupid @fnl9zer @chasinghxran @crystalizia @auspicious-lilana @machipyun @cdej6 @namelesslosers

[pedroscurls]

blessing in disguise (one-shot)

summary: joel misses his shift for patrol, which turns out to be a blessing in disguise. (or joel misses work bc reader is giving him some morning head 😉)

pairing: jackson!joel x fem!reader content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), joel lives (as he should!!!), oral (m receiving), blowjob, hair pulling, pet names (joel calls you his good girl), dirty talk, size kink, deep throat, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, no use of y/n, minimal description of reader (has hair so joel can tug on it😉). word count: 2.4k a/n: ok listen - ep 6 will forever live rent free in my head as the final episode of the show. joel is alive and repairing his relationship with ellie. abby's dead and will no longer bother our man and so i thought, what if he lives because he missed his patrol having one of the best blowjobs that man has ever had??? i mean, i think it's a good enough reason to miss work hehe. this wasn't proofread, just wanted to get this story out lol. anyway, please heed the warnings and enjoy! <3

You see Ellie and Joel talking on the front porch. After tonight’s events, Joel had opted to remain outside for a while longer. You knew that Ellie’s reaction to Joel stepping in after Seth’s bigoted remark had left him embarrassed—hurt. He didn’t want to talk about it when the two of you had gotten home. Instead, he poured himself a cup of coffee, grabbed his guitar, gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, and then walked out to the front porch to sit on the chair. 

He mentioned that he just needed some air, but you knew it was because he wanted to make sure that Ellie made it home safe. 

You watch the two of them talk—it looks heated for a moment, but then you see the tension in Joel’s shoulders alleviate. From your view, you can see the tears in both his eyes and Ellie’s. Then, almost awkwardly, Ellie leans in and wraps her arms around him. Joel rests his chin on the top of her head and squeezes her tightly. The hug lasts for a few seconds before Ellie pulls away first. She turns on her heel and walks away. Joel lets out a sigh of relief and he grabs his mug and guitar and walks inside. 

He kicks off his boots and shuts the door behind him, setting the guitar on its stand nearby. Looking up, Joel sees you sitting on one of the steps of the stairs. 

“Hey,” he calls out. 

“Hey,” you answer. “Good talk?” 

Joel nods, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. “I think—I think me and Ellie are gonna be okay.” 

You smile and stand up to make your way over to him. You rest a hand on his chest, thumb brushing against one of the buttons on his flannel. “Just had to give her time, baby.” 

Joel nods, leaning down to press a soft kiss on your forehead. “M’gonna do things right this time,” he says softly. “M’gonna learn from my mistakes.”

“Joel,” you sigh quietly. “You know you didn’t ever do anything wrong, right?” 

“I know,” he nods. “I just—I wonder if things would be different if I had been honest with her from the beginning. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t have lost out on all this time that we could have spent together.” 

“There’s no way of knowing, Joel.” you bring a hand up to rest on his cheek. “You did what you had to, to keep her safe. Ellie’s a smart girl, baby. You just have to let her come to terms with it on her own.” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “‘Spose you’re right.” 

“And this—tonight—that conversation you had with her just now, it’s the first step in repairing your relationship with her. Like you said, you and Ellie are gonna be okay. There is no you without her and there is no her without you.” 

Joel smiles, setting his mug down and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you,” he whispers. “And Happy New Year, darlin’.”

“Happy New Year, Joel,” you smile, arms snaking around his neck. “You ready for bed, old man?” 

“Hmm,” Joel chuckles. “Call me old man again and I’ll show ya.” 

“Oh?” you bite your lower lip, playing with the hair at his nape. “Come on then, old man.” 

Joel smirks, eyes narrowing down at you before he swoops you into his arms and tosses you over his shoulder. A loud squeak escapes your lips as he begins ascending the stairs, the sound of your laughter filtering the home.

The light peeks through the windows and your eyes slowly open, seeing the snow falling from the sky. There’s a white sheet of snow that you can make out from where you’re lying and despite how cold it looks outside, you’re completely warm. Joel’s naked body serves a blanket of warmth, his strong arms wrapped loosely around you from behind. 

You know that he has to wake up soon to go on patrol with Dina, but it’s the first day of the new year and you have other plans for him. As you slowly begin to move in his arms, Joel lets out a quiet grunt as he moves to lie on his back instead. He brings one of his arms to drape over his eyes, likely to block out the light that slowly begins to illuminate the room. 

You bite your lower lip and lean forward, gently pressing a soft kiss on his chest. He mumbles under his breath as he begins to stir awake. You begin to pepper kisses down his broad chest, bringing the blanket further down his hips. You bite your lower lip as you look down—the trail of hair disappearing underneath the blanket and you can see the outline of his length from beneath the sheet. 

Just as you’re about to move between his legs, his free hand reaches out to rest on your hip. It’s warm and heavy against your skin. 

“Y’know I’ve got patrol,” he mumbles, voice deep and hoarse as he slowly begins to wake up.

You rest a hand on his chest and lean up to kiss his cheek lightly. “I know…”

“Then you know I won’t have time to—”

“Shh,” you whisper, “Let me just take care of you.” 

“Baby,” he mumbles, eyes slowly opening to watch you crawl between his legs. Joel’s already half-hard and when he sees you on your knees, the blood rushes down. Fast. 

“You gonna let me?” you ask, eyes fluttering up in his direction. You spit into your hand and then wrap it around his growing manhood, slowly beginning to stroke him to full mast. Leaning forward, you flick your tongue along the tip of his length. 

“Fuck,” he moans breathlessly. Joel’s hand moves to your hair, grabbing a fistful as he looks down at you. 

“That a yes?” you ask, pulling away from him as you grin. 

“Yes,” he nods. “Fuck yes.” 

“Good,” you answer. Without hesitation, you wrap your lips around the head of length. You can taste his precome trickling into your mouth as you use your second hand to wrap around the base of his manhood. He had always been so big, but every time you did this for him, he just seemed so much bigger. 

Joel lets his eyes flutter shut as he presses the back of his head against his pillow. The grip around your hair tightens as he feels you try to take as much as you can in your mouth—the tip of his length hitting the back of your throat. “God, that’s it,” he growls. “Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” Joel mumbles. He lifts his hips slightly off the bed, pushing himself further into your mouth. 

You pull away from him momentarily, chest heaving rapidly as you try to catch your breath. Tears sting the corners of your eyes as you look up at him, grinning proudly at the look on his face. His mouth is slightly parted, eyes shut tight, heavy breaths escaping his lips. 

Slowly, Joel releases his grip around your hair and sits up, leaning back against the headboard. He opens his eyes and looks down at you as his manhood stands erect—throbbing and leaking at the tip. “Come ‘ere,” he whispers. 

You nod and crawl over to the space between his legs as he spreads them apart for you. You lean up on your knees and lean forward, pressing your lips against his own. Joel grunts in response and tangles his fingers in your hair again—the kiss is urgent, messy. 

“This your plan, darlin’?” he asks, smirking against your lips. “Make me play hooky on the first day of the year, hm?” 

You nod, pulling away to look into his eyes. “Guilty,” you answer as you reach down and stroke him slowly with both hands. His eyes flutter as you lean in to rest your forehead against his own. 

He lets out a quiet moan, eyes fluttering as he keeps a tight hold on your hair. “God, you spoil me…” Joel slowly pushes you down, guiding your mouth back to where he needs you the most. 

You get the hint almost instantly—your desire to please him overpowering every thought. Still on your knees, you lean down and wrap your lips around him once more, the warmth and heaviness of his manhood resting in your mouth. You let the underside of his length rest on your tongue—every vein throbbing against it. 

“Fuck, baby… You look fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, tightening his grip around your hair. Joel uses his free hand and taps at your hands, encouraging you to release your hold on him. As your hands move from the base of his length to rest on his thighs instead, Joel tugs on your hair and begins to guide you along his length. You hollow your cheeks as Joel’s guidance causes your head to bob up and down. 

You let out a moan, the sound reverberating through Joel’s entire body. As you come down, the tip of his length hits the back of your throat again—a loud gagging noise escaping your lips. He holds you there for a moment, eyes falling shut as he tilts his head back. “Oh fuck,” he moans, feeling the tightness begin to build in the pit of his stomach. 

Joel tugs you back by your hair, opening his eyes to watch the string of saliva that connects your mouth to his manhood. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” Joel smirks. “Should wake me up like this every morning.” 

“We won’t ever leave the house if I do that,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his length as you begin to stroke him. “But I would do this every night if you’d let me.” 

Joel grunts—he’s so hard in your hands and when he sees you about to lean down to wrap your lips around him once more, he shakes his head and pulls you up to straddle his lap instead. “Yeah, I think that can be arranged.” 

“Good… because I just love having you in my mouth.” You smile, holding the base of his length steady as you slowly slide down on him. He’s so big—there’s always been a slight pressure once you feel him enter you, but you’re so fucking wet that he slides into you easily. 

“As much as I’d love to come in your mouth,” Joel groans, hands moving to your hips as your tight heat envelopes him. “I want to fuckin’ fill you up,” he whispers, feeling you slide further until you’re seated firmly on his lap. “So much that I’m tricklin’ out of you the entire day.” 

“J–Joel,” you whimper, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you slowly begin to rock your hips forward and backward. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?” Joel grins, forehead resting against your own as his fingertips dig into your hips. You’re breathless as you move against him, breath fanning over his lips. “Feeling so full of my come, hm?” 

“Yes,” you moan breathlessly. “P–Please…” 

“Oh baby,” Joel grins, suddenly rolling you over onto your back as he slams into you. Your body jerks as a response and your legs wrap around his waist as he slides further into you. He brings a hand up to your cheek, brushing a few fallen strands of hair away from your face. “So pretty when you beg, but don’t worry, m’happy to give you what you want. Always…” 

Joel pulls out to his tip, glances down to see his entire length glistening with your arousal, before he slides back into you. “Gonna spend the entire morning with you,” he whispers. “Spend the first day of the year with my wife—fuckin’ her good.”

“Joel!” you moan aloud, hands moving to rest on his chest. “Fuck, baby… Please…” 

“M’right here, darlin’,” he groans, resting his head against your own. “Love you,” Joel mumbles. “Love you so fuckin’ much. Gonna spend the rest of my days with you,” he adds, hips moving in and out of you at a rapid pace. He moves your hands to your hips, holding you against the mattress as thrusts into you repeatedly. 

“J–Joel!” your walls begin to tremble as you feel your orgasm fast approaching. Your warm and velvety walls tightens around his length as your back arches. “L–Love you, baby… I’m so–so close—”

“I know,” Joel growls, reaching down and beginning to rub circles around your clit. He watches your eyes fall shut as a loud moan escapes your lips. “Come f’me, darlin’.” 

Your legs tighten around him, pulling him in close as your body shakes with immense pleasure. He’s still circling your clit and your body becomes overly sensitive that you reach down for his wrist and push his hand away. “I–I can’t, baby… It’s too much and—”

“Shh,” Joel whispers, lightly pecking your lips. “You can…” He sits up on his knees as he begins to slide in and out of you with ease. “You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he smirks, “So fuckin’ tight too. Shit, baby. I’m gonna fill you up…” 

“Yes, please,” you beg again, feeling his hips stutter as he delivers one final sharp thrust into you. Seconds later, you can feel him paint your walls with his come—his length throbbing inside of you. He doesn’t pull out of you quite yet, but Joel moves in and out of you, allowing your tight walls to milk every last drop that he can give you. 

“F–Fuck,” he mumbles, pushing into you fully as you wrap your arms around him. “G’morning,” Joel smirks, burying his face against the crook of your neck as he pepper soft and light kisses along your shoulder. 

You smile, feeling the weight of his body press against you as he remains inside of you—softening but still so full of his come. “Good morning, handsome.” 

“We ain’t leavin’ this house today,” Joel grins. “At least not for the next few hours.” 

“If this is what it takes to get you to miss patrol on some days, I might just have to do it more often,” you smile, hands moving through his curls. 

“I won’t object,” he answers. “Besides, I could use a few days off here ‘n there.” 

“Yeah, you work too much,” you smile. “Besides, the more time I can spend with you, the better.”

“Well, I’d say it’s a good start to the year, darlin’,” Joel smiles, slowly pulling out of you as he looks down and watches his come slowly trickle out of you. “Yeah, definitely a good start to the year.” 

[juicykvnture]

MONEY HONEY (2)

Bruce Wayne x fem!reader

tags: AFAB reader, brief age gap mention (reader is early 20s), praise kink, mirrors, manhandling, light choking, semi-public

a/n: I heard the people were yearning for more DILF!Bruce..

wc: 2.7k | part 1 | masterlist

“I thought you said it would just be dinner,” you let out a huff as you awkwardly shift your heels, staring at the rows upon rows of stores before you.

“Dinner, a side of shopping - same thing.” Bruce shakes his head, glancing down at his watch and then at you.

You’re pretty, no you’re not pretty - fuck that.

Bruce really finds you to be nothing short of gorgeous.

Sure, he has a set of eyes and he could tell through the screen that you were a looker but nothing could’ve really prepared him for how you look in real life.

He just hopes for the sake of his own ego that you didn’t notice how much his palms were shaking when he met you outside the restaurant - or the fact that he was literally holding the bouquet of roses he got you so hard the poor stalks almost snapped.

You’re making that face again, that slightly stunned little smile.

It’s cute, more than cute - he’d tattoo it inside his skull if he could.

“The floor is yours,” he holds his hand out, leading you up to the escalator.

You don’t miss how his eyes trail down to your hand in his, his thumb gently rubbing over the back of your hand.

His gaze lingers on your nails a little longer, admiring the pearlescent sparkle under the dim department store lighting.

To say you were nervous to meet Bruce for dinner would be the biggest understatement of the millennium.

To put it plainly, you were a total wreck.

You were running on leftover lash glue and a dream, actually.

You couldn’t remember the last time a man had you acting like this, it had your dearly concerned girlfriend on FaceTime with you playing out an episode of Say Yes to the Dress for hours before settling on the very first option.

Oh, and when a friend of yours enquired how old he was?

You just smiled and nodded.

“Where to first?” you break the silence, glancing down at your hands and then around the store as you step off the escalator.

“Wherever you want.” Bruce shrugs, his hand moving to rest at the small of your back, listening to the almost soothing click-clack of your heels until it comes to a stop, your eyes lingering on one of the makeup displays.

He soon finds himself sitting on a chair in the corner with makeup swatches all over his hand, watching in mild amusement as you run laps around the NARS display, dropping various lipsticks into his lap so he can help you pick a shade.

To him, they’re all pink, they’re all pretty.

He’s just more puzzled, trying to figure out why on God’s green earth a makeup brand would settle on “deep throat” and “orgasm” and deem those appropriate names for blush shades.

He’s almost rethinking his life decisions, is this what the youth is into nowadays?

But whatever makes you happy, right?

“Which ones better?” you snap him out of his momentary moment of contemplating the state of the world, making him crane his head up as you stand over him.

“Well, I’m partial to the deepthro-“

He sputters slightly, staring up at you,

“I’m sorry, you’re asking me about lipstick, aren’t you?”

When you nod he just stares up at you, smoothing out his tie when presented with both opinions.

“The pink one?” He clears his throat, hoping it’s the right answer.

“They’re both pink, Bruce.”

“Ah,” he offers a slow nod, still staring at you.

“Get them both.”

Your brows furrow a little and he just grins, he can tell you’re about to tell him not to bother, that it’s all too much - blah, blah, blah.

“Don’t even think about it.” he’s already rising to his feet, settling on which card he should use.

“I’m getting you both.”

“Bruce, don’t be silly. You can’t tell the difference between those two shades!”

He just shrugs, his hand sliding up to rest at the small of your back again, walking you over to the cashier.

“I’ll learn the difference.”

He’s serious, he’ll buy out every single one ever made if he has to. Maybe he’ll even dig his glasses out from whatever drawer they’ve been banished to.

“Are you alright in there?” Bruce calls out from outside the changing room, watching over all the shopping bags you’ve amassed in the last few hours like they could grow little legs and run away.

No, not on his watch. All your precious lipsticks and blushes and that new wallet are staying right here, neatly wrapped up.

“..yeah!” you call out, awkwardly drumming your fingers against your knee as you try to keep your voice steady, clutching the pink lace in your hands.

Okay, maybe you’re not okay.

There’s a slight chance that you may be having a nervous breakdown inside a changing room with Bruce right outside that sliding door.

Bruce always had a habit of sending you various gifts, including lingerie. Hence, it’s no surprise your impromptu shopping trip resulted in the two of you taking the escalator up to the next floor, landing in a Victoria's Secret.

It’s not that you’re scared he won’t find you pretty, he’s made it abundantly clear that you’re the most gorgeous woman he’s ever met - he’s said that over text and to your face, repeatedly.

It’s just, this is real life.

You can’t angle your camera a little differently, you can’t change your lighting, you can’t pose a certain way like you normally would.

You don’t have the control like you usually would.

“You sure?” he calls out again, softer now - noticing how long you’re taking in there.

“I’m sure.” you insist, awkwardly fumbling with the lacy corset straps to try to tie them up, bending every which way like it’s the first time working your way around something like this.

It isn’t, you do it all the time.

Just with him outside that door and not behind a screen, it feels different.

The gentle knock on the door makes you panic, fumbling around to throw on a dressing gown and fix up your hair, offering Bruce a practised smile.

“You need help with that?” he offers, glancing down at the tangled ribbons in your hand, arching a brow.

With an awkward chuckle, you extend your hand, his fingers lightly brushing against yours as he starts to untangle them.

“I’ve made a mess of them, I don’t know how you’ll untie that,” you huff under your breath, fidgeting with the sleeve of your dressing gown.

“Mhm,” Bruce mumbles, preoccupied with undoing the knots.

“I can do many things, I have many skills.” he shrugs, holding the now untangled ribbons in front of you, tilting his head to the side.

You glance down at the floor and then at Bruce, chewing on the insides of your cheeks.

“..do your skills include lacing up bras?”

That has Bruce pausing for a moment, blinking slowly as he stares at the floor.

“Possibly.” he nods, adjusting his tie to have something to do with his hands, something to focus on, other than the woman standing in front of him - scantily clad to say the least.

You glance over at the mirror, fingers curling into the sleeves of the dressing gown before you pull it open, letting the silky fabric slide down your back, still holding it in place at your hips.

“So,” Bruce clears his throat as he takes a step forward, his eyes briefly meeting yours in the mirrors reflecting before he averts them, focusing his attention on pulling the ribbon through the top loops of the corset.

“Any other stores you want to stop by?”

You’ve been to almost all of them, but he just can’t deal with the silence.

When your only response is a shake of your head, he frowns slightly - eyes drifting to the mirror to get a look at your face.

“You’re tense,” he observes, holding the satin ribbon between his fingers.

“I’m tired,” you shrug, clutching the dressing gown a little tighter, trying to ignore the feeling of him breathing down the back of your neck.

Bruce offers a curt nod, but he can’t miss the way your shoulders tense up again when his fingers ghost along your spine, his expression softening for a moment.

“Similar colour to the one I sent you last time, no?” he murmurs under his breath, running his finger along the strap of the bra you’re wearing.

He’s got the image of you in that other pink set drilled into his head, so much so that the sight of something even remotely similar has his slacks feeling tighter.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, glancing towards the mirror “they’re both pink, I guess.”

Bruce just nods again, his hand mindlessly following the slope of your torso, fingers almost reaching the hem of your underwear at your hip - breath ghosting over the side of your neck.

“Sorry,” he catches himself after a moment, mentally berating himself - he’s probably making you uncomfortable.

“You don’t owe me anything.” Bruce clears his throat, pulling his hand away.

“I know,” you speak before you think, your hand moving to rest over his, the dressing gown pooling at your feet on the floor.

You swallow.

“I know I don’t - still.” you rest your hand over his, subtly pulling it to rest at the top of your underwear.

Bruce hesitates once more before his thumb runs over the soft lace, his chin moving to rest on your shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

He really, really hopes you are.

He lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding when you nod, letting his hand slowly slide down under the thin lace, the cold metal of his watch pressing against your lower belly.

“Is this you trying to be polite again?” you breathe out, breath hitching when you feel the tip of his finger circle your clit, his crotch pressed against your ass.

“Maybe.” Bruce murmurs, a muffled groan into your shoulder soon following when he feels you lean into his hand.

“Stop.”

He blinks, about to pull his hand away before he feels your fingers encircling his wrist.

“Stop trying to be polite, Bruce - or is that beyond your skill set?”

That’s all it takes before his other hand finds your neck, gripping it hard - forcing you to tilt your head up.

Not necessarily to choke you or anything, more to convey the fact that you’re not getting away from him any time soon.

“Are you doubting me?” his eyes remain locked on the way your body moves and the expression on your face when his grip on you tightens.

“No,” you swallow, his firm hand on your neck has you pushing your thighs together.

“Good.”

His knee slots between your legs, leaving you no choice to almost fall back against him before his arm locks around your waist, making you choke out a shaky “fuck”.

His eyes narrow, staring at you under his dark lashes.

He likes that sound, he wants to hear it again.

He will hear it again.

His hands grasp your hips so hard they could bruise if he isn’t careful, staring at the wet patch in those brand new panties with a small scoff.

He was planning on buying you those anyway, but now he has to - considering your pussy has managed to soak them through already.

“This impolite enough for you?” his breathing is ragged, his question rhetorical as his lips find yours, more spit and teeth than anything else.

You just offer a dumb nod, your hand reaching down to fumble with his belt, trying to pry the clasp open - he isn’t helping you.

“C’monn, you said you’d fuck me if you ever met me,” you sound more desperate than you’d like, your back pressed against the cold panels of the changing room wall.

“Did I?”

You swallow, offering another dazed nod.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please,” you slur out, trying to grind yourself against his thigh to no avail.

“Nicely,” Bruce repeats, gripping his belt so hard his knuckles turn white.

“Please, fuck me like you said you would.”

That has to be the best sentence he’s ever heard in his whole life.

“Good girl, was it that hard?”

Maybe not, but know what’s hard?

His dick.

His tone may still be composed but his actions are far from it, it’s like he’s desperate under all that practiced suave as he pulls himself free from the confines of his slacks, giving his aching cock a slow stroke.

When he pulls your underwear to the side, his breath hitches for a moment, letting out a shaky groan under his breath as he lines himself up with your sopping pussy, your shaky hand gripping his tie hard.

“Fuck,” Bruce hisses under his breath, as he feels your body press against his, your cunt around his cock as he sinks into you.

Without wasting any more time, he pushes all the way into you in one swift motion, his hands firm on your hips as he keeps you pressed against the wall.

"Oh, sweetheart," you could feel every thick inch of his cock stretching you, his pace immediately hard and fast as he slams into you with barely hidden desperation.

He’s barely been inside you a second and your little sounds are already making him almost delirious, one hand finding your thighs to wrap your legs around his hips.

It’s embarrassing to admit but ever since that call, you’re all he could think about.

It got to the point he was up at night fucking his fist like an idiot cause you weren’t there with him, he couldn’t handle it.

And now that he’s inside you? Fuck.

You can barely think, clinging onto his tie like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, trying to muffle your whines into his neck in that cramped changing room.

Bruce Wayne thought his billionaire playboy days were long behind him.

But right now?

Fuck, he might aswell be 25 again with how he’s pounding into your poor cunt, fingers digging into the soft skin of your thighs to keep you braced against the cold wall.

He’s trying to keep his hands from shaking, cursing under his breath about how well you’re taking his cock - how pretty you are - how long he’s been thinking of this exact moment.

It’s actually kinda sweet how you think hiding in his neck will do you any good.

You’re in a changing room with a mirror that takes up half the wall space, why not put it to good use?

“Sweetheart,” he leans in closer, punctuating his words with a thrust of his hips just to watch you watch your back arch, his hand moving to give your hair a gentle tug.

“Watch the mirror,”

Bruce was a pretty rough guy; his voice was always gruff, he was always firm, but he knew when to soften the way he spoke. He didn't want to frighten you or push you away.

He just wants you to see how pretty you look when he fucks you, is that too much to ask?

It takes another little yank on your hair before you finally open your eyes, lips parted in a shaky whine as he holds your jaw steady, giving you no option but to watch how you arch into his touch.

You’re so much better in real life - so is your pussy.

“You look pretty, huh baby?...” he mumbles into your jaw, his thumb pressing into your bottom lip.

He can only smile when you manage a fucked out “yeah” - each thrust of his hips coming with another mumbled praise.

His thumb pushes into your mouth now, his hand on your thigh starting to squeeze even harder.

“Uh-uh, you’re not gettin’ away from me that easily, sweetheart…” he mutters.

“You’re gonna keep those eyes on that mirror, and you’re gonna watch yourself while I fuck you again, and again, and again.”

It only occurs to you after he’s fucked you any way possible and your head is spinning - despite being in a literal store, you haven’t been interrupted once.

Perhaps when he said the floor was yours, he meant it.

The bastard probably rented the whole mall out for you.

a/n: over 700 notes on the last one I love u wtf??? Thank you for reading!!

another day of work at the DILF factory and this era is going strong and my suggestions are open..

[les4elliewilliams]

❝SAVE YOUR TEARS.❞ ― 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝚰𝚰, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞.

PLAYER!ELLIE ﾒ MEAN!READER ─ ALWAYS PLAY THE PLAYER.

❝YEAH, I BROKE YOUR HEART LIKE SOMEONE DID TO MINE, AND NOW YOU WON’T LOVE ME FOR A SECOND TIME❞

ᝰ.ᐟ⌞SUMMARY⌝ ﹕ A year after that devastating summer, Ellie is stunned to see you again—this time at a summer camp where you’re both working. The girl who once led her on and then disappeared without a trace is back, but Ellie’s no longer the naive girl you once played. Still aching from the way you broke her heart, Ellie is filled with a desire for revenge. She wants to make you feel the same confusion and hurt she felt. She’s ready to pull you into the same emotional game she was trapped in, to finally get her payback. But as she carefully lays her plans, Ellie finds herself in uncharted territory. She’s never been one for revenge, and now that the opportunity is in front of her, she begins to question if it will really give her the closure she craves—or if it will leave her with something far worse. Is revenge really worth it, or will Ellie learn the hard way that some wounds can’t be healed by hurting the person who caused them?

✶.ᐟ⌞THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS⌝﹕4.1k words⨾ 18+ CONTENT⨾ no use of y/n⨾ cunnilingus (𝑒!receiving)⨾ use of alcohol⨾ reader being down bad⨾ angst⨾ sub/loser/delusional!ellie (enjoy it while you can.)

.ᐟ.ᐟ⌞AUTHOR’S NOTE⌝ ﹕oh! it’s been a minute, huh? anyway, my babies are back. finally. just using this author’s note to let you all know that the girl who inspired this (yes, because this shit is basically half true, i was just venting like a total loser this whole time) is now dating a guy! insane. truly wild times… sigh. anywhore, enjoy the chapter──proofread by @sapphichotmess !!

#.ᐟ ⌞CHAPTERS⌝ ↯

˗ˏˋ catch up, will ya? •｡𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖 ⋆ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ⋆ 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ⋆ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ⋆ 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ⋆ 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 ⋆ 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞ˎˊ˗

𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

The night had been perfect, and so was Natalie. She had gone all out, picking you up in her Porsche, jasmine scent clinging to her glowing skin. The satin black dress hugged every inch of the mature woman perfectly, and you found yourself practically salivating at the way her tits threatened to spill from the shiny fabric. You felt disgusting, but you knew she wore it for a reason—so, was it entirely your fault for behaving like a caged animal that hadn’t seen a woman in ages? Or maybe you were just starting to behave like a man and that thought horrified you.

At dinner, she ordered for you without hesitation, with the confidence of someone who knew exactly how to give you the night of your life, and that alone made you want to eat her out from under the table. She poured expensive champagne into your glass, watching you through her lash extensions as you took your first sip. 

The flickering candlelight did little to soften her features, no hint of platonic warmth lay in her eyes, only the kind of focus of someone who had their agenda clear for the rest of the night. It didn’t take a genius, to be fair. You could tell by the placement of her hand, her fingers claiming territory beneath the tablecloth, her thumb tracing languid orbits onto your skin. You knew exactly what awaited you once you were away from all the prying eyes and you didn’t mind it one bit.  

The entire drive back to your apartment, her hand rested high on your inner thigh, squeezing it ever so slightly every time you giggled, flustered like some pathetic schoolgirl crushing on her way too attractive teacher. 

Natalie was nearly twice your age, though she barely looked it—breathtakingly gorgeous, long, sleek black hair always flawless, her eyes so strikingly grey they looked like glaciers in the passing streetlights. She could make anyone weak in the knees, and then walk away gracefully in her Louis Vuitton heels without ever looking back. Even you’d let her step on you and thank her for the honour.

She had confided in you before, late nights spent in relentless complaints that you listened to because you wanted to, and every time she shared her struggles, you couldn’t help but wonder how any man could be so fucking stupid. You already knew from experience that men like him were nothing but brainless little puppies; her husband, though, was some uglier breed. How could he let all that slip through his useless fingers? 

Then again, maybe she was simply too much for him. You weren’t even surprised. Men had a habit of being handed treasures only to let them collect dust, treating women like nothing more than trophies. It was always the ugly ones with nothing to offer but a nonexistent ego and an insatiable need to be worshiped.

You weren’t even sure how things had started between you and Natalie. Maybe it was that one long night after babysitting her son, when, after a few glasses of wine, you’d playfully told her that you’d never considered sleeping with someone nearly your mom’s age before. She had only laughed, feeling a little too flattered. That’s when your nights started looking a little different—fucking her like no man ever had, legs locked tightly around your head, making her writhe like never before.

Once back at your apartment, the door had barely clicked shut before her lips urgently smudged her red lipstick across your neck. Her hands wandered like lost guests, except they weren’t lost at all, and knew exactly where they wanted to go, pushing the strap of your dress down with her nails. The scent of jasmine perfume still clung to her, mixing with the faintest trace of wine on her breath as she pressed against you from behind, hips glued to your ass.

“Missed this,” she whispered into your ear, insistent fingers already working to lift the hem of your dress. “Missed you.”

As if she hadn’t been over just days ago, bent over your kitchen counter like a whore, tits smashed against cold marble, mumbling something about you getting her pregnant while you split her open with the strap-on she had practically forced into your hands. Red claws carved love notes down your back as you fucked her dumb, her nectar making a mess of your floor. And now, she was back at it, all needy and impatient, grinding against you like she couldn’t stand the thin fabric keeping your bodies apart.

The scrape of her nails marked your skin from shoulder to forearm, raising tiny bumps. Simultaneously, her other hand ghosted over your ribs before her palm settled to mold itself against your breast, kneading it gently. Your glossed lips quivered slightly as you sighed, your head tipping to the side, silently urging her further, her fat tits pressing into your back. She was just tall enough to make you feel caged in, but never enough to make you back down.

Her lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, “Gonna treat you so good tonight, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

She tucked your hair over one shoulder, her eyes lingering on the blooming red stains she had painted across your skin, admiring her handiwork under the soft lights of the kitchen. 

“Why don’t you go get the toy I got you, hm?” she suggested, her lips pressing a lingering kiss over the very spot she knew would make you melt into her further. 

Your stomach tightened at her words, heat pooling low in your poor cunt. You let out a breathy chuckle, pushing your ass back into her, grinning when she subtly ground against it.

“Now, that’s a good idea.”

Her wine-flavored breath brushed against your cheek while she laughed against you, urging your ass into her. “I had a feeling you’d go along with it.” Her red nails pinched at the soft fabric clinging to your hips, tugging teasingly. “Will you let me wear it this time?”

You snorted lightly, grinning over your shoulder. “You wish.”

“Bet I can change that real quick.”

You loved that about her—how she always tried to take control, even when the battle was already lost. It was cute watching her push and tease, pretending she had the upper hand when you both knew better. 

But you let her play the game anyway, just to see how long she’d last.

Delicate hands slid back up, groping both your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress so neither felt neglected. Natalie pulled your aching buds between her fingers just enough to make you suck in a breath. 

“Love the way this dress looks on you.” Her lips found the curve of your exposed shoulder, trailing open-mouthed kisses against salty skin. She had you melting right under her fingertips and she hadn’t even come near your cunt yet. Funny how milfs work. “But it’d look even better on the floor, don’t you think?”

“You’re gonna look even better bent over this counter, don’t you think?” You managed to fire back smoothly despite the subtle catch in your throat, almost as if her touch had momentarily constricted your breathing, pressing right on your diaphragm.

She delivered a throaty chuckle straight into your neck. “You never let up, do you?”

“Never.”

You turned in her arms, your hands finding her hips, parting those smooth, sculpted thighs with one of your own, not even pressing in just yet. And God, may he smite you where you stand for being just as disgusting as the countless sleazy men she’s dodged in her life, but you’d gladly give her son Evan a sibling if biology allowed it.

Maybe an exorcism would fix you. Or maybe bending her over and fucking her dumb in doggy position would do the trick. Who knew.

Either way, her turgid nipples beneath the satin dress brushed yours—and you swore you could her them beg to be sucked on, bitten into. Her hand gently threaded through your strands, even though she had long since ruined your once-perfect hairstyle. 

But to her, you still looked perfect. Maybe even better like this. Perhaps it was the thrill of it, of being with someone she shouldn’t be with. Someone younger. Someone reckless, someone who almost had as much vitality as her, who didn’t care about rules or what was right. 

There was something about that she found irresistible. It wasn’t just the way you moved around, but the way you always knew what you were doing, like you were born knowing exactly how to handle a woman like her.

And that did things to her. Things she wasn’t proud of.

Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up so she could let her lips linger on yours, her tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your hands twitch on her and drag her closer. She pulled away just enough to murmur against your mouth, “That’s what I like about you.”

You didn’t even bother responding, too busy fumbling with the zipper on her back, pulling it down with a hasty jerk. 

She pressed herself against you, her breath erratic in your ear, her breasts spilling over from the loosened fabric. Your pulse pounded, body reacting to every little sound she made, every little shift of her hips against yours—until her eyes fluttered open and locked on something just behind you.

“Has that painting always been there?”

That was all it took for your hands to freeze on her back. 

Of all the fucking moments.

The heat between your thighs vanished like it had never been there, wetness gone in an instant, dried up all at once. But she didn’t notice. Her fingertips continued to skim up and down your arms, still lost in the fire of the moment.

She wondered how she had never noticed it before, despite having been here countless times. Even with her dress barely clinging to her body and your hands poised to rip it off, her attention was drawn to it like an afterthought that refused to be ignored, the only thing worth worrying about. 

You genuinely hoped, with all yourself, she would just let it go. It wasn’t like she could see the meaning behind it. To her, it was probably just an abstract piece of art. 

But it was too big to ignore. A piece of something long dead you’d tried to bury, almost laughable when you thought about it—you still had her things scattered around your apartment. Even as you moved out, you’d brought her stuff with you. 

So, were you truly trying to leave it all behind?

“Yeah,” You croaked out. The hands that had been restlessly pulling at her dress now fell still at your sides. Natalie blinked, tilting her head slightly to the side to glance back at you. 

“I think I’m more tired than I realized.” You made a small sound in your throat, the space between you yawning wide.

Her full lips parted just a hair, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face like a shooting star, dying just as quickly. You knew she had been expecting more after the expensive dinner she had kindly offered you, but Natalie wasn’t like the men she had been with before. She knew how to take a hint and wasn’t going to push. She was a lady, after all.

“Oh,” she forced a gentle smile on, her hands cupping your face as her thumbs tenderly mapped the curve of your cheekbones. “That’s okay, my love.”

“You sure?”

She hummed softly, leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, leaving behind one last stain of deep red before letting go of you. Her sweet scent enveloped you, smothering whatever ugly feeling had started to resurface. It was sweet, but nothing like Ellie’s. 

Natalie smelled like safety, like she could give you everything you thought you needed—but you didn’t get dizzy from it. There was no pine, no worn flannel, no trace of soft detergent or that faint floral earthiness that floats in the air only after a summer downpour. No, this one was just nice, clean, and forgettable. 

Nothing you’d want to memorize because you didn’t want to learn another scent.

For an unexpected moment, you felt guilty for thinking of her and pulling away from this goddess after such an incredible night. She had treated you so right, and you wanted to repay her somehow, by ending the night on an even higher note—or moan. But the truth was, you just weren’t feeling it, and that was absurd because you not being in the mood? What a rarity.

“I should probably head home anyway. It’s late, and to be honest…” The older woman trailed off as she batted her lashes. “I don’t exactly trust my new babysitter with Evan.” Her smile broadened, twin dimples forming in her cheeks.

That made you snort softly, feeling the tension inside you crumble just a little. “Hey, as soon as I get back from that stupid camp, he’s all mine again,” you promised, grinning.

“Nuh-uh, you need to focus on your studies,” she scolded, voice dipping into something almost motherly, fingers fixing your hair gently, pulling your dress strap back into place.

“I’ll be free on weekends, though.” 

The corners of Natalie’s lips lifted, the bold red of her lipstick blurred around the edges from the way her mouth had pressed against yours. She looked like a silk-clad nympho, dark tendrils of her hair artfully shadowing the curves of her cheekbones—the wet fantasy of many. 

And yet, standing within arm’s reach, you didn’t want her.

Something was missing, you felt it in the sickening hollow carved into your chest.

“I hope you had a good night.” 

Your head bobbed faintly. “I sure did.”

The coal-haired woman swiftly collected her things, donned her coat, and was gone in the blink of an eye. You stayed by the door, observing as her expensive car drove off into the night, her perfume lingering in the air.

A pitiful whine broke through your daze. You sighed, glanced down, and there she was. A golden furball, sitting at your feet with her head tilted, tongue poking out, giving you that silly look. The “I haven’t been walked yet, and I’m not happy about it” look. Her big, pleading, earthy eyes met yours, and guilt twisted in your stomach. How dare you forget to walk your baby? 

“I know, Pumpkin… I haven’t forgotten about your walk,” you reassured, running a hand through your locks. A soft, almost human sigh preceded a sudden burst of energy as you announced, “leash! Go get your leash, baby.” Her tail thumped excitedly before she bolted towards the living room.

The corners of your mouth quirked upwards in a fond smile, but as you turned back toward the painting, the smile turned lopsided, looking more like a pout than anything. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, that canvas was still hanging there. 

And no matter how good Natalie had made you feel tonight, no matter how much she tried to fuck the ghost of Ellie out of you, Ellie was still there.

Still haunting you.

It was useless.

The languid drag of a warm tongue against Ellie’s clit should’ve had her sinking into the mattress, fingers gripping tight, panting like a dog and dragging the girl deeper between her thighs. 

But the redhead barely felt it. 

The girl’s deep brown skin gleamed under the shitty yellow light of the bedroom lamp, her swollen lips glossed with Ellie’s slick. But the way she had been looking up at her the entire night wasn’t what Ellie needed. 

The autumn-haired girl could tell she wanted more than just a hookup, which was exactly what Ellie wasn’t looking for. She fisted a hand into thick curls, tugging the girl further between her spread thighs, trying to chase something that could make her body feel again. Yet, the pleasure was dull, forced, like chasing a high that never really hits. Like ordering some overpriced edibles from a shady website, only to realize it was all a scam. 

Strange, really—because the freckled girl remembered sex as something that made her forget her own name, yet her mind was buzzing with overlapping thoughts, refusing to blur. She wasn’t forgetting a thing. If anything, she could have traced her name onto the girl’s scalp just to prove how much of a bad idea this was. How bad it all felt.

Her grip tightened. The girl, short, all curves, and devastatingly pretty, let out a whimper against her, but the sound barely stirred any reaction from Ellie’s gut. She didn’t even like the way the girl sounded. 

Ellie blinked up at the ceiling, the spinning fan above blurring into nothing but a fog of regrets. Her head ached, her palm wiping away some of the sweat clinging to her creased forehead. The music from downstairs throbbed through walls, the bass barely vibrating picture frames, the muffled voices unable to mask the little slurps between her thighs, tentative darts of a tongue working too hard to coax out a sensation.

The brunette inbetween her thighs sucked gently at her clit, her tongue circling, nudging under the hood, waiting for a reaction that Ellie never gave. She wasn’t bad, just—fuck, Ellie didn’t know. 

Something was missing. She had expected to be panting, rolling her hips into a warm mouth, begging for more. But instead, she just stared down at her, watching as she fumbled, looking so fucking proud of herself, and felt nothing.

Maybe she didn’t even want this. Which was fucking insane because she had been aching for it all day, and now, with a real mouth between her legs instead of her beloved rose toy, she felt like she could roll over and nap.

Maybe it was the alcohol numbing her nerves, perhaps her hangover already creeping in. Maybe it was the fact that she couldn’t remember the girl’s name. Or maybe it was the way her body refused to react. 

Either way, the freckled girl felt blessed for not having a dick, because if she did, she was sure as hell it would’ve gone soft the second this girl laid hands on her. 

On second thought, maybe it wouldn’t have changed much, because her pussy was some numb little thing that stayed unresponsive the moment a girl she didn’t want touched her. 

Someone who wasn’t you. Or maybe it was Ellie’s heart that was the problem, shutting down the rest—but since when were pussy and heart even connected?

“Oh, fuck… yeah, mhm, just like that.” Her voice came out strained, but not from pleasure. Just exhaustion, frustration. 

Maybe that’s why she agreed to this in the first place. 

She had been lingering by the counter, taking shot after shot of vodka, barely listening to Dina ramble about something, when this girl had slid up beside her—all coy smile, dewy brown eyes, tight little blue dress showing off her fat ass. She was cute. A little shy but bold enough to flirt with Ellie like she had already won. 

Maybe that’s what did it. The way her hands kept trailing up Ellie’s tattooed forearm, eyes flicking to her mouth every few seconds, licking at her glossed lips like she couldn’t wait to taste her.

So Ellie let her.

Let her grab her hand and pull her up the stairs. Let her shove her onto some random bedroom mattress and sink to her knees like she was about to confess every sin she was about to commit. Let another girl undress her and her tongue do her thing, and let herself pretend for a second that it wasn’t awful.

But she was fucking bored. She could be in her room, lost in video games or buried in comics. Instead, her head pounded from the cheap alcohol Jesse had shoved into her hand, and her stomach turned from whatever jungle juice Dina had forced down her throat earlier.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and suddenly, it wasn’t some nameless girl kneeling between her legs anymore. 

It was you.

It was only then that her body finally reacted. Suddenly, she was moaning.

She could almost feel the ghost of you her memory was painting in her mind—could feel the delicious heat licking at her spine, her stomach tightening, your tongue sucking her in hungrily. She could feel you smile against her, feel the way you pressed a little closer, your tongue gliding through her slit like a credit card, wanting nothing more than to drive her insane.

The girl whimpered, her hands smoothing up Ellie’s thighs, squeezing, nails biting into porcelain skin. But still, all she could see was you looking up at her with those wide eyes, hungry for her. Her hand guiding your head, showing you exactly how she wanted to be devoured. 

Ellie’s hips rolled into the girl’s mouth, fingers twisting painfully into disheveled curls, “Mmm, yeah, fuck—just like that, baby.”

The girl whimpered again, encouraged, hands gripping Ellie’s thighs tightly.

Her mind kept dragging her back to the way your lips felt when they latched onto the soft skin of her inner thighs like a leech, sucking deep lavenders into her flesh, marking her. To the way your mean fingernails would bite into her dips, holding her like you’d fucking perish if you let go. To the expert strokes of your wet muscle against her pained nub, torturing her just to make her beg.

Her moans only got louder and it wasn’t thanks to the girl between her legs.

“Shit, yeah—fuuuck, you’re so good, ’m so, so close—”

And then the warmth in her stomach was gone, and so was the ghost of you.

Ellie’s climax was ripped away as the girl suddenly pulled back, gasping for air, her lips glossy with her juices and swollen. Her glassy, green eyes snapped open as she propped herself up on her elbows. “Why did you stop?” 

Still panting, the girl’s uncertain eyes fixed upwards as she brushed a stray curl from her face, “You’ve been saying you’re close for the past thirty minutes, Eleanor.”

Her stomach dropped.

Ellie’s eyes narrowed at the way she butchered her name—as if Cupid himself was fucking with her. Because suddenly, it didn’t just feel like you were in her head; it felt like you were right here in the room, grinning, watching as the moment crumbled around her. Proud of yourself for ruining her so completely that she couldn’t even finish without you invading her thoughts. That even with someone else between her legs, it was still you that had her body and soul tied to.

“Is it me? Am I that bad?”

A soft sigh accompanied the downward sweep of Ellie’s hand across her warm, blush-dusted face. “No, it’s just—” She pushed herself upright, her mind already sifting through shitty excuses to spoon-feed this sweet little thing blinking up at her.

The smell of her perfume was way too sweet—revolting, even—and Ellie hated how it coated her tongue every time she sucked in a breath.

“Guess ’m too drunk for this,” she shoved her reddish bangs back, though it clung there, stubbornly sticking with sweat at her temples.

The girl pouted subtly, studying her for a moment, before nodding softly, looking a little hurt. “It’s okay,” she soothed, climbing onto Ellie’s body and pressing a slow kiss on her mouth. The kiss felt far too lingering for the freckled girl’s taste, and she found herself counting down the seconds until the girl finally pulled away.

Only Ellie knew how much effort it took to swallow the revulsion rising in her throat, to stay still, to keep from wiping the girl’s spit off her lips the moment it ended.

And yet, despite how catastrophic the whole thing had been, the first thing the curly-haired girl asked was if she could have her number, maybe hang out sometime that week.

But Ellie was already scooting away, reciting her digits quickly. Her movements were frantic as she hastily pulled her clothes back on, watching the girl type it in, beaming as if Ellie had just gifted her the very fucking stars. 

She needed air, or maybe she just needed an escape.

It was almost adorable, the way she bounced on her feet before the bedroom door clicked shut behind her, leaving Ellie alone, drowning in thoughts louder than the music still thumping through the walls.

Sweat cooled against her pale skin, her stomach twisting from alcohol and regret. 

She should feel bad for giving that sweet girl the wrong number. Should feel something. 

But she didn’t.

Because when her eyes shut, it was you she was thinking of.

.⊹⋆.˚ TAGLIST ﹕ @rew1nds @satellitespinner @boobdrug @ivying @elliewilliamsbelovedwife @mina-281 @hysteriawillnotsuccumb @chxrryvalxntine @bookpagecandlescent @fionaapplelover2010 @andersonslove @macaroni676 @elliesbabygirl @vampcubus @visupremacysstuff @elssaphica @kaykeryyy @nenas19 @rxreaqia @fatbootymuncher @dying-brb @euphoric-rush @intothespidersweb @d1psht @prettygirlfemme @antobooh @vahnilla @na0koz @sta-rcrossed @evaprincessx @prwttiestbunny @liasxeatt @hitmehardmommy @pearlplui @pray4carsss @bambiaches @piscesthepoet @iadorefineshyt 1800-i-eat-pussy @morticeras @ellesrad @l0veylace @juiceboxfullofslime @luvherguts @moonfloweredprincess prettybabylol eriiwaiii2 [COMMENT TO BE ADDED!]

[lis-likes-fics]

Casual

Pairing: bff!Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 12.3k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, protected sex (birth control), virginity loss, friends with benefits, Eddie talks you through it, constant consent, humor during sex, Eddie calls you "mama" but no mommy kink, fondling, slight hair pulling, oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, a million different positions, slight edging?, L-bombs but not romantically, swearing... A/N: So I wrote this as a best friends with benefits thing and not a best friends to lovers, but the line gets blurry sometimes with besties. I really fucking loved this one because they're like...they literally never stop being besties, they're so fucking dumb, I love them. So yeah, this is platonic in the least platonic way possible, and I love that for them. Thank you so much and enjoy! A/N #2: While I was writing the first author's note, my typing kept popping my ears. *cries in adhd like a little bitch*

Eddie finds you in his bedroom doorway moments after hearing the front door close. He half expected Wayne to be coming back home early from work, but that didn’t make sense because he only left an hour ago and he probably would have called ahead.

But, no. You stand there with damp hair from a fresh shower and dressed down in some shirt you stole from his drawer and pajama pants. He raises a brow. He hadn’t been expecting you, but he isn’t surprised in the slightest. He doesn’t even bother to move from his spot, leaning back on his bed with an arm behind his head and a book in his hand.

“Hey, there,” he mumbles.

You stare at him for a while, saying absolutely nothing. You don’t seem particularly pleased. He stares back. Neither of you move.

“I’m upset,” you finally say, still staring, still standing.

If Eddie’s remembering correctly, you’re supposed to be out on a date. So hearing that you’re upset isn’t necessarily pleasing to him. Judging by the time, you should have had a very entertaining night. But apparently not.

He’s the first to move as he lets his book fall down to his lap. “Why?”

You think for a moment and then drop your stuff at his door, walking inside as you use your foot to close the door. There’s a long pause between speaking, as you use it to walk around his room and look at all of his stuff. “It’s sort of embarrassing.” You pick up a random pepper shaker on his desk, swirling it around and then turning on your heel to look at him.

He’s got his head tilted to his shoulder with a look on his face that reads “seriously?”. He sits up, lifting a brow. “I’ve seen and learned a lot about you since we became friends, so I doubt there’s anything you could do or say to embarrass yourself in front of me.”

You roll your eyes, licking your lips as you set the pepper shaker down again. “Okay, well…” you trail out, trying to decide how you want to tell him. “You know how I had that date?”

He puts his book away, crossing his legs and leaning back on his elbows. “The drive in?”

“The drive in.”

“What about it?”

“Well…” you sigh. “Okay, so…” You lick your bottom lip, trying to form the words. You’re never shy in front of him, so there must be something wrong. You chew on your lip, thinking to yourself with a heavy sigh. You plop down onto the bed next to him. “God, so, we got there and the movie was fine and whatever–” you roll your eyes, “–and we watched most of it but at some point, we started, like, kissing, and whatever, right?”

Eddie shrugs, laying back to stare at the ceiling as you continue to recount your night. “Yeah.”

“And it got a little…”

He raises a hand to prompt you, “Hot and heavy?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your lap where you fiddle with your fingers. “So we drove away somewhere more…more private?”

He looks at you, sitting back up enough to fully see your face as he smirks lightly. He gives you this devilish look that makes you want to hit him. “Did you...?”

You nod a little. “Yeah.”

Swallowing thickly, you watch his face shift as he takes in your demeanor. His head slumps to one side, his smirk falling off his face. “Oh…” he mumbles. “How do you feel?”

You stare at him. He can see you mulling over your response as you struggle to find the right words. Despite yourself, you feel a knot tying itself in your throat. You force it down and away, pretending it’s not there and hoping it’ll help. And it does…for now, at least.

“I’m upset.”

He cringes a little, lifting an arm to give you a place to lean into him. “That bad?”

You bury your face in his shoulder and pout. “Yeah.” You pull away suddenly. “I mean, I know everyone’s first time sucks ass and whatever, but, like…” You drop your head in your hands, wiping at your face as you find yourself glad for washing your makeup off earlier. “Eddie, I didn’t even…”

He almost seems offended. He doesn’t care about announcing it because you’re alone and also it’s outrageous. “You didn’t cum?”

“No!” you exclaim. “I…faked it.” You’re almost disgusted with yourself for it. It sort of just happened in the moment. He was clumsy in trying to get you there, but it wasn’t working. You just wanted to end it off and move on, so you just…made the sounds and the faces. He seemed pleased enough. “I feel kinda bad. I mean, he was sweet and all, and he, like… He tried, but…”

His question is crude with as little hesitation as humanly possible. Again, he doesn’t care about being awkward or guarded because you’re his best friend, and you’ve talked about worse, and there’s no filter with you. “How big was he?”

“Eddie, what?” Usually you wouldn’t mind his brashness, but you’re still trying to get over the events of a couple hours ago.

“Honest question,” he shrugs. “I just wanna know. Was he like…” he lifts his hand, squinting his eyes and hunching over and pinching his fingers together, “little?”

You shrug. His bluntness is rubbing off on you. You feel a little less awkward and you hunch a little less. “He was fine…just a little too…short? To reach?”

He makes a face, like he’s shocked and disgusted. He looks you up and down almost like it’s your dick. “That’s rough,” he says. “How many times did he cum?”

“Why do you assume he came?” you raise a brow.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Please, guys always cum.”

You roll your own eyes and push yourself off the bed. You’re roaming his room again as you mess with all of his stuff. You open his drawer and ruffle through his unfolded clothes, you pick up empty beer cans and turn up your nose at the smell, you strum the strings of his acoustic. You do all of this instead of looking at him when you answer. “Twice.”

“Oh.” You fake disgust when he looks at you, smirking and bobbing his brows at you. “You must’ve been really fuckin’ nice.” He makes this weird growling sound, and the “ew” that comes out of you is guttural. He snorts happily, and then his humor is gone as he deadpans, “Or he’s a lightweight. Did he cum inside?”

You’re sick of him.

You shake your head. “I made him wrap it.”

“Aren’t you on the pill?”

“Yeah.” He hums.

He watches you lean back against his desk, looking at this weird mask he had just sitting among the chaos. You move it around in your hands and force down the heat in your throat at the recounting going on in your head. Swallowing it down is a hard task that ultimately fails as he watches you begin to choke on the unshed tears.

He sighs, his chest warm with a bitter emotion as he watches your waterline threaten to spill over. “Oh, c’mere.” He stands from the bed, opening his arms wide to pull you into a bone crushing hug. It’s warm and it hurts and it feels so nice. He smells like he always does, green apple shampoo stolen from your house and cheap cologne and cigarettes. It’s a nice smell.

“I guess I like…I don’t know, I expected a little more. It was…really disappointing.” A couple of tears manage to get past you, and it pisses you off but you’re already over it. “I wanted…to get rid of it, and now it’s gone but it doesn’t feel like anything’s changed, but it also feels like everything’s changed, but not in a good way.”

He rubs your back, listening to you as you need him to listen. “I’m sorry,” he mutters when you stop. He sets his chin atop your head after a kiss to your forehead. Part of him wants to square up with the dude you went out with, but he sets that urge to the side in order to comfort you. “That fuckin’ sucks, and you deserve so much more.”

After a moment, you pull away from him, wiping at your face with a huff. “It’s stupid.”

“S’not stupid.”

You don’t argue, you just throw yourself onto his bed, laying flat on your back with your arms and legs spread so wide that you take up nearly all the space left. Eddie watches you lay there with your eyes closed and your breath slowed. He thinks you’re really pretty, especially right now with you wearing his shirt. He almost hates himself for thinking to ask–

“Look, it might be…creepy and weird to ask and—Jesus, if I’m being creepy, I want you to fuckin’ punch me s hard as you can—but, shit, maybe I should shut up.”

His rambling is cut off by you, still lounging on his bed. You haven’t moved, your eyes are still closed. You don’t seem fazed at all by his awkwardness. “What are you about to ask me, Ed?”

He sighs, sitting next to you with his foot shoved underneath him. He sets his hand on your thigh. You still don’t move, used to his touchy-communication. “What happened tonight fuckin’ sucks–”

“You say ‘sucks’ a lot.”

“It’s a nice word.”

You peek at him through one opened eyes. “You’re weird.”

“Nevertheless–” You laugh. He watches your belly tense as you do it, rolling over to sit up and witness his fumbling with opened eyes. “As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted…”

You laugh again, and he’s happy he could do that for you, especially after your rough night. You’re happy you could ease his worries, because he was being awkward, and Eddie isn’t usually awkward with you, and you know he likes your stupid jokes.

He takes a breath and starts again. “What happened sucks, and—only if you want to—I would be willing—if you’re comfortable—to…fix it for you.”

You raise a confused brow, less confused and more vaguely unbelieving. “Fix it…for me?” you echo.

He shrugs. “I don’t like when you cry, and I want to make you feel better. I’m not a total expert on sex, but I think I know my way around it pretty well.” He puts his hands together like he’s going to pray and points them toward you. “If you want…I can help.”

You raise a brow and stifle the smirk threatening to grace your lips, ready to tease him in order to push down the flush of heat rushing through you. “You wanna fuck me.”

He raises his hands. “I want to fuck you if you want me to fuck you. To help. But I’d love to fuck you… if you want…me to fuck you.” There’s a pause. “Maybe.”

You look away, scratching your head in thought. “Since when have you wanted to fuck me?”

He smacks a hand down onto your thigh just to do it. “Babe, it’s always been on the table. All you had to do was ask.” Whore.

You roll your eyes for the millionth time. “You’re such a guy.”

He shrugs like he doesn’t care at all. “Like I said, guys always cum.”

You raise a brow at him, shoving his hand off your knee to stand again. You jab an accusatory finger into his chest. “Is that to insinuate that you’ve cum thinking about me?”

“I– Okay, I did not– Listen here, you little shit.”

You laugh out loud, still pointing at him to make fun. “I’m kidding!” He fake laughs, and you return the favor by tilting your head and questioning him further. “But have you?”

To avoid it being awkward, he just shrugs nonchalantly and answers the question. “A couple times.” It works, even though you flush at the answer.

“What? That is so weird!”

“That is not weird.” He hopes you ignore the way his cheeks turn pink, powering through it with more brashness and more jokes. “It is completely normal to think of your best friend when you’re cranking one out.”

You shake your head definitely. “No, it’s not.”

He challenges you. “Have you ever cum thinking about me?”

Without turning your head, you glance away from him. “I don’t think that makes it normal.”

“So you have, is what I’m hearing.” You turn to him quickly, raising a finger as you try to speak over his ad libbing. He thinks he’s really funny, and it’s gonna make you scream.

“Listen–”

“Listening.”

You huff, glancing away and then looking back at him. Well, not really him, but the ends of his hair over his shoulders. “Maybe once or twice…” you shrug, “Maybe even thrice, but that’s not–”

“You little freak!” He points his finger at you, his whole face wide with amusement.

“Hey– Be nice to me. Or I’ll cry. You don’t like it when I cry.” You pout to give him a preview. You’re sure you could summon more tears if you really need to…

“You’re evil,” he shakes his head, looking up at you with a huge grin.

You bob your brows. “Yes, I am.”

He surprises you. In the next moment, his arms are wrapped around your midsection, and your feet lift off the ground. He takes you in his hold and turns you until you’re being slammed into the bed. You laugh as you bounce, squirming around to push him off of you as he pins you under his weight. Both of you are giddy with the amusement, laughing at each other and playing along with the other’s fun.

When you open your eyes and the laughter dies down, you realize that he’s actually pinning you to the bed. It sobers you up almost immediately, and you realize that he’s really close. He could kiss you right now if he really wanted to. You notice the exact moment he realizes it, too.

You gulp and take a breath for courage. Your voice is small—awkward—but it’s okay because he’s your best friend. “You can…” you mumble. “You can help, if you want to help.”

His eyes glance at your lips, and then he raises both his brows as he looks back at you. “You want me to?”

You nod, trying not to hold your breath to avoid dulling the charged air between you. “Yes, I want you to.”

He tilts his head and the tips of his hair tickles your cheek. “Is it because I have you pinned?”

“It helps.”

Eddie backs off of you, sitting back on his bed to allow you to sit back up. You do, crossing your legs underneath you. He thinks for a moment, watching you as he does. There’s a long pause where the both of you contemplate something, unsure if the other has the same thing in mind.

“Before we do anything,” he breaks the silence carefully and articulately, and you can see the moment that all his seriosity has set in, “I need explicit permission. And you gotta let me know how you’re feeling. I don’t wanna do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

You listen intently, nodding along as he lays down the rules. “Okay,” you say.

He tilts his head toward you, looking up at you through his bangs. His brown eyes are so pretty. You’ve always thought so. They’re so warm and loving, just like him. It’s the reason you became his friend in the first place: because he’s warm and loving. “S0?” he prompts, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You take in a deep breath and smile, lifting a hand and slowly setting it on his own. “I want you to have sex with me, Eddie.”

He visibly shudders, and you think he’s a sucker. Technically, he is, but whatever. “Jesus,” he mutters, running his free hand through his hair. Then he smacks yours away, and your chuckle turns into a snort. He always knows how to make you comfortable. “Okay.”

You turn your body to face him, clearing your throat. “So… How do we…?”

“Okay, so…” He makes a “shoo” motion with his hands, so you get confused and raise a brow. You slowly and hesitantly lean back onto your elbows, staring at him with all the silent questions you can muster. He rolls his eyes. “No, get up. Sit over there, whore.”

You roll your eyes at him in return, moving to sit at the head of his bed with your legs crossed in front of you. Playfully, he rolls his eyes yet again and shakes his head at you like he’s disappointed. Eddie turns to lounge across the foot of the bed, propping himself up on his elbow. “First, I want you to walk me through everything he did.”

“Okay,” you mumble, thinking back to what happened in that car. “Well, he kissed me. We made out for a bit, and then he pulled me into his lap.” You only glance at him as you speak, but he’s so nice about it that you don’t feel so weird talking to him about being poorly fucked. “And he took off my shirt. He was, like, moving my hips and stuff.”

“Okay.” He listens so closely. His full attention is on you and only you, and it feels nice.

“Then he, uh, he played with my nipples. You motion vaguely to your chest.

“Did he use his mouth?” he questions gently.

“Mhm.”

He shakes his head then. He’s still gentle but his tone leaves no room for argument. “You gotta say yes or no, sweetheart, or I’m not touchin’ you.”

That’s fair enough. “Yes.”

“And it felt good?”

“Yes.” It almost sounds like a question, but he understands what you mean.

“Okay,” he gestures toward you. “What else did he do?”

You think for a moment. It’s already becoming a little fuzzy as your mind becomes distracted by the thought of Eddie, your sweet, idiot Eddie, doing these things to you and making it feel good.

This is the same boy you’ve seen fall out of his van because he tripped on the step and totally ate shit hitting the ground. This is the same boy you’ve seen stuffing his face with marshmallows because he was dared to by Mike and Dustin, and he was trying to prove that he could do more than they originally dared for him.

This is also the same boy you’ve seen absolutely shred his guitar with some fingering skills you’ve been envious of. And the same boy who’s seen you cry a million times and wiped away all the tears with plenty of jokes and compliments and threats of violence as were humanly possible. If there’s anyone who can make you feel good, it’s him.

You shake the thoughts away in order to get them straight. “He laid me down on the seat,” you remember, “and took off his pants and stuff.” You don’t really need the “and stuff” but it does make it a little easier…for some reason.

He furrows his brow in question, tilting his head like he’s grossed out all of a sudden. “Okay?”

“And then he…” you stare at his Dio poster across the room, “put it inside.”

He lifts his lip in disgust. He’s done that a lot tonight in response to this guy. “That’s it?” he asks with more distaste than you thought possible.

“What do you mean?” you furrow your own brow this time.

“Baby,” he says effortlessly, like he’s said it a million times before (because he has), “there wasn’t even foreplay.” He sits up, “No wonder you didn’t get off, girls need foreplay. Guys don’t need shit. We just think about tits, and we’re hard.” He shrugs, “I’m thinking about tits right now. Hard as a rock.”

The face you make transcends the rolling of the eyes or the upturn of a lip as you scoff. “Eddie–”

“You gotta be built up,” he continues, brushing past his comment like he never said it to begin with. You consider his words, taking them as the truth because he knows way more about sex than you would. He’s no prodigy, maybe, but you’re barely out of your virginity, so he’s got more advantage than you. “Did you blow him?”

You glance up, a bitter tone in your words as you mutter the first part, “Between positions… yeah.”

You don’t think “disgust” fits anymore. He’s just annoyed and entirely displeased. “You blew him, and he didn’t blow you?”

“I thought the term was ‘eat me out’.”

He shrugs a shoulder absently. “Symmetry.”

You airquote your response. “Okay, ‘symmetry’.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes,” you reply finally, still tasting traces of your toothpaste in your mouth. “I blew him, but he didn’t blow me.”

Eddie makes a guttural sound to try to properly express the amount of offense he takes to this. “You know what, fuck this guy.” He leans forward, placing both his hands on your knees and holding them there as he stares at you with those big, brown eyes of his. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I got you now.”

It’s easy to take humor from that to avoid dealing with the arousal it sends through you. “You’re real confident.”

He’s not pulling back on anything, he has no reason to. He somehow becomes more intense as he effortlessly response, “Because I’m gonna fuckin’ eat you out like my life depends on it.”

“I–” There’s no way you can respond to that. “Oh. Uhm.” Your mind is immediately a jumbled mess of fantasies and incoherent words and more fantasies. There’s a heat between your thighs and an anticipation in your belly that makes it difficult to think.

“Relax,” he catches your sudden daze. He pats your thigh like it’s just something that he does and not a preface to him pulling them apart and having a feast. “You’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

He gets up, stretching his arms high over his head to pop his back. You can’t help the way your eyes fall to the slip of his belly, spying a tattoo hidden away there underneath his shirt. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” He eyes you. “You don’t need any infections.”

You turn your lip up because you think he’s disgusting. “That’s gross, Eddie.”

He points at you. “But considerate.”

You get up specifically to push him away from you. “Go shower, you dirty whore.”

He winks at you. “Yes, mama.” You don’t know how to respond to that. “Get comfy, I’ll be out in a bit.”

You swallow thickly, trying not to dissolve into some pathetic puddle because he called you “Mama”. You’ve never been into that before, and all of a sudden, you can’t get the sound of it out of your head. He’s already long gone, leaving you alone in his room as you sit on his bed to wait for him.

You’re a total goner, you’re sure.

~

You’re going through more of his stuff by the time he comes out of the shower. You glance over your shoulder at him after the door closes, and you’re almost surprised by what you find.

It’s not like you haven’t seen Eddie shirtless before. The sight isn’t unusual to you, but given the context and the way his sweatpants hang low on his waist, giving the perfect view of his gentle V-line, his soft tummy. It’s a mouthwatering sight, and it’s taking everything to look away.

His hair is still dripping. The dampness is giving his curls a gentle shine in the lamp light in the room. He rubs his towel haphazardly through his hair as he speaks. “I know I’m gonna take them off anyway, but–”

He stops short when he finally looks up to see you. You’re rummaging through his drawers like the little thief that you are, your hand stopped somewhere in the second drawer in favor of watching him. But that’s not what makes him pause. It’s the fact that you’re in one of his shirts, one that goes down past the curve of your ass and stops short before even reaching your mid-thigh. Your legs are bare—you’ve discarded all your other clothes somewhere in the room and left yourself in some underwear and his shirt.

He always knew you were sexy. As your closest friend, it’s his duty to know how sexy you are, but this is another level and he doesn’t understand why.

Instead of pointing out the fact that his sweatpants are growing a sudden bulge, he gestures to the shirt. “Are you gonna steal that?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He scratches the back of his neck, tossing his towel onto a chair stuffed in the corner of his room. It’s stacked high with clean laundry that he never got around to. He pays no mind to it when the towel and a couple of clothes fall to the floor immediately after.

Eddie takes a breath before he looks back at you. “C’mere,” he mumbles, raising a finger to make a come hither motion. You listen to him, walking over to stand in his space. Your hands rest at his sides because you always rest your hands at his sides, and, naturally, he holds you back.

“Remember,” he begins in a quiet voice (or as quiet as Eddie can be), “you gotta use your words. I gotta know if I’m hurting you, or I’m doing too much or too little.” His thumbs stroke your elbows. “You know your body better than anyone, but I’m gonna do my best to know it even more than that.”

You chuckle playfully. “Okay.”

“And you definitely, definitely have to let me know when I’m doing something right.”

“So you’ll keep doing it?” you guess.

He shakes his head and says in a flat voice, “No, to stroke my ego.”

You roll your eyes, and your humor is interrupted by his hand lifting to touch your cheek. You lean into it because his hands are warm. “You still wanna do this?” He’s completely serious, and a little nervous now as he looks at you.

You nod, raising one hand to wrap around the back of his neck. “I trust you, Eddie.”

He nods, mostly to himself. “Good. That’s good.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “That’s great,” he raises his brows. Then he sighs, glancing away from your intense gaze. “Let’s hope I don’t fall in love with you or something, or you’ll be getting your back blown out every night and twice on Sundays. Jesus H. Christ.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head at his ridiculousness, almost forgetting that he’s probably completely serious and you are about to fuck as you play into your banter. “You’re so–”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. You’re cut off by Eddie’s lips engulfing your own, warm and soft and really nice against your own. You let out a long breath, pulling him closer by the back of his neck as he takes a step forward into your space.

To be completely honest, you’ve kissed Eddie before. You’ve kissed him on a dare, you kissed him to trick people into thinking you’re dating. Hell—he was your first kiss because you and some friends were screwing around and then you happened to be picked to be locked in a closet for seven minutes because you were at a stupid party playing stupid games.

So the sensation isn’t completely new, but the making out part is. Eddie is a really good kisser.

When he pulls away, you aren’t really expecting it. He seems pleased by your daze as he bobs his brows. “So what?”

Instead of answering him, as you’ve forgotten what you were going to say, you kissed him again. It’s really nice, kissing someone. It’s nice to be this close, to breathe each other’s air, to taste each other’s lips. His tongue grazes your top lip, and you lean into it, because you trust him and it’s nice.

Eddie keeps you pulled close against his body as he starts stepping forward, keeping you from tripping as he does. The back of your knees hits the bed, and you hold on too tightly as you feel yourself falling backwards. You laugh when you fall back onto the bed with his weight on top of you. He laughs with you, “You’re okay, mama.”

He silences you with his mouth again, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his. He likes it just as much as you. Between that and his little pet name, your mind is swimming and your heart is racing. When he pulls away, it’s only to press his lips to the skin of your neck, suckling and nipping gently at the flesh as he does. You close your eyes, your fingers happily tangled in his hair as you keep him close.

“Mama,” you mutter under your breath, seeing just how much you like it as he nips at your neck. “I like that.”

You can feel him smiling against your skin. “Yeah? Want me to keep using it?”

You nod, “Yeah.” A hum echoes in your chest as he wraps his hands around your sides, lifting you a bit just to put you farther up the bed. He crawls on top of you, one of his knees settled between your legs as his hand caresses your side.

Your breath becomes thin when his hand smooths underneath his shirt, feeling the softness of your skin with a quiet breath. His palm stops at your belly as he slips the very tips of his fingers to rest underneath your breasts, feeling just how warm you are.

“Good?” he mutters, taking your earlobe so gently between his teeth and letting it go.

You nod, your eyes heavy like they’re glued down with sap. “Mhmm,” you breathe.

“Yes or no, mama?” he reminds you, gently kissing your lips.

“Yes.”

He smiles, rewarding you with another kiss as he whispers against your lips. “Good girl.”

You don’t have time to think about that right now. It’s too nice, too fuzzy. It sends a warm flush straight to the pit of your stomach and makes your breath hitch. Eddie knows and adds it to the list of things you like for tonight.

The slightest whimper slips from your lips when you feel his warm fingers reach up to brush your breast, gently groping you as he plays with your peaking nipples. He hikes your shirt all the way up until your bare chest is revealed to him, and he takes them in with an appreciative breath before leaning down to take one between his lips.

It’s much different than the guy before him. Eddie’s deliberate, licking and sucking and so, so gently nipping the bud. It sends a strange sensation through you, lighting every nerve ending and making it impossible to think straight as you keep your fingers tangled in his hair. You keep him close. It feels too good to do anything else.

You speak between breaths, your heavy eyelids and sticky lips working against your attempts to speak. “You’ve seriously cum to the thought of me?” you wonder, whimpering when his other hand comes up to pinch your other nipple between the pads of his fingers.

“Yeah,” he mutters, sucking harshly and making you gasp.

“Why?” you ask, making an attempt at playfulness between the haze of his ministrations. “Am I that irresistible?”

With only seriousness, Eddie looks up at you, letting his fingers take over in teasing you. “Yeah.”

Your grin falters, almost not expecting his answer—or at least the amount of honesty in it. “Wait, really? You’re not just buttering me up?”

He makes a face, a confused one that flatters you more than anything else. “No? You’re fucking sexy as shit.” He tilts his head, “You think I’m lying when I tell you that?” Eddie’s hand smooths down your side, gripping your hip as he goes.

You shake your head, bringing your knee up and sighing gently when his hand slides over the round of your ass. “You don’t have any weird feelings for me, do you?”

He pinches you, and you squirm away from him giddily. “Mama, I’m in love with you, but not like that.” He gently makes your side. “Now stop talking to me. It’s hard to kiss you if I’m talking.”

You chuckle. “Yes, si-”

Your words are interrupted by a tiny moan when his fingers graze the mound of your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. Your back arches just slightly, the ticklish feeling making quick work of scouring your body.

“Does that feel good?” he wonders quietly.

You nod and bite down hard on your lip. The anticipation of it is eating you up. “Yes.”

“Good,” he lilts, continuing to brush his middle finger up and down the length of your panties until he’s pulling them to the side just enough to see you. Eddie licks his lips, leaning in to kiss your belly. You’re weak against him, trying not to cant your hips up into him and deter his work.

His finger caresses your folds through the bit of slick that had begun to gather there. “You feel the difference?” he asks between kisses.

“Yes.” Your voice is a squeak, and he seems quite proud of himself for making it that way.

“I’m gonna take these off, okay?” he says. “Then I’m going to put my mouth on you. You’ll let me know if I’m doing too much, right?”

You nod. “Yes, Eddie.”

He smiles, “Thanks, mama.” He feels the way you react to that, the slightest flutter of your folds. He sits up just to allow him the access to slip your underwear down your legs. The little, flimsy material comes right off. He drops it to the ground and comes to kneel in front of the bed. You hold your breath when his hands close around your waist, pulling you down to the edge to bring you that much closer to his face.

Instinctively, you close your thighs. It’s hard to will them to open and stay that way with the way his warm breath fans over your skin, his hands touch your body, his eyes stay glued to your own, constantly asking for consent.

You think he’s going to say something smart, smirk at you and chuckle at your shyness. But he does. Instead, he just gives you a calming look and asks, “You still okay, mama? You wanna stop?”

You let out a gentle breath, shaking your head. “No, I’m okay.” You chew on your bottom lip. “Just not used to this.”

“That’s okay,” he reassures. His kindness is honestly making your arousal worse. You feel like you’re going to start shaking if he pulls away from you. “Can I open your legs?”

You nod. “Please.”

He nods back, kissing your knee and smoothing his hands down your thighs, one on each side. The hand on the inside of your thigh dips so slowly between yours, seating deep between them until he’s slowly pulling them apart. The sound your thighs make when he opens them is lewd, it’s the quiet schlick sound that comes from the arousal that seeped out of you. You start to feel embarrassed, but then he sighs like he’s so relieved to see it.

“Tell me why you’re so fucking pretty,” he shakes his head. Your thighs are itching to close as you watch him lean in, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh, just to kiss you. You bite your lip, nervous and so ready.

But then he stands. “Give me a second,” he says, walking away from you as his hands slide off your thighs. You sit up higher on your elbows, watching in confusion and slight annoyance as he leaves you on the bed.

“Eddie,” you call while he walks to his dresser.

“Hang on,” he smiles. “Jesus.” He does that thing where his tongue sticks out over his bottom lip as he sorts through the junk on his desk. “Not leavin’. Just lookin’ for something,” he mutters.

You fall back on the bed, willing your heart to calm. He makes a sound of success, turning back on his heel to get back to you. You look at him and watch as he cards his fingers through his hair. He pulls it back into a ponytail, wrapping a hair tie around it to make a messy bun.

You flush at the sight because not even a moment later, he’s on his knees again right between yours. “You can’t be serious,” you say.

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he replies, looking at you excitedly. His hands land on your thighs again, keeping them spread apart as he pulls you again to the very edge of the bed. “I’d say hold on tight, but there’s nothing to hold onto so… Enjoy!”

He dives between your thighs, and the heat of his mouth latches onto your pussy. Your mouth slips open and a deep moan rumbles out of you. Your thighs close around his head as you feel his tongue licking at you, lapping at your folds as he delves between them.

“Eddie,” you call, one of your hands reaching down to touch the top of his head, trying to find some purchase at his hair. His tongue swirls around your clit, and you’re a total goner when his lips close around it and suck. You mewl at the unfamiliar feeling, enjoying every bit of it with an immense amount of pleasure.

You’d expected him to go slow, hesitant little licks against your folds as he worries about overwhelming you. But this is not that. It’s hot and heavy with deep strokes of his tongue and the tiniest nips of his teeth. There’s no way to keep yourself calm. Your hips are tilting up into his mouth, meaning he has to hold you down with his arms wrapped around your thighs.

Eddie seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself. He moans into you, heavy breaths fanning over your skin as he eats you out “like his life depends on it”. Your open-mouthed moans encourage him, especially when you say his name in this high-pitched gasp and slam your eyes shut. Your ankles hook behind him, pulling him in closer.

Eddie’s making the most obscene sounds—sounds worse than what you’re making. He slurps and laps at you like a dog drinking water. You’d call him a whore again if you could think of humor at the moment, but the only thing you want to tell him is to keep going and never stop.

When he pulls his mouth off of you, you whine. He smiles, knowing he’s doing a good job as he shushes you gently. “It’s okay, I’m not stopping,” he says. In the next moment, you feel his hand cup your pussy. “I’m gonna put my fingers inside of you. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Please, Eddie.”

His fingers tease your entrance, though you don’t think he means to. He looks at you as he prods a finger at the seam of your cunt, slowly pushing it in until they part around him. A short “ah” sound is what he hears as he presses his finger inside of you, moving slowly until he’s got it all the way in. “Good?” he checks, the slightest thrusts moving in and out of you as he does.

Your nods are becoming insistent. “Yes, Eddie.”

“You want more, mama?”

“Yes, please.” He loves how polite you are. You’re usually so mean—though, he loves that about you, too. It just means you love him.

He sets a steady rhythm, one that’s still slow as he focuses in on your face, the way it shifts and squints at every little push of his thick finger. It feels really nice, the way he takes his time with you, making sure you feel everything he gives you.

“M’gonna add another. You ready?”

“Yeah.” He rewards you with a second finger, pushing it inside along the first and stretching you out for him some more. He thrusts them in and out, a slow and steady motion slowly building as he massages those inner parts of you. He curls them, and they press against a spongy point inside of you that has you rolling your eyes. “That feels good, Eddie. Don’t stop.”

He smiles at your initiative, giving you what you want with as much enthusiasm as you give in wanting it. He leans in, his tongue darting out to lick at your pussy. You’re wetting his fingers so nicely, making it so easy to slip them in and out of you.

His lips wrap around your clit, and he sucks on it while you whine, while his fingers curl inside of you with every intent of coaxing an orgasm out of you. Little ramblings fall from your tongue as you grind against his. He's greedy in the way he licks around his fingers, over your clit, tasting your arousal as it seeps out of you.

A knot is tightening in your belly. Your hips reach for him with each little nuance of his skilled fingers as you seek out the release he's promising you.

His name comes out as a moan on your tongue. If either of you hadn't been so preoccupied, he would have made fun of you for it. Instead, you're spread out on his bed with his fingers inside of you, a moment away from cumming on his mouth.

Your hips try to lift up into him as you get closer and closer. He holds you down with one arm, his lips and tongue and prodding fingers working in tandem to taste you.

Your ankles hook behind his head as your back arches off the bed. “Eddie,” you whisper. He feels the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his tongue becoming more insistent in the way it flicks and laps at your clit.

He makes these sounds of encouragement, humming and mhm-ing into you as he goes. Your release is like a burst in your belly, it starts there and swarms into your legs, your chest, the base of your being. Eddie’s tongue keeps licking and lapping at you as your back arches off the bed and your legs tighten around his head. You moan his name as white noise erupts in your ears, the distant murmuring of his words muffled as you try to cope with the pleasure that has begun to set every nerve ending on a wild fritz.

Eddie seems more enthused than anything else by your orgasm. Both his arms wrap around your thighs and hold you down. He actually stands, bending at the way to get closer as he longs to taste all the slick and arousal that leaks out of you. As he sucks on your clit and hums at the way that you taste, you grip his hair and pull him in closer.

But there’s a point where you think you might die if he touches you any more. There’s a gasp in your chest that rips its way out as you push him away from your fluttering pussy as kindly as possible. He leans in again, just for a moment, before he registers your body pulling away from him, notices the way your thighs unclench and your fingers loosen from his hair and your moans and gasps of his name turn into weak whimpers and grunts.

“Fuck,” you huff as you lay back on his bed. You turn onto your belly, crawling up his bed and collapsing into his pillows that spell like him. He watches, licking his lips and wiping his face with a smile.

“I was right,” you mumble, feeling your body coming down like you're floating back to the ground.

“About what?” You feel the bed dip next to you where Eddie sits down. Then you feel him lay back, his head laid out on your thighs.

“You're a whore.”

He rolls his eyes, smacking your leg with the back of his hand. “You liked it.”

“Doesn't mean you're not a whore,” you say. “Just means you're a good one.”

He sits up, moving over you so he's caging you in. His hair has come mostly undone by now, and it's more of a mess due to your insistence on how wonderful he is. His guitar pick hangs down in your face. Your eyes cross and uncross trying to watch it dangle.

“Well, if I'm a whore,” he bends down, his soft lips pressing into your neck as your lashes flutter, “then I'm gonna charge you. It's three dollars a minute.”

You chuckle. “Well, guess what?” He hums. “I'm poor, so no.”

He breathes in through his teeth, shaking his head. “Then I guess you'll have to work it off.”

You try not to be too timid as you press your fingertips to his chest, guiding him back so he's sitting up. You move onto your knees, pulling your arms around his shoulders and relishing his hands on your waist.

“That shouldn't be too hard,” you mutter. You are timid when you lean into him, testing the air between you to make sure it's okay that you kiss him.

When you still haven't made any contact, he nudges your nose with his. “C’mon,” he goads, his lips sticky when he speaks with all the familiar affection between you.

Your lip quirks a bit at his humor. You kiss him, biting his top lip just to confuse him. He laughs and you consider your goal achieved. You run a hand down the center of his bare chest, pausing at the base of his belly to tease the light happy trail disappearing into his sweatpants.

You slip your hand just underneath the waistband of his pants, tickling his skin as your fingers brush the base of his length hiding poorly behind the fabric. He flinches slightly from your touch, chuckling lightly as his hand comes to cup your elbow.

“Did I hurt you?” you ask suddenly, slightly startled by his reaction.

He shakes his head. “No, mama. You just surprised me.”

“Okay,” you murmur, your timid fingers slowly attempting to try again. But he just shakes his head.

“This isn’t for me. This is for you,” he says, pulling back enough to see you.

“Yeah, but,” you lick your bottom lip, “I wanna make sure you’re enjoying yourself, too.”

He licks his own lips as if to remind you that they were just wrapped around your sensitive cunt. “Trust me, I am thoroughly enjoying myself, mama.”

Your finger hooks around the waistband of his sweatpants, a slight pout arising from your face. “Can you take ‘em off, at least?”

His hands are already pulling them down his legs as he teases you. “So needy.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” Your response falls short. As soon as the last word leaves your mouth, his cock springs from its loose confines and reveals itself.

You flush at the sight of him. You’re not a cock-hungry whore or anything—but if you were one, you think his dick would be a perfect subject for it. It’s not like he has this perfect cock that was hand-crafted by the gods or anything. But you think it’s safe to say that calling Eddie a freak is a valid name.

He’s long, freakishly so. He’s got a nice girth to him, you think, but you don’t know if he’s going all the way in—but, of course, you could be exaggerating. You’ve seen two cocks in your entire life, and Eddie’s is one of them and, admittedly, the better of the two. He will definitely reach.

“What the fuck, Eddie?” you look up at him.

“What?” His face falls slightly, his eyes widening just a bit as he wonders if your comment was good or bad. “What’s wrong?”

“How the hell do you fit that thing in your pants?” You shake your head. “Like, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

He just shrugs, but he’s a little relieved that you’re just being his asshole and not just some asshole. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

“How is it supposed to fit inside of me? What is that, like a foot long?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m flattered—really, I am—but it, most definitely, is not a foot.” He looks down at the erection between his legs. The tip is flushed, and it kind of looks like it hurts. “Seven and a half.”

“What the fuck?” you whisper under your breath. You reach down, brushing your fingers over the tip. He gasps through his teeth, and you watch the way it kicks up in response. “Sorry,” you tell him, ignoring the amusement in your chest. It reminds you of a spring, the comedic kind that goes “boing!”.

“S’okay,” he murmurs. He lifts a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb over the rise of it as he asks gently and genuinely, “You still wanna go?”

You nod, “Yeah. That monster isn’t gonna scare me away.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not that big.”

You shrug. “You know, I heard Harrington’s like that big, nine inches.” You make a circle with your hand, moving it up and down like you’re jerking it off. “You think it’s true?” You bob your brows up and down.

He shakes his head, running a hand down his face as he snickers at you. “I doubt it. He could be one or the other, but both seem a little excessive. Have you seen how tight his pants are?”

“Yeah… you might be right.”

“We gonna talk about dicks, or are we gonna fuck?”

You sigh, shrugging like it’s nothing as you look back at him. “I guess, we’ll fuck.”

He smiles, pulling you closer to him. “Well, then, c’mon, mama.”

You actually giggle, surprising him as you bring a leg to wrap around his waist, pulling the other up to follow suit. He kisses you, his hands supporting your thighs as his dick nuzzles between the both of you, kept warm and wet by the way your folds sit against him as it pushes into his lower belly.

Eddie reaches between your bodies, taking his weeping cock in his hand and stroking himself a couple times with little wavers of breath. You watch some precum spill from his tip, sliding down the bottom.

“You want me to use a condom?” he asks.

You swallow thickly, thinking quickly before shaking your head. “Pill.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”

You’re touched by his consideration but you don’t really want to put into words how much you actually want to feel him inside of you. You shake your head again, kissing him quickly to soften the slight awkwardness in your chest. “I don’t want you to use a condom, Eddie.” You almost whisper it, but he understands.

“Okay, mama,” he whispers back. He kisses you, lifting you up from his lap just enough to tuck the head of his cock at your soaked folds. “You ready?” You nod. “Don’t hold your breath. Breathing makes it feel better.” You nod again.

“Ready.”

You try not to hold his breath as he slowly lowers you down onto his lap, splitting you on his cock as you take him inch by inch. At one point, you’re sure he can’t go any further as you feel him seated somewhere deep inside you. And he’s right, it feels really nice.

Your breath is so light and airy when you sigh against his lips, holding him tight as you bury your face in his shoulder. “Fuck,” you huff, hearing his own breaths pass heavily in your ear.

“Fuck,” he echoes. “Jesus, you’re squeezin’ me, mama.”

You don’t know how you feel about the way this makes you feel, the way it makes you act. Your voice gets sort of whiny, breathy, this little thing in his ear that makes his cock twitch slightly inside of you. “Can’t help it,” you sigh. “So fuckin’ deep.”

He nods, his hands steady and firm at your backside and your arms tight around his neck. “I won’t move until you tell me to.”

You just nod, knowing he’s not going to move until you give him an explicit “yes”. It’s a lot to adjust to. He sits really deep inside of you, and he’s pressing against a spot that makes you delirious with just the pressure the head of his cock puts on it. But when you can’t take the suspense anymore and you’re too excited to see how it would feel, you nod again.

“I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go slow.”

You nod.

Holding your waist, Eddie begins to thrust his hips up into you. He does as he says and moves slowly, guiding your body in his lap so you grind down on him. A whine falls from your lips at the feeling, and you almost immediately seek out that pleasure with the eager roll of your hips into him.

“Not too fast, not too fast,” he hisses, lightly patting your hip.

You nod into his shoulder, feeling his hands roaming. His arm wraps around your waist, his other arm comes up to hook over your shoulder. He keeps thrusting, moving so slowly and filling you so deep. Following his commands, you roll your hips slowly into him, meeting each of his own movements in a building rhythm.

There's an ebb and flow in the way that you move together. Tiny whimpers fall from your lips, and his heavy breaths join them.

Somewhere along the way, it's not enough. Your insistent hips grind into him in search of more. He feels it in the way you breathe, the way you move, the way you hold him just a little tighter.

“Eddie,” you huff. “C’mon, I need more. Please.”

The way you say it is a little more whiny, a little needier than you intended. It feeds his ego, and he can't help but to lose some of his reassuring kindness. He starts making fun of you because he likes making fun of you, and he thinks that you'll probably eat that shit up.

“More?” His grip on you tightens just a bit. His thrusts become a little jerky, searching the same intensity you are. “You need more, mama?”

“Eddie,” you groan.

He pulls your face from his shoulder in order to look at you better. “You sound so whiny, baby. Like a little bitch.”

You roll your eyes because he's Eddie, and he calls you a little bitch anyway. Grinding in his lap, you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. A strangled grunt comes out, and you smirk devilishly. “So do you.”

“Har, har,” he says.

“If this is all you can do, just tell me. It's okay if you're a one-pump-chump.”

You like vexing him. He likes when you vex him. But he also likes proving you wrong because he may be doing you a favor, but he can't let you go about thinking he can't fuck.

“Fuck you,” he scoffs. Then he's pushing you onto your back and wrapping your legs back around his waist, slipping out in the process. He towers over you like some wolf, bushy hair accommodating as his necklace swoops down to brush your skin.

“If you want me to stop, tell me to stop,” he says. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He guides himself back into you, embedding himself within you until you're full. One of his hands grips your hip while the other takes a hold of the headboard. It's this metal thing that squeaks whenever you move. So when he's thrusting into you with a vigor that has grown in the past couple of moments, it's accompanied by the constant whine of the metal. It's sort of funny.

His hips roll into you, waves of pleasure coming with each one. His hand cradles your neck, and you lean into him as he latches onto the sensitive skin of your throat, teeth scraping and tongue licking up the taste of your skin.

One of your legs comes up to wrap around his waist, and you moan as you pull him in deeper. His pace builds into this steady, needy kind of rhythm. The harder he thrusts, the more you clench, and the harder it is for him to stifle his grunts.

But you like the sounds he makes. Sometimes they're these deep groans that rumble in his chest like thunder. Sometimes they're these weak moans that you're pretty sure is him trying not to whimper. And you like the moans so much that you card your fingers through his hair and tug on a chunk of it as his head pulls back. His muscles flex, and his lips part. You watch his eyes flutter, this shocked whimper comes out of him.

“You did that on purpose,” his word and your moan mix together with the thrust of his hips.

“Ah…haha,” you gasp, nodding a little. “Yes, I—Oh, yes, I did.”

“What, are you a top or something?” he wonders, raising a brow.

You shrug, your mind a little blurry with the feeling of his cock shoved inside of you. “Dunno.”

He's interested enough to find out.

Once again, you're being moved around. You whimper when he pulls out of you just to sit you up again. Eddie moves to the head of the bed and pulls you back into his lap. “Let's find out.”

You take him in your hand, lining him up with your waiting lips. As you slowly sink back down onto him, your eyes flutter shut as you feel the way he fills you. And it only gets better from there as you slowly take him farther inside until he’s buried so deep that you can feel him pressing somewhere inside of you that you can’t quite pinpoint.

You’re fully seated on him now, eyes squeezed shut as you adjust to the feeling. Your hands come to rest on his chest, the fingers of your right hand brushing over the demon head on his pec. When you roll your hips and feel the way it presses inside of you, you’re immediately done for.

Your rhythm isn’t steady for a while. You move purely out of an urge to quell this need in the pit of your stomach. As you fuck yourself on his cock, Eddie’s hands hold your waist tightly just to have something to hold onto. You move quickly and without remorse, your head thrown back in pleasure as your hips lift up just to smack down on his lap once again.

For a while, you just grind on him, focusing on that deep spot that shoots electricity through your thighs. This pitiful sound flutters out of you, like a shudder running down your spine as your hands move to cup the back of his neck in your palms. His name falls from your lips with a plea, it’s a weak sound that would bring him to his knees if he wasn’t already on his back.

“Fuck, mama,” he huffs. “Keep going, just like that.”

His hands caress your skin, roaming your body underneath his shirt still draped over you. He hikes it up farther and farther until he feels your warm breasts. “Can I take this off?” he asks. You just nod, muttering an “mhm” as you keep bouncing with closed eyes. He pulls the shirt over your head, revealing your bouncing breasts to him as he takes a hold of them with greedy hands. He palms them, kneading them like he would dough. You just keep moaning as he builds you up.

You don’t mean to, but in an attempt to respond, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a repetitive “yes, yes, yes” that echoes in the room alongside his own loud, open-mouthed breaths. “Shit, baby. Doin’ so good f’me.”

That makes you whimper, moving almost ruthlessly just to satisfy the rising need in your belly. “Fuck, I need cum, baby,” you whisper, repeating that again and again with each little roll. Eddie wastes no time in bringing his large hand to rest at the juncture of your thigh and your hip, his thumb swirling insistent circles into your clit. You gasp at the feeling, which is way more electric than you thought it’d be.

It becomes a little difficult to think. Visions of Eddie and his hands and your bodies, and the sounds of your slick and skin, and the smell of sex and body wash and cigarettes cloud your mind. You’re on the verge of tipping over the edge, you can feel your fingertips tingling with the wild sensations of your pleasure, so, so close to you now–

Eddie pulls you up from his lap, unsheathing your cunt from him. Your moans and your breaths are interrupted, and this weak cry tumbles from your tongue. He grunts, laying his head back and making this “hmph” sound.

You blindly reach for his cock, trying to guide him back inside of you before he’s lightly smacking your hand away. “Wait, mama, wait.”

“Eddie,” you whine, thoroughly unhappy with the way the growing waves in your belly had begun to retreat. “Please.” You could honestly cry. It had felt so good—you had felt so good, and he’d taken it all away in a matter of a second.

“What the fuck, dumbass?” you huff, looking at him with eyes unfocused with frustration and face flushed with lust.

“You’re so mean,” he says, almost as put off by the failed release as you.

“I was so close.”

“I know.” He sits up a little more, moving you off his lap. Your arousal is coating both of you, your thighs are sticky with it, his lap and his cock is glistening in the dim golden light. “That’s called edging.”

“I know what the fuck edging is. Why are we doing it?”

He laughs at your frustration, and you want to hit him. “Relax, we’re not done yet.”

“Well, hurry up,” you whine, already trying to throw your leg back over his legs. He just swats you away again.

“Turn around.” You would argue, but you’re too horny. So, instead, you turn around so your back is facing him. His hand spreads out along your back, and you nearly squeal when he pushes you down so your face is pushing into his covers. He pulls you up so your ass is in the air, grabbing one of your cheeks and squeezing.

“You still good?” He’s checking up, trying to be nice even though he was just the cruelest he could’ve been.

“Yes, please.” He likes you like this, honestly. It’s fun to see you so needy. It’s just something he can hold over your head.

He lightly smacks your ass, not enough to hurt but enough for your hips to jerk at the unexpected sensation. Immediately, he smoothes the skin with the palm of his hand and hums. He nudges your legs apart, spreading you open for him just enough as he pumps his cock in his hand.

“Just testing out some positions,” he says simply before he’s guiding himself back inside of you. It’s a welcome feeling, one you’re beginning to become accustomed to. Once he’s fully inside, he bottoms out with a heavy sigh. “It’s good to see which ones you like.”

“I like when I’m being fu–”

You’re cut off when his hips thrust into you, an almost cruel snap that makes this filthy smacking sound. You moan, literally feeling yourself melting into the bed as one of his hands comes to fist the sheets by your head. The other holds your waist tight, keeping you steady as he begins to fuck into you.

You really like this position. Being on top of him was so, so nice, but being underneath him is a feeling that makes your brain numb. You wrap your hand around his wrist as your other curls in the bedsheets, mewling feebly with every snap of his hips.

It’s dizzying, having him take you like this. There’s a light sheen of sweat coating your skin, encouraged by the warm air straying in through the slightly opened window. His breath is heavy, and you can hear him grunting every time his hips meet your ass. “Do you like this one?” he huffs, moving his hand to wrap lightly around your neck. He pulls you up from the covers so you can speak, your bodies bumping back and forth in the dance you’ve created.

You’re being kept steady only by your hand on the bed, gripping the sheets tightly. “Yes, Eddie,” you moan. You like saying his name, especially when you feel so good. It’s like a wave through your skin. It falls off your tongue with ease. “That feels good.”

He’s happy you’re happy. He keeps it up, losing his breath the longer he goes as your loud ones mix together in the heavy air of his bedroom.

You’re so glad Wayne isn’t home because there’s no way you would’ve been able to keep quiet. You respect that man too much to put him through this. The loud squealing of the bed certainly doesn’t help.

You turn your head to his arm, pressing your nose to his wrist to smell him. He smells like he always does, cigarettes and cheap cologne, like leather and maybe a bit of metal. But under that, you can still smell it. Green apple.

You kiss his wrist, and something snaps in him. For the hundredth time, Eddie pulls out of you and moves you back onto your back. Once again, you’re looking up at him as he locks you in. There’s a wild look in his eyes that makes you breathless, and when he’s pushing into you again, you moan.

“Right there,” you mutter incoherently when he fucks into you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer as you keep your legs spread wide. “Yes, fuck, right there.”

Eddie focuses on that spot, punching the head of his cock into it over and over again and watching the way your eyes roll, your head falling back into the sheets and your hands tightening around his arms. He loves the way your lips part, your soft lips split open by the feeling of him. He bends down and kisses the exposed expanse of your throat, sucking on the skin and nibbling hickeys into your skin.

When he pulls away from your neck with a light smack, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down so your bodies are pressed flat together, skin to skin. He ruts into you, pressing his forehead against yours as you both breathe the other’s air. It’s all heat and lust and something else, something hot and heavy.

“I needa cum, Eddie,” you mumble, “For real this time.” You manage to get it out with a minimal amount of stuttering. You’re surprised you were even able to put the sass in it that you managed. He’s made such a mess of you.

His thumb finds your clit once more, and he’s circling the bud with a fervent kind of eagerness. “Keep breathing for me, mama. Breathe in deep.” You do as he says, so much so that you get a little dizzy as the air comes and goes. You buck your hips up into his thumb, your whimper getting higher and higher with each swirl.

You feel a knot curling in your belly, followed by a startling heat. “Eddie,” it comes out almost as a question. You’re addicted to the way his name feels in your mouth. You repeat it over and over, squirming and breathing and tightening your hold on him. He keeps fucking into you, focusing on that spot that makes you see stars as he just thrusts faster until his hips are moving in short, hard spurts.

When the dam breaks, it's with a slack-jawed gasp and a tight embrace. Your whole body tenses, like a coil tightening. It gets hot and hotter and hottest until a band snaps and you're trembling. You moan his name like a cry for help, holding his face between your hands and marveling at the softness of his skin. A brilliant shudder makes its way through your body, the quivering of your limbs making it impossible not to whimper and whine at each little shake.

Eddie helps you through all of it, keeping his in and out pace until it becomes unsteady with the fluttering of your pussy around his cock. Your mouth latch onto one another, more heat and lust and longing to fill the space between you as you recover with a dizzying head and buzzing veins. Loud and sloppy smacks accompany the ones coming from your hips, still meeting with the last sparks of your orgasm and the drive for his own.

His steady thrusts are unsteady now, just tiny little pumps of his cock inside of you as his breaths build into gasps just as small. You’re already coming down from your high, and your whines are sounding a little different now as you tilt your head to the side and hold onto his arm, the punch of his cock bordering on an overstimulated feeling after trying to recover from the large crash of your orgasm.

“Eddie,” you whimper, one hand still splayed across his cheek.

He pulls out of you suddenly, peeling his hand off of you to grab his cock. He tugs harshly at it, bucking his hips into his hand until he’s spilling out over your belly in warm spurts, these shuddered moans coming with it. “Oh, fuck, mama,” he whimpers in that sticky tone, burying his face in the crook of your neck as the last ropes of cum coat your skin.

There are a few moments where there’s complete silence—save for the sound of a car here and there, or a dog barking in the distance, or some people laughing even farther away, or your heavy breaths huffing between you two. Your fingertips caress the skin of his cheeks, drawing patterns into his face as he simply enjoys it with closed eyes and settling breaths.

When Eddie sits up, he takes your hand to pull you up with him. You both sit on his bed, looking down at your bodies now sticky with his cum, though his isn’t the only fluid sticking to your skin. Your thighs make a wet sound whenever you move.

You run a hand down your face, sighing heavily. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, popping your toes. Eddie watches you stretch your arms over your head, enjoying the way your tits look when you do.

“So I did good?”

You look back at him to see the way he watches you, his brows bouncing with a sly grin on his face. You roll your eyes, not looking at him as you chuckle. “Yes, Eddie, you did good.”

He smiles wide.

Eddie stands from the bed, and you watch the way he sort of limps from his room. You can’t help your grin at the sight. At least that means you did good, too.

Eddie returns with a wet cloth in his hands, which he uses to clean you up first, wiping away all of your slick and his cum and even some of the saliva from your neck left behind by his sloppy kisses. He takes care in the way he does it, paying such close attention to you to ensure you’re just as clean and comfortable as he wants you to be.

When he’s done with you, he wraps his hand gently around your throat and pulls you in for another kiss. You lean into it. His kiss is like air in your lungs, and you sigh gently. Then he disappears again and comes back clean (and still deliciously naked—you enjoy the sight of his chain link tattoo curling around his upper thigh). He rustles through his drawers, pulling out another shirt, this one clean and not somewhere on the floor.

“You’re staying over, right?” he asks, as casual as ever as if he hadn’t just cum all over your stomach.

And, just as casually, you nod and turn onto your stomach to stretch again. “Mhm.” He tosses the shirt at you. It lands on your head, and you don’t move to put it on just yet. He picks up his sweatpants from the floor and puts them back on.

Eddie nudges you to the side so he can pull the covers back, and that’s when you sit up to put on his shirt. You stand, padding across his tiny room to turn off the lamp on his dresser, shrouding the room in relative darkness. When you climb back into the bed, you latch yourself onto his back and hold him to your chest. He’s really warm, and it feels nice to be this close.

Sometimes you wonder if you and Eddie are supposed to date. There’s nothing casual about your friendship, and there never really has been (especially not now). But you think that having Eddie as your best friend, perhaps just under unconventional circumstances, is the best thing there is. If you ever decide to get together, that’ll be a moment for a time in the (relative) distance.

For now, you just rest your ear against his back and listen to his heartbeat. “Eddie,” you mumble, bringing your leg up to rest over his body like he isn’t bigger than you.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

There’s a huff that you think is him chuckling. He pulls a hand up and pats yours a couple light times. “Anytime, mama.” There’s some silence. “I love you.”

You smile. You love your best friend Eddie.

“I love you, too. G’night.” He hums back at you.

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