#like “don't worry I love skinny guys” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary steve harrington is your boyfriend now. your boyfriend. and having a boyfriend means doing lots of new things, like dinner dates and movies, cuddling on the couch and kissing — lots of kissing. but there’s one thing you guys haven’t done yet, and steve’s just asked you to spend the night. [17.3k words]

warnings SMUT 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff heavy, new established relationship, first time, an overload of intimacy and affection, p in v sex, pet names, steve being the most loving dork on the entire planet and r being equally infatuated, mentioned that r has stretch marks, proofread not perfect

this is a companion to have you seen her? you don’t have to read it to understand, but if you want to it’s here <3

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Inside a sea of flowers lies a girl. Her skin glows with colour, the reflection of pigments. Sunspots of darkest red buffeted by buttery orange, indigo stretching into magenta, whites; endless whites ranging from creamy ivory to the violet shine of snow in the nighttime.

It's as if the flowers themselves bloom over your skin. Steve blinks and everything settles, your skin returns to skin, the reflections fade from focus. You stretch your leg out absentmindedly and lean forward to follow the book resting against the top of your thigh, entirely distracted.

The room smells as bright and fresh as the florist's itself. The flowers he'd given you, more than he could ever name, permeate everything. Most remain in good condition two weeks later, where some wilt despite your dedicated care.

Your fingertips are pin-pricked by the thorns of a rose's stem, injuries sustained in the hours you've spent preening each bouquet. You bring one such fingertip to your lips and suck lightly for a moment like it'll draw the small pain from your skin.

He leans against the doorway and takes in your appearance indulgently. Plaid pyjama bottoms hug your thighs. Your socked feet wiggle along to the sounds of your Walkman, music loud enough that you've missed his entrance.

He doesn't want to scare you into flinching and ruin the content little bubble you're in but he's certainly not about to turn around and leave after waiting all day to see you, no matter how selfish it might be to disturb you. I'm only human, he thinks.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. You don't hear him.

Steve bends at the waist to unlace his shoes before stepping onto the plush carpeting of your room. He weaves between vases and skinny buckets, repurposed cookware and every mug you own, worried that one wrong move will domino your intricate arrangements and spill flowers everywhere.

You catch sight of him before he's made it to your side. You flinch as he suspected you would, only a small jump but a jump nonetheless.

Steve's face creases in sympathy as you pull off your headphones, orange foam padding around your neck. "I'm sorry," he says, expecting you to be at least a little peeved at his sneaking. "I knocked, I swear."

You abandon your book carelessly and are only slightly kinder to your Walkman as you tug the headphones from your neck.

"Steve," you say, smiling.

"That's me. Hey."

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, white sheets rumpled in your wake as you scramble to your feet. Steve doesn't know who does what first but he opens his arms and you've opened yours and you fit into the circle of his embrace like you were made to.

"Sorry to scare you," he says.

You're not as confident as he is. Where Steve throws his arms over your shoulders, quick to press his mouth to the skin of your forehead, your hands draw tentative lines up his back.

To be touched so carefully is numbing in the best way. Steve wonders how his affection for you can continue to grow, more when you laugh half-breathless into his chest and look up, pinning him with your bright gaze.

"That's okay," you say, your happiness to see him palpable. It makes his chest hurt.

Steve puts some space between you to hold you at arm's length, one hand clasping your shoulder and the other following the curve of your neck.

He feels almost too happy to speak, like the words won't come out right. You seem to feel similarly, smiling wide, your lips pressed together tightly.

"I missed you," he says finally. Your reaction emboldens him; your eyes crease with pleasure and he has to duck down for a kiss.

Just one, pressed chastely to the skin left of your cupid's bow. You lift your chin in reaction, your hands searching up towards his shoulder blades.

"I missed you too," you say.

He decides to push his luck and kiss you properly. Your lips are warm under his and your cheek is aflame under his hand as he cradles your face.

"Haven't been lying out in the sun again, have you?" he asks as he pulls away. Your eyes flutter open.

"Huh? No, I've been reading inside all day."

"Good. You'll get sick, you sunbathe so much," he chides with no real heat.

He squeezes your face mildly and you steal another quick kiss. Steve would let you steal as many as you want to no matter the duration, but you stick to just one.

"Are you hungry?" you ask. You don't wait for an answer, skirting around him.

His hands miss your skin as soon as you're out of reach. He follows you to the kitchen like a lost dog hungry for scraps – scraps of your voice in the shadow of your exhale, any small flash of your skin, the back of your wrist as you pull open the refrigerator door. Steve situates himself by the sink so he can see your face. Your arms quickly grow heavy with fresh vegetables and a precarious china dish, a familiar carafe slipping in your fingers.

"Here," he mutters, reaching for the glass carafe with both hands.

"Thank you," you say, giggling. "Thought I was gonna drop it."

You set everything down on the clean counter. The sun kisses your skin where it shines golden-orange through the window. A bouquet of tulips sits in the sill, thin petals translucent and bright like the bulbs are made up of sweet maraschino cherries.

"I would've caught it."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Super fast reflexes. LaRusso style," he says, putting down your carafe. Fruit slices and rose petals bob on the water's surface.

"The Karate Kid?" you ask, pushing up your sleeves.

He smiles as you walk towards him. "Exactly. You like that movie?"

You turn on the faucet and wash your hands without looking, your eyes drawn to his face. "I loved that movie. I've only seen it twice, though. Once at the movies, once with Dustin."

"You watched it with Dustin?" he asks.

Your eyes flit between the sink and his face as you turn off the faucet and shake your wet hands over the basin. "Yeah, and his mom. She's really nice, you know?"

"She's a real treasure. It's her kid I'm not too sure about."

You laugh and he loves it, less when you flick your still-wet hands at him and pattern him in tap water.

"Stop, idiot," he protests, leaning away from you.

"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather."

"Sure."

You grin over your shoulder and flounce to the counter where your wooden chopping board resides. He's desperate to be close to you but doesn't want to look it.

It's too early to show her how much of a total loser I am, he thinks, turning to the sink and washing his hands so he can help you make dinner and steal some closeness.

"Did you have a crush on him?" he asks.

"Dustin?" you ask, horrified.

Steve laughs and rubs the slippery bar of soap between his palms. "No, weirdo, Daniel LaRusso. The Karate Kid."

"Nah, Mister Miyagi was more my type."

Steve drops the bar of soap into the basin and struggles to pick it back up, only pausing in his panic when he hears your self-satisfied giggling. It's infectious.

"That's so sick. Dude was ninety years old," he says, rinsing the suds off.

"I'm kidding!"

You're still laughing to yourself when he joins you. You've already chopped the inedible tops off of three long carrots and peeled them. You start to cut them into uniform batons, your quick peeling and knife work both impressive and daunting to Steve, who's only just weaned himself off of a steady high school diet of TV dinners and chips.

He shakes his hands at you. Flecks of water hit you and shine on your skin like the fine mist of morning dew, a dampened flower. You smell like one, though Steve supposes that's inevitable when you're sleeping surrounded by a crush of petals every night.

"Can I help?" he asks.

You blow a raspberry. "I should kick you out."

He flicks more water at you and you hide your face in your shoulder, the soft skin of your cheek pulled cruelly.

"Don't hide."

"Stop flicking me."

"It's raining, babe. I don't control the weather," he says dryly.

Finely spritzed, you open your eyes just enough to see him through your lashes, smiling like you wish you weren't. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, mostly because they're dry enough now that any flickage is negligent, and because you're much too pretty to be hiding away. The sun has begun to set, its descent marked by a gaussian blur spreading across the countertops and cabinets, your arms blanketed in a glow. Steve finds your face practically dietific to begin with – the light makes you something else entirely.

He wants to say something too heartfelt, say, Fuck, you're so pretty.

He's not that brave.

"You want a drink?" he asks.

"Yes please. You know where the cups are?"

He grabs two glass cups from the cabinet othweise pillaged for makeshift vases to your left and you cut the celery, a small lull in conversation filled only by the crisp crunch of your preparations and the slosh of Steve's pouring. The flower petals have bled their pigments into the carafe's cold water and turned it a transparent vermillion, something so quietly inordinate that he can't not mention it.

"The water's purple, babe," he says.

"Huh?" you ask. You hold the cutting board aloft, your knife guiding chopped vegetables into a shiny metal colander.

"The water," he says, punctuating his claim with a sharp click as he puts your glass down in front of you.

You discard your knife distractedly. "Oh. It must've been the rose petals."

"Can we still drink it?"

"Sure we can. Rosewater is really good for you. Though I'm not sure if this counts as rosewater, actually, I think you have to steep the petals in hot water first."

You shrug your shoulders and bring your glass to your mouth.

Steve frowns. "Are you sure?" he asks worriedly. He doesn't want you to get sick, especially from flowers he brought you.

You get a crease between your eyebrows, lips pursed quizzically. "I'm sure. You worry too much, Stevie," you say.

It's like being struck. You've never called him that before.

The nickname had sounded easy as breathing for you to say and had felt easier, felt right, like you'd used it a hundred times before.

He laughs, says, "Fine, but if you turn purple don't say I didn't warn you," and proceeds to work himself into a poorly contained frenzy.

He takes the colander to the sink and washes the carrot and celery sticks more thoroughly than he needs to whilst he composes himself. He listens with ears made keen by his racing heart as you turn on the stove. The fan hums. There's a loud crackling as you peel back the aluminum foil covering a medium sized casserole dish.

"I forgot to ask you, you like buffalo wings, right?"

He turns off the faucet and almost misses your question, too busy thinking So she called you Stevie, are you twelve? Get a hold of yourself, you-

"What?"

"I can make something else, if you don't."

Steve shakes the colander to drain any excess water as he reassures you. "No, that's okay. That's perfect. I love wings, and I'll love them double if you're the one making them." After all, you make a mean BLT.

The oven door swings open and he turns in time to watch you bend at the waist and insert the dish of chicken wings, your eyes narrowed. Adorable.

You straighten up and dust your hands off, bumping the door closed with your hip. "Awesome. Here, let me-" You take the colander from his hand like you're going to whiz away and then evidently change your mind, stuttering to a jolting stop. "Thank you," you tell him earnestly.

"You're welcome. You did all the hard work," he says, caught off guard.

"Super hard work, cutting up some carrot sticks," you say, mock-agreeably.

Steve reaches out to pinch your side. "Just because you made it look easy doesn't mean it is. It would've taken me double the time to make something, and it would've been, like, a grease fest," he says. "You already made the chicken, too, so that's more hard work you're not thinking about."

"The chicken marinades itself," you admonish lightly. You step on toes to kiss the high point of his cheek. "But thank you."

You turn to tip your veggie sticks into a bowl with a quarter inch of water at the bottom. Steve prods your kiss mark unthinkingly, the skin tingling from a combination of your gifted kiss and the affectionate tone you'd used.

"I got all kinds of dip. Hummus, artichoke and spinach, tahini, ranch. Do you like those?" you ask hopefully.

If he didn't he'd try and find a way. "Who doesn't like ranch?"

"I'll make fries too, okay?"

He really, really likes you.

Steve still looks kind of silly eating at your small kitchen table. You're in the seat that's crammed against the refrigerator and he's in the opposite. You're so close that your calves keep touching, often enough that you both forgo apologies in favour of sending the other a small smile. Less of an 'I'm sorry,' and more of a 'We touched again,' a confirmation that he's real and you're real and you're eating a home cooked meal that you made together.

He's so handsome, so ridiculously lovely, and the food is good but not good enough to keep your attention. Not when Steve takes a sip of water and his arm moves, the muscle beneath his skin shifts, pulls taut, and his shirt tightens around his bicep and you're just as hopeless as you were the very first time you'd invited him in.

He's saying something and it must be pretty funny because he's laughing, a chesty, giggling thing that sounds boyishly happy, like he just can't help it. You're not sure what he's laughing at but it's enough to set you off, infectious as it is.

"So Robin's in the back pretending to search for this movie that doesn't exist, and I'm thinking, shit, maybe I should call the police. Because he's got both hands in his pockets and, whaddya know, one pocket is like bulging out."

"Steve?" you ask, trying to sound forceful, befuddled that he's laughing at all. "Someone came into the store with a gun?"

His laugh peters off. "No," he says reassuringly. "Klondike bar."

He chews through a big mouthful of celery and you dissolve into giggles.

Cleaning up with Steve ends up being just as fun as cooking. He stands at your side with a hand towel wiping off dishes as you wash them, hip to hip.

"I can wash them," he says.

"That's okay."

You pass him a wet plate. He wipes it dry and sets it to the side. It could only be five minutes of this before you're done. Weirdly, you wish it had taken a little longer.

It's nice to spend time with him.

"I was thinking you could come over to my place tomorrow, if you wanted to."

Your heart flutters and you're hit with the realisation that you might get to do dishes with him tomorrow, and again, that today isn't a one off. That Steve likes you enough to kiss you and buy you flowers and invite you over.

"I've never been to your house," you say.

"I know. It's supposed to be really hot out tomorrow until seven. I thought you could sunbathe for an hour and I could keep an eye on you, you know. We can get takeout, listen to music," he continues, his voice soft, a melodic cadence to his suggestions.

Why is he trying to sell you on it? You hand him the last plate and twist, holding your dripping hands in the basin.

"I'd love to," you say, smiling. "Though I resent the idea that I need to be supervised."

"I just don't want all those brains to turn to mush." He puts the plate down on top of the others and reaches for your hands without saying anything, eyes on your face as he dries off your fingers gently. "Though you were super adorable when you had heat stroke. All clingy and giggly," he teases.

"Heat exhaustion," you correct. You feel like there's water in your ears.

"Mh-hm."

When your hands are to his satisfaction he swings the towel over his shoulder and takes them into his own, your fingers hooked gently over his. He rubs the fingernail of your index finger and then moves up, smoothing a path over your knuckles. He arrives at your pinky finger and wraps his index finger around it, massaging the length of it with the pad of his thumb.

"Are they still hurting?" he asks, hushed.

"A little bit. Not really, though. It's like after a splinter."

He holds your hand open, palm bared, his thumb pressed to the bottom of your last three fingers as he bends to look at your fingertips. Every touch, every detail, every movement he makes feels urgent to you, your heart racing fast as a mouse's.

"Poor girl," he mumbles to himself. He looks up and sees what must look similar to panic on your face. "Are you sure they're not hurting you? They look sore."

You're gonna say Yes, I'm sure, but he straightens up and brings your hand to his lips before you can muster the strength. He kisses your smattering of tiny injuries and grins when he's done, your entire body awash with a dizzying pleasure.

His hair is falling in his face. You take your kiss-warmed hand from his grip to tuck the longer strands behind his ear. Your heartbeat plays loud. You worry he can hear it.

You stall with your index finger shaking over his skin. Steve covers your hand with his, the look in his eyes unreadable, and you know he's going to kiss you.

You shut your eyes. His breath warms your lips as he closes in, his nose sliding against yours slowly. Your anticipation is a hand closing around your throat, at first a welcome touch and then dizzying breathlessness, an aching for the brush of his lips. He squeezes your hand where it cradles his cheek.

"Breathe," he whispers in bemusement. "Breathe, baby."

You suck in a breath and lift your chin as Steve knocks your nose with his and crosses the distance, his lips parted just slightly. Your head moves back under his kiss, your eyes screwed too tight. Steve takes your hand from his face and guides it over the slope of his shoulder until you're cupping his neck, his fingertips trailing down the length of your arm and moving under, palm to your shoulder blade. He pulls you in, makes the softest little sound against your lips that tickles madly and has a warmth like the setting sun filling your chest.

He kisses slow and sweet, his lips a softness against yours. You can feel as he starts to smile, as he takes your face into his hand, almost pulling at your skin in efforts to be impossibly nearer.

He laughs first, a huff that fans over your twin smile. You can't help but join in as you search up, ardent and excited, laughing into his open mouth until every kiss is a struggle.

"Y/N," he says. It doesn't even sound like your name. He could've said babe or baby or sweetheart and it would've burned the same.

"Do you have to go home?" you ask knowingly, reluctantly opening your eyes.

He strokes your cheek with the back of his hand.

It's getting late, a warm Thursday evening becoming night. The street lamps outside burn yellow-white in the darkening sky and the flowers on the sill have lost their shine. Steve is the brightest thing in the room.

He checks his watch and frowns. "I probably should."

"But I'll see you tomorrow?" you check.

"Did you wanna stay the night? I'm not working Saturday."

You have the first thought that most girls your age might have at a new love asking that question: sex. For a moment, a split second of a moment, Did you wanna stay the night? becomes Do you wanna have sex with me?

You give him a guilty smile and he mistakes it for something else. He says, "You don't have to, I can drive you home. And uh, you know, I would…" You bring your hand back to his face. "We wouldn't do anything you don't wanna do."

"I know," you say quickly. "Yeah, I wanna stay the night." Which is scary to admit. Scary to want.

Whether anything happens or it doesn't, you want to go.

You walk Steve out and he kisses you goodnight chastely. You watch him all the way to his car and wave as he drives away, standing in the doorway until his tail lights are a mere suggestion of white in the distance, small and bright as a pearly star.

Robin shrieks as her chair reclines back as far as it can. "Shit, why does it go back this far?"

Steve is more than tired from a full day of work and while he loves Robin to the point of dying for her, he can't handle stupid questions. His short fuse is further shortened by missing you, and he groans.

"You fucking reclined it all the way?"

Steve watches in the rear view as she raises her eyebrows and hugs herself with both arms. "It went down too easy, is all I'm saying."

"That's all?" he asks.

He knows exactly what she's implying and he refuses to feed into it, even when she hums to herself happily. Her happiness lasts for only a few seconds before she's springing up and giving herself whiplash.

"You haven't actually fucked in this seat, right?"

"Christ, Robin."

Her nose wrinkles. "Have you?"

"No! No, I haven't done anything in here… in a while. And me and Y/N haven't-" He bites his tongue.

"You haven't?" she asks. There's no teasing to be detected in her voice, only curiosity.

He keeps his eyes on the road but his thoughts travel elsewhere. You're so close he convinces himself for a second that he can smell your sweet floral scent, a hundred different flowers clinging to your skin. He lets himself sink further, imagining the feeling of your cheek under his hand and the softness of your skin and fine hairs, the shape of your eyes as he leans in.

"Loverboy?" Robin asks expectantly.

Steve clears his throat. "What?"

"Ew, you're being disgusting."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to," she says, and then laughs. "In deep, huh?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious! I'm serious, you like her. And it's nice," she draws the word out hesitantly, "to see you happy. I guess. After I broke your heart, and all."

He doesn't blush like he might have before. Steve had liked Robin, a lot, and it was easy to understand why: she's the first real friend he's ever had. He's more than over his crush now, platonic (with a capital 'P') suits them well.

"Thanks, Robs," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

"You're welcome." She whistles. "So, you haven't fucked?"

Steve turns his face. "Don't you think that's, like, a private thing?"

"I'm your best friend."

"Y/N is an entire other person who isn't your best friend."

"I'm not gonna tell anybody."

Steve knows that. He sighs to himself, conflicted. He doesn't wanna kiss and tell but he does need advice. "She's staying over tonight."

"Ah, huzzah!" Robin cheers. Steve worries his eyes might get stuck inside his head from all the rolling. "And you're gonna…"

He chews his lip. "I don't think so. I think I scared the shit out of her when I asked her to spend the night."

"I doubt that, she still said yes. But, you know. Not all of us lose our V-card when we're in junior year."

He hadn't even thought about that. "Shit. Having a girlfriend is terrifying."

Robin laughs and throws the seat back up. "If she's scared, it might not even be about hooking up. You've been together for, what, a week?"

"Two weeks today."

Robin nods thoughtfully and then shrugs. "Forget about sex and everything and just have fun."

"I'm not a nympho." He isn't. He doesn't care if you want to hook up or not (though care might be indelicate – he won't lie and say he hasn't thought about it).

"I know. I'm just saying, there's no point worrying about if you will or won't."

He takes the turn onto Robin's street. Her house comes into view, and he suddenly realises, "I wasn't worried until you brought it up!"

"Then forget I said anything!" she shouts back, laughing.

Steve laughs too as he pulls up at the curb outside of Robin's house.

"It's fine," he says decidedly. He's still worrying about it because if you do want to hook up he's not exactly in practice right now, but underneath it is that building anticipation, an excitement. "Fuck, she's so fucking pretty, Robin."

"Sure is, idiot," Robin agrees, unbuckling and kicking open the door. "Wear a rubber or your kids will be pretty, too."

She closes the door with a smug smile.

"You're awful!" he calls at her retreating figure. She waves over her shoulder and doesn't look back.

Steve drops his head into the wheel and startles himself when it beeps.

By the time he's pulling up outside of his house he's forgotten all his sex-related nerves, any anxiety occluded by a want to see you. He rushes to clean up the huge mess he's made over the week in the kitchen and the smaller mess in the living room, soda cans and take out and all the gross things he'd rather die than have you see.

He throws open every window and heads out to the back yard to make sure the pool is actually swimmable. The sun is high but falling. The day's most punishing heat is over. Perfectly safe for sunbathing.

He doesn't have anything fancy but he fills a jug with water and tops it with badly cut orange slices to cool in the fridge while he waits for you.

Steve stretches, smells himself, realises he smells like sweat and checks his watch in alarm. Your visit is fast approaching but if he does it quickly he can shower before you get here.

He's not right. He's still in the shower when you knock the door. Steve almost kills himself as he scrambles over wet tiles. He's still basically soaking as he drags his clean clothes on, hair sopping and quickly saturating the neck of his shirt.

You smile when he opens the door, though your smile quickly fades. "I'm sorry, were you showering? I know I'm early, I just wanted to see you."

You look like you always do – pretty, so pretty, your hair a little messy, your shirt crinkled at the bottom, the slit in your skirt showing a tantalising stripe of your thigh. A breezy, thin outfit for the hot weather.

Steve couldn't say why but he needs to kiss you badly. He takes your shoulder into his hand to hold you in place and kisses the corner of your smile, your cheek, the small stripe under your earlobe. He lingers there for longer than the others, feeling the ever-present heat of your skin beneath his lips. He presses a second kiss over the first and then pulls away.

"Don't be sorry," he says. He pats your face. "I'm glad you're early. I wanted to see you more, I swear."

"You make everything a competition," you grumble, though your eyes evidence your bliss.

Steve leads you into the living room and you drop your backpack onto the couch. The sight of it makes him fawn, because you really are staying the night and you look cute and you'd wanted to see him. It's enough to make him ecstatic. It likely shows on his face.

You turn on your heels, taking it all in. "You have a really nice house, Steve."

"I'd say thank you, but it's all my parents'."

"Where are they?" you ask.

Where are they usually? He doesn't really know. "Chicago, I think? My dad's on business and mom always goes with him, so…"

You turn your eyes from the open patio door and back to Steve where he stands in the middle of the room towel drying his hair. "Lucky me, I get you all to myself," you murmur.

"Do you wanna take your shoes off?" he asks. "There's water in the fridge. Are you hungry?"

You peek up at home where you've bent down to unstrap your sandals and smile. "I'm good, Stevie," you say softly.

When you've stepped out of both sandals you hold them by the straps and they dangle from your hand, swaying with your steps as you walk towards him.

You look up at him and tilt your head to one side. Always charming, Steve's fondness for sky rockets.

"Are you okay?" you ask, a murmur, raising your hand to his bicep. Your fingers slip under his sleeve. "You seem frazzled. Long day?"

It felt endless, knowing that you'd be waiting for him.

"I'm fine. I'm good. I'm great, actually. Got a whole night with my girl."

"And tomorrow, too," you say, sounding as happy as he feels.

"What are we gonna do with it all?" he says teasingly.

Again, a flash of that nervous smile. He hadn't meant to insinuate anything at all. He's about to clarify when you bring your hand to his collar and kiss him.

Steve really likes your hands, he's fascinated by them, the way you move them and the way they feel, their tentative but tender touch as you feel along the ridge of his collar bone. You come to a stuttering pause as he kisses you harder, the wet of your tongue addictive as he opens you up.

He takes your face into both hands and pushes your face to one side so he can move in closer, thumbs careless where they press into your cheeks. You taste like something sweet and the sound you make is sweeter as he dedicates himself to your top lip, a quivering breath as he slows.

He tries not to feel smug at the lost glaze in your eyes when they blink open.

Your bottom lip shines. He wipes it clean with his thumb. "You wanna go sunbathe now?" he asks mildly.

You nod like he thought you would, slow, but then there's a sudden clarity on your face. "I brought you something."

You move out of his reach and he follows. You're only stepping towards the couch where your backpack rests, unzipping it and in no rush as you pull your pajamas out and lay them on the cushion. He tries very hard to pretend he hasn't noticed your underwear, a pair of pink lacy panties, but he thinks maybe you can tell as you turn to him with a tupperware of cookies in your hands.

"More flower shortbread?" he asks happily. "You spoil me."

"I think you're someone who deserves to be spoiled."

Steve's mouth goes dry. He holds his hands out for the tupperware and hugs it to his chest, throwing a hand around your shoulders to tug you close. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome."

He takes your hand and pulls you out into the backyard. You beam, your head tilting back to take in the warmth of the fading sun.

Steve drags two sun loungers close together and you waste no time in stretching out on one.

You bloom.

There's no other word for it. You unfurl like the petals on your beloved flowers. Your body relaxes completely. Steve reaches across the gap to take your hand again and they hang between your languid bodies.

You're smiling as you balance your red shiny Walkman across your chest and click play, adjusting the volume until the feminine scratch of Cyndi Lauper echoes over the concrete space of his backyard. You close your eyes soon after, and Steve knows he might not get as much conversation out of you as he craves but it's worth it to see you like this, to hold your hand.

He struggles to open your tupperware with one hand but doesn't consider letting you go, eyebrows furrowing at the stubborn lid.

When it clicks it's loud and he inhales fast, worried the entire thing is gonna topple off of his chest and your perfect shortbread biscuits will be destroyed. Flower petals adorn the top. Steve picks them off while you're not looking – they're beautiful, of course, and don't taste like much, but the texture is super weird.

"How was work?" you ask.

He takes a big bite of shortbread. "It was fine. I mean, it was fucking boring as hell. We watched Back to the Future again."

"I've never seen that movie."

"Never?"

"No. Is it good?"

He squeezes your fingers and pushes the rest of the shortbread into his mouth. It's not too sweet. You've dusted the tops with fine sugar that melts in his mouth and the crumbly texture is awesome, better than any store bought cookies he's ever tried.

He swallows and lets his head fall back, greedy enough to pick up a second one. "Wanna hear a story?"

You turn your head towards him and your eyes crack open. "A good one?"

"Depends on your politics."

You close your eyes. "Tell me."

"The first time I saw Back to the Future was at the Starcourt mall with Robin. We were high out of our minds, total whitey's. And I had a concussion, so I was… worse."

Your eyes open fast. Your one shoulder lifts, like you might have to protect him from something. "What?" you ask, frowning.

He pulls your hand towards him, a tug, not to come closer but more in an everything is okay, kind of way.

"It's fine. Anyways, we laughed our asses off and left before the end. The first time we watched it sober I thought it was the wrong movie."

"Why did you have a concussion?"

He shakes the tupperware at you until you take one. Only when you've bitten into it does he answer, though he's not entirely truthful, "It was like, you know how there was a fire?" he asks. You nod. "Well, everything in starcourt was fucking janky, and we went down this one elevator shaft and- concussion." He explains without explaining. He doesn't lie.

No way is he ready to tell you about all the weird shit he's had to deal with. Not yet. He doesn't wanna scare you off or scare you at all, and the upside down shit is fucking terrifying.

You take his explanation without any suspicion and he feels a little guilty.

"You should get workers comp," you say, brows pinched.

He chuckles and rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. Being cared about like this is so weird, he thinks. How mad and worried you are over something that happened before you knew him makes him feel hot, something electric and melting on top of his chest.

"You wanna be my lawyer?" he asks, grinning.

You reach for another shortbread. "I wouldn't know the first thing about it."

"You'd look cute in a suit, though."

"Shush," you mumble. You roll your thumb over your shortbread until the flower petals fall off. "They're so pretty but they feel so weird. Maybe I shouldn't put them on there."

He looks at the scattered flower petals on the floor to his left where you can't see them. "Nah, I like 'em."

You glow. "If you like them I guess I'll leave them on there."

"That's generous. You'd never be a good lawyer."

"Lawyers can be generous! They do stuff for free, right? Pro-bono. Like that one movie last year, with the guy who kills his wife, but he doesn't kill his wife, but he totally does, um…"

"Jagged Edge."

"Jagged Edge! Exactly."

"Was she pro bono?" he asks sceptically.

"Maybe not," you say, and laugh. "That movie sucked."

"Better than Back to the Future."

You choke on a laugh and pull your hand out of his to dust yourself off. He misses your touch but doesn't complain, clicking the lid back onto your tupperware and hiding them under the lounger from the heat. The sunshine is amazing, not too suffocating but definitely warm enough to melt him into jelly. He'd been a little worried about wearing shorts rather than jeans but you hadn't mentioned anything.

He combs his hair out of his face and wonders if it looks awful. It probably does. Only the strands closest to his neck feel chilly with damp, half dried by the sunshine.

"Steve," you say shyly.

He turns back to you and you're sitting up, one leg off the lounger.

"What?"

"Can I… you don't mind if I take off my shirt, do you?" you ask.

He's quick to assure you. "No way, beautiful. Throw it off."

You huff a laugh and cross your arms. Steve's fascinated by the way you take off your shirt, how you've dragged the front over your face where he would've grabbed the back and pulled indelicately. Your back arches and your chest moves up as it comes off.

You're wearing some sort of animal print bikini top underneath, a cheetah or a panther or something. Steve watches the curves of your breasts rise as you breathe in and then snaps his gaze to your face, guilty. You aren't looking at him, busy fiddling with the Walkman in your lap.

"Do you have anything you wanna listen to?" you ask him offhandedly. "I brought this and A Night at the Opera, but if there's something else you wanted to-"

"Night at the Opera?"

"Queen?" you ask.

"Like Hammer to Fall?" he asks.

You turn to face him entirely, skirt ruffled by a gentle breeze. "That's their new one. Night at The Opera is from, like, '76? '75? It has that really long one. And there was," you start giggling, your words all jumpy and honeyed, "there's one called 'I'm in Love with my Car.'"

"Sounds like an album for me. I'll go get it."

You spring up, something he can't read on your face. You look fucking insane shirtless, all soft and shiny, the lightest sheen of sweat illuminating the hills and dips, the slope of your shoulder, the lengths of your arms. "No, I'll do it. I'll get the water at the same time."

He watches you pass back into the house from over his shoulder. "It's in the fridge!" he calls.

"I guessed!"

He wonders for a second why you'd sounded nervous before remembering your underwear. His cheeks go a similar colour as he tries not to think about it, only he can't not think about it. They had not constituted a great deal of fabric, and then he's wondering how much the current ones are made up of and feeling guilty for that too.

She's my girlfriend, he thinks. I can think about these things. Not, like, obsessively. But in passing. God, she's fucking beautiful. He descends into a panicked reasoning.

Steve scrubs his face with his hand and looks out over the pool. It's been a while since they used it. He can't say he wants to use it after last time, and he definitely wouldn't consider any night time swimming but if you want to splash around in there in the daylight hours he's not gonna stop you.

You flounce back onto the patio with the cold jug in your hands and two glasses hugged to your chest, the cassette in the other. "Here, Stevie, can you-"

"Yeah." He stands up. He takes the cassette and jug from you and you manoeuvre the glasses into your hands. "Swap?" he asks.

You swap one glass for the cassette and the two of you sit down in tandem. Steve pours water for you both as you take Cyndi Lauper out, the cold a blessing. He holds his glass to his face and sighs.

"It's still hot even though it's late," you say knowingly.

"Endless Indiana summer." You're struggling with the cassette, your lips puckered in confusion. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I think I jammed it."

He watches you struggle with the lip that doesn't wanna open. "Pass it over?" he offers.

You pass it as soon as he asks, moving to sit by his side. He's very gentle with the small machine that you've once or twice affectionately monikered your 'baby'. He doesn't know a lot about tech and doesn't know why he offered. It had felt automatic. You had a problem and he just wanted to fix it.

The button that usually opens the door is pressed down, but the door is closed. He digs his fingernail under the button and pulls it up until it pops back into place and tests the play button.

The cassette starts to spin.

"Sticky button," he says easily.

Your thigh presses into his. "You're a genius, Harrington."

"That's Steve to you, babe."

You laugh and shift ever closer, until your arm is pressed to his arm, both perspiring lightly and too warm to really be touching like this. He should pull away, or you should. One of you should.

"Whatever you say…Harrington," you murmur through the corner of your mouth, smiling so nicely that he can't be bothered to argue.

He tucks his hand between your arm and your naked chest and pulls it toward him. You drop your head against his shoulder and turn the Walkman in your hand.

"How's your brain? Jello?" he asks lightly, flexing his fingers against the crook of your elbow and resting his head on top of yours carefully

"Jello pudding pops," you say wistfully. "You remember those? I haven't had one of those in years. Think they still make 'em?"

Your question is out of the blue. Enough to worry him some more.

He brings the arm furthest from you to your head and brushes his pinky finger up from your eyebrows to your hairline. "You feel warm."

"I'm perfectly fine, nelly."

"I'm allowed to be nervous. You were kind of out of it last time."

"We've barely been out here for thirty minutes," you argue with barely any heat.

His hand smooths down to your neck and then back up. He pulls your cheek back with his thumb and then drops his hand. "Just tell me if you feel sick, okay?"

"I promise I'm fine."

"Jeez," he groans, his lips barely parted. A fond annoyance. "Think a guy was asking the world."

You let your weight lean on him, the hand of the arm he's hugging moving around his back until you've found his side. You move it up and down sluggishly.

Like this, Steve has a perfect view of your lovely shoulder. One hidden behind, the other bared.

"You're beautiful," he says.

You tense up and he hates it, bringing his hand to your coveted shoulder. He rubs a line up the soft slope, the curve of your neck and then down again until you've relaxed.

"You… can't even see my face," you murmur. Your breath is a small hot patch into his sleeve.

"I don't need to see your face," he says, feigning a frustration he doesn't feel. "Think I haven't stared at you enough to know? And I was talking about your shoulders."

You laugh and drag your face up. "My shoulders?"

"Well I can only see one. But I assume the second is just as nice."

"You're weird," you say.

There's a certain weakness to it. He thinks maybe you need to hear him say it again. He doesn't hesitate.

"You have nice shoulders."

You shake your head almost imperceptibly. Steve takes the player from your lap and turns it down by half, putting it on the floor with the water jug.

Your legs poke into his as he encourages you towards him.

"Come on," he says, "I don't bite, babe. 'Less you ask me to."

"You'd like that, you sicko."

He laughs and really bundles you up, a too warm hug where your face presses to his shoulder and his hovers above yours. He squeezes and drags his hand down your arm, rough but not cruel.

"What are you doing?" you ask.

"Shh, I'm busy."

You've wrapped your arms around his waist loosely. Steve tugs your thigh over his until your legs are overlapped, as close as you can be while sitting side by side like this. He'd pull you completely into his lap if he thought you'd let him.

He can feel your smile.

His hand soothes a kinder path over your arm before he gives in. Shyly at first, Steve drops his mouth to your shoulder and leaves it there, barely a kiss.

Don't be a loser, he thinks.

Cautious but sincere kisses. He drops them in a uniform line down your arm, your sunned skin hot under his lips. Kisses not meant to be anything but kisses, little worships, a scattering of affection. Indiscriminately. His mouth passes over blemishes, beauty marks, the fine hairs at the top of your arm. You curl tighter around his waist.

He kisses back up the hill of your shoulder and his lips part. He sucks very, very gently, kissing the same spot until he's adorned your skin with shiny crescent moons. He doesn't know how long he kisses you for. He doesn't want to stop, or pause, or do anything but this.

His hands have moved to your back. One toys with the tie of your bikini top unthinkingly, the other rubbing your shoulder. You're limp in his arms.

He rubs his nose against your shoulder for long, quiet minutes. Perfumed by a thousand flowers and yet you still smell like yourself underneath it, your skin an indescribable scent and secret, something he selfishly doesn't ever want to share. Steve can't make himself move from you and you don't seem inclined either.

He groans. "Alright, you hungry?" he asks.

Your fingers stretch across his back. "Maybe."

"I'll call Mazzio's. What do you want?"

"Anything."

Steve pulls back to give you a fierce look. "Just tell me. I gotta know your favourite toppings. S'like, a boyfriend thing."

"A boyfriend thing?" you repeat, smiling wide.

You tell him what you like and he squeezes your shoulder, disappearing into the house to call the pizza place. When he returns you've laid out in his lounger, your eyes closed like you're sleeping. The worst of the heat has fallen away and cloud cover threatens to give you the chills.

"Come inside?" he asks from the doorway.

"No… come and give me another hug. It was nice."

"I bet it was," he mutters, a feigned irritation that's completely overturned by how quickly he does what you tell him to.

The lounger isn't big enough for both of you. Steve's already laughing as he climbs on top of you, careful but not really as he crushes the fabric of your skirt with his knees and thighs and wraps his arms tightly around your neck, rubbing your foreheads together roughly.

"This what you meant?" he asks through a grin.

"No."

Steve's bed smells of him unequivocally. You're trying to withhold from lying down and sniffing, wondering curiously if that's something you're 1) allowed to do, and 2) supposed to want to do. Is it odd to like the way he smells as much as you do? That familiar bergamot, the almost smokey undertone of lavender, cedar. It makes you feel doped up. Your happiness has you heavy-limbed.

"You head up, okay? I'm just gonna lock the door," he'd said.

So here you are, backpack at your feet. After greasy takeout and an entire movie holding hands you think you're probably as content as it's possible to be in this body and in this life.

You hear Steve's footsteps up the stairs and lie down flat against his pillows, turning your face to sniff indulgently, the fabric cold under your cheek.

He walks in and he's all rumpled clothes and smiles, his hair in total disarray like you've never seen. As soon as he's crossed the threshold he's pulling off his polo and you think Oh fuck, that was quicker than I imagined this happening. Your heart feels fit to explode but he's barely looking at you, his sights set on the huge oak dresser at the end of the room.

You watch his arms as he walks past, your heart a hummingbird as Steve says, "Did you pick a movie?"

You gawp at what you can see of his naked chest, the side of a pec. You've never seen him undressed like this. Your distraction leaves you quiet, and Steve turns to you with a soft looking t-shirt in hand.

"Baby?"

"I didn't," you say, your voice scratchy. "Uh, sorry. I just laid down and…forgot."

He bends forward a little before he puts the shirt on and his entire chest moves. You can't help but look at it. Steve has… Steve has pecs. Pillowy-

"Y/N?"

"Sorry," you say, blinking hard.

"Are you tired or something?" He turns back to the dresser and opens a different drawer and pulls out a pair of sweatpants. "Don't look," he says teasingly.

You avert your eyes.

"Do you wanna change?" he asks when he's done, leaning back against the dresser with his arms crossed.

You don't know what Steve wants, if he wants to hook up or if he doesn't, and you don't mind either way. (A bad lie – you really, really want to.) (But it's cool if he doesn't want to.)

You won't be upset if he doesn't make a move, but if he does you'd prefer to be less sweaty.

"Can I shower? Not to wash my hair, just…"

"Sure you can."

Steve holds out his hand and you take it, grabbing your backpack as he pulls you off of the bed and into the bathroom. He drops your hand as fast as he'd taken it to open the cabinet under the sink. "Listen, the shower doesn't work. Well, it does, but the hot water only gets lukewarm and I don't know how to fix it. But the bath works fine. Uh…" He pulls a basket of girly toiletries out. "You can use whatever you want, my stuff or my mom's, whatever."

You stand by the tub. "She won't mind?"

"It's fine. I'll have to get you stuff next time you stay over." He moves you to the side with his hand on your hip and you look up as he moves down, turning the faucet. He holds his hand under the stream and messes with the temperature until he's satisfied. "Sorry. I should've thought about all of this before I asked you to spend the night."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I didn't think about any of that stuff either. It's like I said, I- I just wanted to see you. Wasn't thinking about shower gel."

You laugh awkwardly. It ebbs when he grabs your shoulder and gives you a little shake. "Half as much as I wanted to see you."

He ends the shake with a good rub of his thumb.

"Want me to get in with you?" he asks with a smirk.

You laugh and start shoving at his chest playfully. "Get out," you whine.

He puts his hands up in surrender and you close the door between you, unsurprised when his voice rings out against it. "You come here often?" he asks.

"Do you?" you ask. Your voice sounds loud.

You strip off your clothes and your bikini top and slip into the water.

"Every morning for the last twenty years."

"What do you recommend?"

"The three in one."

You gawp and giggle, horrified at his suggestion. You know he's lying, his hair's too nice to use something like that. There's a few seconds of silence where you shudder at the new heat and rub yourself down.

"Which shower gel is yours?" you ask, looking between bottles unsure.

"Just use whatever you want. What movie d'you wanna watch?"

"Can't you choose?" you ask, bringing each gel to your nose until you find the one that smells like him. You lather the soap between your palms and run it over your body.

"I picked the last one."

"And you're good at it!" You reason, laughing loudly at your own joke. Steve's reluctant chuckles echo from the other side of the door.

You go to ask, Why are you still standing there, dork? But you're afraid that asking will make him move, and you like him too much to want that to happen.

"You were half asleep, how do you know it was good?"

"You were rubbing my hand!" you argue.

"You liked that?" he asks. His tone is honest.

You cup water in both hands to wash off your shoulders. You don't want to answer and give yourself away. Of course you'd fucking liked it, is he kidding? Boys. No, you think, not boys. Steve.

And after the stunt he'd pulled in the back yard, too. The nerve.

Warm water laps at your naked stomach. You think about his lips running over your shoulder and how tenderly he'd held you. Suddenly the water feels scorching, and you climb out over the lip as Steve says, "How much longer?"

"Stop stalking me."

"You're taking forever."

It's barely been five minutes. You go dizzy with pleasure at the idea that he might miss you so badly, the implication that he likes you that much.

You wrap a towel around yourself and squat down to sort through the contents of your bag for your pajamas and underwear.

"I'm getting dressed," you inform him, putting your clothes on the counter so you can dry off.

"I've never been any good at that," he says.

You pull your underwear over damp thighs and laugh under your breath so he can't hear it and get spurred on. "At getting dressed?"

"Right. Just awful. You should see me in the mornings, it's like, what limb does this go on?"

You stop scrubbing the towel over yourself to ask, "Are you flirting with me?"

"I'm trying. You're dodging the punchline."

"Wouldn't you want me to teach you how to take them off, rather than on?"

"How presumptuous!" You can hear his smirk.

"What was the punchline?" you ask, eager to draw the attention back to his bad joke rather than your suggestion.

You pull your shirt over your head and step into your pyjamas pants, tying the strings into a neat bow.

"Well, because you're so ridiculously nice I thought you'd offer to teach me how to do it, and then I'd get to say something like, 'Baby, I'm a visual learner.'"

"That's awful," you mumble, bent at the waist as you hop into your socks.

He hears it anyways. "Say it to my face."

You look yourself over in the mirror. Fresh faced, shirt sticking to your damp chest, pajama trousers high on your hips. You tug your shirt over the waistband. An entirely normal outfit for a normal night.

You open the door and Steve falls onto his back into the bathroom, looking up as you look down. He must've been sitting with his legs hiked, too much weight on the door to fall in readily. You laugh guiltily.

"Are you okay?"

He blinks. His eyes look impossibly wide.

"Steve?" You tilt your head to the side.

"You look killer," he says.

You mime like a slasher over his prone body and try to do the sound effects. Steve giggles and you decide it's your new favourite sound. He covers his face with his hands, one shoulder lifting from the floor with the force of it. You've never heard him laugh like this, all high pitched and gasping.

You can't decide whether you want to kneel down and kiss him or kneel down and pretend to stab him to death. You think the latter will make him laugh some more and you'll do anything for that next hit, falling to your knees with a threatening hand poised above you.

When Steve laughs really hard his mouth opens in a big smile, all his top teeth on display and shining.

You drop your hand to his chest, having lost all steam. The need to tell him how handsome he is, pretty, lovely, beautiful, all of it, is maddeningly high. You don't want to ruin the moment and you won't, spreading your palm flat over his chest and leaning down.

"I'm gonna kill you," you murmur, lips barely parted as you look between both of his eyes, memorising their flush of dark lashes. You drag your hand down his torso. "Why are you laughing?"

"I mean, if I'm gonna die-" He blows a big puff of air up his face and his hair moves like sea grass. "I'm okay with it being you who kills me."

"You'd let me kill you, baby?" you ask, still quiet, bemused and endeared and on the precipice of something big.

"I'd let you do a lot worse," he says.

You brush the hair out of his face. "I don't wanna do any of that stuff."

"Good. I was getting nervous. Here, give me-" he lifts up off of the ground to kiss you once. A chaste peck that leaves you a smiling mess.

You climb off of him before he has to ask and put your hand out to help him up. He takes it but doesn't need it, surprisingly lithe as he stands and pushes you back into his room. You laugh when he encourages you none too gently into his bed again. He flips on the TV, swaps the VHS out for one you can't see and then joins you at the top, lying down with a suffering sigh.

He stretches and groans. You ogle him.

"What's the movie?"

"Don't laugh?" he asks.

"No, I won't."

He shifts so you're two halves of a heart curved towards each other. "Fast Times at Ridgemont High." You nibble the inside of your lip. "You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"Am I laughing, Steve?"

"Just about," he grumbles.

You don't know why but it feels more than natural to curl up towards him. Any insecurity is fixed quickly when he pulls you close, one arm behind your head and propping him up tall, the other coming over your waist loosely, his wrist to your hip but his fingers not touching you.

You have to turn your neck to see the TV across the room. After a few minutes it aches and you consider moving, then Steve manoeuvres to press his lips to your head and you forget all about it.

His shirt's ridden up. His stomach is soft from the way he's on his side, and you can see the dark trail of hair leading from his navel that disappears into the plaid of his pants.

You reach out to slip your fingers under the hem and wrap your arm around him, feeling the croft of silky hair at the small of his back. You trail up, your finger bumping over the smoothed ridges of horizontal stretch marks.

"Can you feel that?" you ask.

Steve slowly moves his elbow. His face level with yours, he asks, "Can you feel this?" He scratches his fingers lightly over your hip.

You giggle with your mouth closed. "Yeah, I guess it was a stupid question."

Steve moves back and you turn to look at him. You're very close. You're in bed.

"Wasn't stupid," he says quietly.

You raise your brows and incline your head to his until he's laughing.

"It was misguided," he allows.

"I don't know why- I mean, I have enough stretch marks. I know they're not-" you laugh, a bubble of sound that warms his lips, "not dead."

"Maybe yours are special," he teases.

"Wanna find out?"

He laughs and kisses you. Pressure that slowly builds, a chaste pressing of his lips to yours. It's miraculous how quickly your breathing syncs, how you're inhaling at every parting, how your mouths open at the same time. He takes in a big sigh that lights you up and pulls you in like it's nothing.

He dedicates himself to your top lip. There's urgency there that wasn't before, and you're feeling it too. His mouth a crescent of heat, he takes your lip between his and sucks gently. You gasp and your hand twists in his shirt.

"Shit, sorry," he says, "I haven't done this in-"

"It's okay. It's okay, I liked it."

"Yeah?"

You huff against his lips. He's smiling as he does it again. You shudder at the feeling of his teeth, his careless nipping, your hands searching for comfort.

Everything goes slow. He kisses slow, he touches slow. His hands move over your back, slip under your shirt and climb up. Not looking for anything, just looking.

Your hand climbs over his chest. You brush your fingers through the ends of his carefully before pushing up, weaving into the soft strands at the back of his neck. You rub his thumb over his skin in time with your kisses.

Steve encourages you onto your back. You feel a heat growing in your chest, somewhere lower, as he hovers over you, his lips pushing you down into a space that doesn't exist. Your fingers are busy learning the back of his head, fingertips moving over his scalp, scratching lightly as you trail back down to hold him in place.

You kiss up. Steve's hand knocks your shirt up your chest as he squeezes the skin just below your breasts, breathing hard.

He hesitates. His fingers pinch your shirt as if he's going to pull it back down.

"Steve," you murmur. "It's okay."

He kisses your cheek without looking at you, his eyes on your naked skin. "You sure?"

You bring your knees up until they brush his hip and push them away from him, petting the hair out of his face. "Yeah," you say, smiling.

More kissing. Steve ducks down and holds your face steady in one hand, giving you short-lived, wet kisses as his fingers approach your chest. He pauses, watching your face as his fingertips bump into the swell of your breast. "Okay?" he asks.

You lift your chin. "It's fine, Harrington."

"Steve," he corrects steadily, the pads of his fingers ghosting under your nipple to caress the side. His thumb rubs a quarter circle just underneath and you feel the soft skin perk up.

"Steve," you utter.

From there you endure some of the worst kisses of your life – worst as in, life changing, as in sticky, as in everything you've ever wondered about and more. You know you're hopeless. You feel yourself melt into nothing as he massages your peaking nipple, laughing into his mouth when he squeezes and hitching when he squeezes harder.

He pushes the small nub between his index and middle finger and his teasing stutters. He holds you like this and kisses you and you don't know how much time passes. With him, time feels implausible. Like a guideline you ignore.

When you think you might be more him than yourself he pulls away, leaving your lips hot and bruising.

"Can I take this off?" he asks, pulling the hem of your shirt over his finger. His eyes are so brown. You can't believe how brown they are.

"Please."

"Don't- You don't have to say please with me. Not with this, okay?" He rubs his hand over your breast and presses it deep into your heart. "Not with anything."

"You'll regret that," you say, heat like nothing you've ever felt in your chest and the tips of your ears.

"I don't think I will."

He kisses you again like he just can't help it and sits up enough to work your t-shirt from under your back. The excitement gets mixed up with enough insecurity then to make you nauseous.

Steve drops your shirt onto the floor and plants his hands on either side of you. "Oh, you're fucking pretty."

His eyes take you in. It surprises you when he spends half the time staring at your face, entirely too much of it at your eyes. "You know how pretty you are?"

"You tell me enough, Stevie," you mumble, aflame.

"Wanna hear it again?"

You don't say anything. His eyes bore into yours. His lashes kiss.

His grin is practically dietific as his lips curve up. "You're beautiful. 'So fine and pretty,'" he says, almost but not quite singing.

"You're just as handsome," you say, bringing your hands to his defined cheeks. You smooth your hands over his face and ears and hair, holding it all away from him. "You're…" You drop your hands to the curve of his neck and follow over his trap muscle. "You're amazing."

"Stop," he says. You take it for 'keep going'.

"Handsome sounds too formal," you mutter, almost to yourself, "but it's true. You're handsome. More than handsome, you're- you're funny and kind and-" You shake your head. "I think you're the first person I've ever wanted like this."

You don't mean to get emotional. 'This' comes out so rough it burns, and you swallow it all down, blinking fast.

"Like 'this'?" he asks.

He brings a hand to your face, holding your cheek like you're made of solid silver, like you might bend under his touch.

"Like this," you say again. "If you want to."

"I want to," he says, nodding happily. "Of course I do."

You laugh and he laughs. There's a gap where you're both thinking, Oh, we're doing this.

And then Steve's in motion.

He pulls his shirt over the back of his head and you're starstruck. His hair's a dark mess, the ends cast light by the TV. You reach up to smooth them down and it's too late, Steve's ducking down for a smattering of heavy kisses across your lips, one corner to the other. His nose taps into yours and you turn your face to accommodate him, his tongue a wet heat as he pushes it into yours. You reciprocate as best you can, eyes closed tight and hands all over the place. You start at his collar. One hand runs over the twisting of chest hair over his pecs and the other holds his face to yours. He curls his fingers around your wrist, the other paying some much needed attention to your neglected breast. He plays until both nipples are aching and then some.

He spreads your legs and your heart skips as he puts his knee between your thighs, lips starting a ruinous journey downward. He sets kisses like tiny sparks of heat against your jaw and under it, nose dragging down your neck as he turns. You cup the back of his head as his lips part, as he takes your flesh between his teeth and sucks tenderly.

"You smell like flowers," he says, kissing his half-hearted hickey.

"Some idiot bought me a florists," you tease.

His hand slides under your back. His knee presses to the bump of your cunt. "Best decision that idiot ever made," he says, words soaking into your neck, smothered.

You roll your hips shyly against his knee, a negligible friction as he rubs your back and scandalises your neck.

You lift your hips high and he gets the idea very quickly, fingers pinching at fabric until your thighs are out. He tries to move away and you hold him there, dazed by his ravenous attentions.

He laughs and strokes your arm. "I'm gonna take them off, okay?"

You drop your hands from his hair sheepishly and he moves back onto his knees.

"Pretty panties," he says. You don't think he's teasing.

"I thought you might like them," you tell him honestly.

"I do. They're dainty," he says, sliding your pajama pants off of your ankles. "Almost don't wanna take 'em off."

You feel a little bit nervous and decide to direct your attention to his own pants. There's a noticeable bulge at the seat of them. Your cunt twinges at the sight.

Steve's hands worship at your ankles. "Is everything okay?" he asks.

"This is the first time you're seeing me like this. I'm just nervous."

He pulls your foot onto his thighs and fiddles with the elastic of your sock. "If you could see what I'm seeing, I don't think you would be."

You try to imagine yourself as he sees you. Mostly naked and kiss mussed after a day of sun and fun and his affection, the dopey, slightly shy smile, with one arm crossed under your breasts and the other picking nervously at the lace of your underwear.

"You're fucking killer." He mimes a stabbing motion and you giggle. "I don't have to let you kill me, seeing you like this might just do it."

You let him keep your ankle in his lap but bring the other leg up, folding it across your thigh to hide your cunt from view. His eyes dip to the twin globes of your ass and he groans. Your ears strain to hear it.

"Are you gonna take them off?" you ask, eyes on the curve of his dick, eyebrows raised cheekily.

"You don't wanna take them off for me?" he asks. Your startled expression makes him giggle as he slides off of the bed and hooks his thumbs in the waistband.

He kicks them off, his boxers tighter than you'd pictured. You hike up on your elbows and bring your knees together, biting the inside of your lip as his hand drops to his cock. He readjusts the sizable length and a hiss of breath escapes him as he does.

"Fuck," he groans. "Shit, you're fucking- you're fucking everything."

You rub your thighs together coquettishly. "Come back and kiss me?" you ask. He takes a step forward. You tilt your head towards your shoulder. "Are you gonna take those off too?"

You had your suspicions, but the real thing makes your heart stop.

Steve kicks out of his boxers and holds his hands out. You spread your legs and he climbs on top of you, hands braced above your shoulders until he's negotiated himself into the gap. You feel the curve of his cock press into your stomach as he kisses you.

You try your best to be casual and let him kiss you, but you're curious and excited and you can't not think about it now that it's happening.

You stroke your hands down his back and leave them loose at his waist. "Steve," you whisper, breaking the kiss early.

"You wanna touch me?"

"Please?" you whisper.

"What did I say about please?" he murmurs. He doesn't sound very scolding.

"That I don't have to say it."

He leans back on his haunches. "So don't."

You sit up, hands between your laps and wringing. "Uh," you reach out. "Tell me if I do something wrong?"

He softens. "Sure, baby."

You lean in and Steve pulls you closer by the calves. Your hand trembles as you take his cock into your hands. He's thick. Fat. Girthier than you'd thought he would be and twice as hairy, though trimmed neatly at the outskirts, you slide your hand down to the underside of his shaft and pause.

When you align your hand, bottom of your palm to the very start of his shaft, the tip of your index finger misses the tip by two whole inches. You encircle him curiously.

"Spit in your hand," he says gently.

"Oh."

You spit into your hand and press it back into his cock, spreading it with loose strokes over veined ridges. The curls of his pubes brush your hand as you reach the bottom. The entire length of him jumps.

You're honestly dazzled. You laugh out of the corner of his mouth and look up at him with a happy smile. "You're packing a lot of heat here, Harrington."

He looks relieved. "Do you know how fucking scary it is when your girl has your dick in her hand and gets the giggles? I started second-guessing everything I thought about myself."

"I can see why you're popular with the ladies," you murmur, eyes bright with mirth as you dip down and kiss the tip where a dot of precum wells.

"Oh, don't, baby."

"Huh?" You sit up tall. "Do you wanna stop?"

"The opposite. I don't know how long I'll last, especially," he pulls you by the chin to his lips, "in this pretty mouth."

More giggles. He swallows them in their entirety, hand wrapped around your wrist to pull your fingers from his length. Your hands go limp, languid under his gentle kisses and featherlight touching.

You pull away from each other but fight to kiss anyways, cheeks aching with a smile as he steals one, another, a handful of sweet, catching pecks.

You pout as he pulls away.

"D'you wanna lie back?" he asks, hand behind his neck. He rakes his fingers through his hair.

You lie down with his pillows under your head.

Steve smooths his thumbs against the waistband of your panties.

"It's okay," you say, wiggling your hips from left to right encouragingly.

He drags them down. Over the slopes of your thighs and the hills of your knees, he slides them down to your calves. He pulls them off one ankle and they hang off of the other. You lift your leg and let the dampened pink fabric fall onto his rumpled sheets.

He crawls forward, hands hooking under your knee. "Lemme see you, babe."

You bring your legs up and spread your thighs, feet between his knees.

He takes his cock into his hand and tugs. "Fuck," he says, eyes heavy, "fuck, are you wet?"

"You've been kissing me for hours," you say bashfully.

"I'd kiss you longer if you're gonna let me. Can I touch you?"

You push your palm down to your cunt and spread yourself just slightly, more to get used to it than to tease him. "Yes, please."

Steve crawls until you're close and you settle your legs either side of him. He does as you'd done, pushing his thumb to the small well of slick at your entrance and spreading you open with his fingers. "Fuck," he says again. "Shit, baby. Look at you…"

He pushes his slick-wet thumb into the waiting bead of your clit. "There?" he asks.

You remember to breathe. "Yeah," you say, eyes drifting closed as he familiarises himself. You drop your head into his pillows, neck aching. "Right there."

"Aww," he says sympathetically, free hand pressed flat to the inside of your thigh, holding you open. "You have the cutest fucking pussy ever. Shit, i'so wet, you must have such a crush on me."

You smile to yourself and hide your face in a pillow that smells like him. "A huge one. It's kind of embarrassing."

"I bet it is."

His fingers probe your clit. It pulses under his touch, swollen and sensitive to every brush of skin.

"Can you come kiss me some more?"

He looks like he wants to argue.

"Please, Stevie."

Steve reaches over your chest and pulls open his nightstand, procuring a new box of rubbers. You flick his chest. "Is that a new box?"

"Maybe."

You kiss his shoulder and he rips one open with his teeth. "How many's in there?"

"Enough, you minx." He rolls it on.

Kissing. His weight pressed over you, his cock against your mess of slick. You whine as he grinds down into you hard, his tangle of dark curls a blessed friction.

His hips jerk back and the tip of his dick hits into your clit.

"Are you gonna tease me all night?" you ask.

"Hmm," he pretends to think about it, dropping his head next to yours, his arm wrapping around your neck. You turn your face to his. His eyes are closed and his smile is nearly peaceful, though the crinkle between his brows speaks to his growing desperation. It's as casual as any cuddle with him before. "I could."

"But you won't."

"No, I won't."

Steve gives you one last kiss and situates himself between your legs at full height, pushing your legs back until the tops of your thighs kiss the bump of your stomach. He takes his cock into his hand and guides the tip down the length of your crease. His head bumps your entrance.

You let one leg fall to the side, arm crossed under your rising chest, looking at Steve with bright, adoring eyes. He's beautiful above you, pumping his cock with one hand. The other plays at your weeping hole, fingertips dipping inside two at a time.

You clench around his fingers as they ease in.

"Shit, you're tight. You okay?"

You nod voraciously.

He spreads his fingers wide, his eyes rolling back showfully. "Fuck, babe… Gonna spread you wide open, yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Want you inside."

"Yeah?" His eyebrows are furrowed, a certain stress to his voice.

"Are you gonna make me say please?"

He takes your thighs into both hands and lines up. His grin is both salacious and adorable, a familiar mischief adorning his pretty features. "Never."

The stretch is a lot but he takes it slow. Really slow, his hands on your skin and constantly measuring your reaction. Which must be a super ego trip for him, because your face goes slack with pleasure and you have to focus a lot of energy on smiling rather than frowning; there's somethingwonderful about being this close to him. His cock pushes into you and you gasp with every gentle intrusion, every half inch of space he takes until he's halfway inside and staying there.

He bends over you and takes your face into his hand. You hadn't realised before you met Steve how often your face could be held by someone, and how safe it could make you feel. How the brush of someone's fingertips over your cheek could tickle and somehow you never want to move away. He pulls his hips back, rolls in, and your eyes crease with pleasure, lashes touching as you squint.

He smells like everything you're used to. He must be thinking the same thing as you, because he smiles, and says, "You might as well be a flower for how much you smell like one."

Bergamot. He touches something sensitive, gummy walls stretched around him. You whine under your breath.

Lavender. "Make that sound again?" he asks.

Cedarwood. The murmur of the TV fades away entirely. The only things you can hear are you and Steve. You; your panting, the high warping of every breath as his thick cock works you open. Steve; a panting all his own, a scratchy roughness. You try not to make too much noise in efforts to hear him.

The slightest hint of citrus. An impression. Maybe his breath, something lingering from the orange-infused water you'd sipped on earlier. His breath fans out over your collar as he bottoms out, a sound like a hiccup ripped from him.

You wrap your hands around his back. "Oh my god, Stevie."

"How's that feel? That okay?" He stays very still. "Pretty baby, taking all of me right now." He starts to move his hips in leisurely circles.

You pull him down for a kiss, a world away from being able to answer intelligibly. You're so full it aches, so full – the blunt tip of his cock pushes into your sweet spot and you have to break the kiss to gasp for air.

"Feels so good," you whisper, rubbing his back unhurried.

A shiver courses down your spine as he pulls out to push in again. The sound is filthy, an erotic slapping as his thighs hit into yours and he moans. He fucking moans.

"Fuck, Steve. Can you go faster?"

Steve forces his forearms under your shoulder blades and his forehead presses to your collar, lips sluggish as they kiss your chest. He pulls your nipple into his mouth as he starts to thrust into you rhythmically, sucking and nibbling and twisting, his ministrations sending little bolts of pleasure down to your throbbing cunt.

He kisses hickey after hickey into your chest. You're too busy getting fucked out to notice, lavished by his mouth and numbed by his cock. Every thrust starts to hit deep, and every thrust pulls an unintelligible sound from you. Panting turns to moaning, moans turn to mewls.

"Hear how wet you are? Do you hear that?" Steve asks as he pulls away. He flicks at your bruising nipples and pouts when you jump. "Sorry, I'm sorry. Not my fault you have the cutest rack ever."

"Steve!" you cry, flushing with an embarrassed heat.

"What? It's fucking true." He takes your hips into his hands and hits in hard, cock prodding your spongey g-spot unapologetically. "Cutest pussy, too."

He brings his hand down to your cunt and slows his pace, thrusts shallow and eyes wide as he spreads you open. You can feel your hole shaping around him, the stretch as he opens you up. His thick fingers press into the bead of your clit and he starts to draw, tight messy circles in time with his thrusts.

"Taking me so well, babygirl."

You cup your aching tits and feel them sway with every thrust, every hit of his thighs into yours. A sticky mess grows between you that leaves your clit wet with slick. Steve fights to find purchase as he spreads your lips, thumb coming up to pinch at it.

He moans and looks up at the ceiling, his throat bared as he rolls his hips and pulls you onto his cock. "Fuck…" he groans, beggy and out of breath.

You stare at him, unabashed in your rabid attraction.

"Fuck, Steve," you say between hitching breaths, "I'm lucky you're mine."

His gaze jumps to yours. He snaps his hips and you squeal happily. "Say that again."

"I'm lucky you're mine," you say without missing a beat. It's true.

He holds your hips in an iron grip and ruts into you, deep-seated and unrelenting. He's barely a half-inch back when he's rubbing back in, moulding you to the shape of his cock. Dark curls press into your clit as he leans forward.

"You wouldn't believe how perfect you look on my dick." He grinds down, pulls out and thuds back in.

Your face screws up.

"You like that, baby? You want me to do it again?"

You nod and open your arms. Steve falls into them, letting you wrap him up in a grip so tight you can feel the suggestion of his ribs, his chest hair scratching your chest as he repeats the motion. You squeeze your eyes closed and whimper into the top of his head, hands pulling at his back as he rocks in again and again and again.

"Y'making such a mess on me."

You're not surprised. Every thrust into your sopping heat sounds loud in the quiet of his room, and your slick is everywhere. Wetting the thatch of pubes around his cock, the insides of your soft thighs.

"Steve, can you- can you-"

He presses his fingers back to your clit. "This? Sorry, you're just gripping me tight, I had to hold onto something," he apologises, sounding a short fall from reverential. "I got you."

Your sticky thighs start to shake as he fucks into you, the quick rub of his fingers against your clit tightening the coil inside you until it's snapping hard. You can't even warn him, chasing the circles he's making with your hips as you force your face into his pillow and fall apart.

You want to hate the sound that you make. It's an embarrassing combination of a squeal and a breathless gasp, only partially muffled by the fabric under your lips. You find yourself unable when Steve chokes on his words, stuttering, "F-fuck, oh fuck, sweetheart, you sound like- like heaven. You fucking feel like it, clamping down on me."

Steve fucks into that extra snugness and you can see on his face that he's close.

You blink out of the haze of your climax and cover Steve's hand where it teases your overstimulated clit, pulling it up and around your neck. You slide your arms around him and scratch up his back lightly, his hips staggering into yours as you say, "You gonna cum too, baby? Please?"

"Fuck," he groans through gritted teeth.

You clench your walls down around him and the drag is insane, better when he gets his final burst of energy and fucks into you with big, rough thrusts, your knees clamped around his hips. His teeth close around your shoulder and he bites you, maybe harder than he means to, a white hot pain that lasts a split-second, his hitching breaths hot in your skin. His hips slow and his entire weight falls into your tummy, wrought with post-orgasm aching.

You rub his back, damp with perspiration.

He kisses an apology over his cruel hickey.

"Fuck," he whispers.

His kisses move up and he moves too. You both hiss – disturbed, sweaty, blood still pumping fast. He's only adjusting for the height advantage, his mouth at your ear.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." You have a lot more to say, but you need a second.

Steve makes a humming sound at the back of his throat. "Can I go get a towel? I'll be right back."

"Yeah, Stevie. Whatever you wanna do," you say lightly, rubbing his back and hoping each pass of your palm implies the depth of your fondness.

Steve is cautious as he climbs off of you. You close your eyes and bring your hands to your sweaty face, fingers over your eyes before pushing them to either side of your forehead to stare at his ceiling, entirely blissed and in disbelief.

Steve climbs over you with a towel in hand. You can feel the warmth coming off of its wet corner.

He drops it onto your stomach and you go to pick it up. He grabs your hands in both of his and holds them, joined, against your shoulders. "I'll do it, but just-" He ducks his face to yours. "Let me kiss you."

You smile happily and close your eyes, fingers flexing in his grip as he brushes his lips against yours, at first gently and then with an enthusiastic pressure. You're worn out from everything and can't respond how you want to, but if Steve minds he doesn't say anything, hands squeezing your hands and his lips all lazy and curled up against yours.

Your chest hurts.

Steve keeps a hold of one hand as he breaks the kiss in favour of cleaning you up though quickly drops it to take your shaky thigh into his hand. Spread wide, he wipes every trace of slick he can find, especially kind to your centre.

He's already discarded the condom and wiped himself down. You reach out to stroke the start of his damp snail trail as he throws the towel on the floor next to your discarded clothes. Pulling the sheets where they'd fallen to the bottom of the bed over your naked bodies, Steve slouches onto his side.

"Come here," he says, pulling you into his chest with infinite tenderness.

You turn into his hold and ram your face into his skin, hand searching for the tempting curve of his bicep.

He drops a kiss into your temple and then another. You feel surprisingly awake, his body a hot and heavy thing beside you.

"Do you feel like talking?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," you say, giggling. "Yeah, sorry. God, Steve."

He bends at the waist to cuddle you like he's shielding you. "I know."

You lie there in his embrace and you can't stop thinking about it. That was perfect. That was fucking perfect. Right? You want to ask him. You'd never felt that pretty or pleased before in your life.

"God, that was fucking perfect," Steve says.

You rub your nose against his chest and giggle, an overabundance of joy bubbling messy at the surface. "I was just thinking that."

"Yeah?"

"Oh my god."

"I'm kind of pissed off. Like, if that's the standard, how am I gonna live up to this every time?"

Every time, you think.

"Maybe we just got really lucky. We're never gonna have sex that good ever again," you theorise.

He starts laughing, big, contagious chuckles that boom from the centre of his chest and catch you by surprise. He sounds as happy as you feel.

"Don't jinx it." He rubs his hand over your shoulder blades.

You kiss his chest lazily and he slinks down under the sheets with you, dragging you up until your face is eye-level with his. His eyes are closed and you close your own, moaning as he crushes you to his chest and starts to pat your back.

It's an immense domestic pleasure. You couldn't explain why, but the continuous, steady rhythm of his firm patting makes it easier to calm your racing heart.

"You look really beautiful," he says.

"Your eyes are closed."

"So? You looked beautiful when I closed them. I just want you to know. And your sounds… God, I'm gonna be touching you all the time if that's what you sound like."

"I love how you sounded too." You rub his chest with your knuckle. "I love that you sounded like that for me."

"Because of you."

"I meant what I said. I'm really lucky."

Steve pushes his hand behind your ear and draws your face from his. You open your eyes and find him already looking at you, eyebrows raised. "Thanks for telling me?"

"Shut up! You know what I mean. I'm lucky to have you."

"If you're lucky I'm fucking blessed."

"I've never heard you swear that much."

"And it's entirely your fault," he jokes.

You're okay with that.

You tuck yourself into Steve's neck and trace the lines of his body. The small roundness of his Adam's apple and the ridges of his collarbones, the small dip between his chest muscles and the line underneath his pec. You go to just below his ribs before needing your hand between his torso and his arm, hugging him like he's hugging you.

The hickey he'd given you on your shoulder twinges, reminding you of his maltreatment. You place your lips against his throat and mouth lazy kisses until he sighs in content. When you know you've lulled him into a false sense of security, you take his skin between your teeth and nip.

"What's that for?" he asks in bemusement.

"You tried to take a chunk of me."

"Shit," he says.

You kitten lick the tiny welt you've bitten into his pale skin and he tenses. Your eyebrows jump in surprise, wondering if he likes that, and deign to give him a smattering of wet, sloppy hickeys to find out.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, fingers brushing over the small embeddings of his teeth in your shoulder.

"Not really," you say, mouthing up until your nose is to his cheek. You close your eyes as he turns his head. You can feel his breath against your lips. "No, I like it, anyway."

Your arms slide over his back as he pulls back to take you in. You stare at each other, not sure how to say anything that hasn't already been said or anything that hasn't been felt. He looks pretty and ragged, perfect hair mussed and dainty brown lashes in damp triangles. The dim lighting shadows his face, the lightest brightness under the well of his eye.

"I wish I was one of the old masters."

He smiles. "What's that?"

"Like, the great artists. Painters, masters of their craft. Like the guy who painted The Girl with a Pearl Earring."

Steve starts to shift onto his back. You lay your arm across his chest and hold your weight off of him. He doesn't like that very much, pulling you in with one arm crossed over the small of your back, the other held high but loose. He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, fingernails sliding over your skin. "Is painting something you like to do?"

Your heart melts at his genuine interest and his willingness to listen to something seemingly tangential. "I wish I could paint like they could. I would paint you."

"Yeah?" he asks, clarity brightening his face. His eyes are lined with pleasure.

"I would. The," you raise your hand to his face and start to trace each feature as you go, "bridge of your nose. The slopes here," his brow, the dip underneath, careful of his eye, "your cheekbones. Your lips. This line here, and this one. This one, too."

"Are you trying to tell me I have wrinkles?" he jokes.

"Only this one." You smooth the pad of your thumb between his eyebrows. "Though I think it's inevitable."

"Oh you do, do you?" he asks, abruptly loud. You're startled into giggling, dropping your hand over one of his eyes in your shock. He kisses your palm.

You fall silent. You take your hand to his jaw and press the invisible remains of his kiss to his cheek as you lean in.

"I think… I think I'd want to paint you. Just so people know," you murmur, touching your forehead to his, "that you were this handsome."

You wait for him to laugh and he doesn't. Like the trepidation of a sneeze that doesn't come, you feel off-kilter.

"Steve?"

He shushes you and kisses you for the hundredth time tonight. You could happily take another hundred, eyebrows pinching up at his silence.

He kisses you until you forget what you'd been saying, until the aching in your abdomen can't be ignored.

"I need to go to the bathroom," you announce regretfully.

"Yeah, okay. Want me to come with you?"

You laugh and climb off of him. His hand reaches for you as you go, his fingers catching yours until you pull away. You grab the damp towel and your sleep shirt off of the floor, slipping it on as you walk away. Steve acts like he's been grievously injured.

In the bathroom you clean up properly and pull on the spare underwear you'd had the foresight to bring. You stretch until you moan.

"You okay?" Steve calls.

"Stop listening to me in the bathroom, perv."

You can hear him stand. His footsteps in the bedroom. You shiver in the cool bathroom and smile at yourself really hard in the mirror.

When you return he's done the same as you, changed into new boxers. You stare at his thighs unabashed as he steps into his pyjama bottoms, yours rescued and folded on the end of the bed. Steve holds his hands out at your approach and tugs you towards him, not hugging but close. He pushes your shirt up to your ribs and you struggle to see what he's doing, craning your neck.

"What?" you ask.

He follows the impression of a stretch mark down your skin. "Did you feel that?" he asks genuinely.

You'd more than felt it. He pulls up the waistband of your panties thoughtlessly and traces another stretch mark. "You're pretty," he murmurs.

You hug him hard enough that he has to take a step back to avoid falling over. His hands stop their studying, braced at your waist and walking you backwards toward the bed. He pushes you down and you fall onto your back, clinging to him as he tries to pull away.

"Come on," he says, laughing, "I'm gonna get you something to drink. Let go."

"Whatever," you grumble.

Steve disappears downstairs and you sit up, eyes bright like you're seeing his room for the first time all over again. Fast Times at Ridgemont High looks to be nearing its end. You switch off the TV with a triumphant smile and move your attention to his dresser, where the cassette player you'd 'loaned' him sits. You're half hoping Van Halen II will be inside but it must still be in his car. Your disappointment ebbs quickly when you see what's really inside.

Steve has the good graces to blush when he returns. You've clicked play and sit with the tape deck in your lap, beaming. "American Pie?" you ask knowingly.

"It's a good album."

He presses a cold glass of water into your hands and you sip feverishly, best pleased when he sits beside you, thigh to your naked thigh.

"Softie."

He dips his fingers into his glass and flicks you. It feels good and you move back encouragingly. He indulges you, flicking cold water over your face and neck until you're finely misted as a flower in the morning dew.

The best part of American Pie starts to play. You gasp as Steve pulls the glass from your hand and sets them heavily on the dresser, hands wet with condensation as he sews your fingers together and pulls you up.

"What are you doing?" you ask curiously.

His shoulders move back. "Dancing?"

"You wanna dance?" you ask. Your legs are tired – his must be double.

"You're old enough," he says, encouraging your hands from side to side.

You were gonna give him what he wanted anyways, but that small smile toying over his pretty pink mouth spurs you on. You jump on toes and follow his lead.

Steve digs a short fingernail into the deep orange skin of what he thinks is a tangerine and watches as citrus spritzes into the air. It leaps from the fruit with every slice of rind he pulls away, and his hands quickly smell of it.

You lay in the grass with his sunglasses perched over your nose. Steve worries you might be sleeping, your smile demure and your arms still where they've crossed over your chest. Your cotton dress blankets the grass around your thighs, the hem waved as the thin edge of a peony petal.

"You better not be sleeping, Y/N," he warns.

You'd definitely been dozing. You hide it well, your hand hardly trembling as you stretch it across the grass towards him. "I wasn't."

"You know what happened last time."

"You're here to protect me."

He can't argue with that. Orange juice stains his fingers as he splits the segments apart, pulling white pith from the flesh until each slice is clean. He drops two into your hand. "For you."

"Thank you," you say, sounding genuinely excited. You sit up slow and your dress falls down enough to expose the top of your breast where Steve had hickied at a risk of excess the night before.

He moves across the grass until your knees knock together and presses his hand to your forehead. You're definitely hotter than you should be but not about to burst into flames. Steve ushers more tangerine into your hand and reaches for the grocery bag to grab your drink and put it in your lap. You gasp at the sudden cold and gasp again when he pulls the strap of your dress up your shoulder. There’s no hiding the worst one at the meeting of your neck and shoulder. Every time he looks at it, he blushes.

"Was I flashing?" you ask worriedly through a mouthful of fruit.

"Not really? But, uh, you know. Hickey."

"Ohhh," you say knowingly. "Well, that's your fault."

"Did I say otherwise? Have some water. We're gonna have to go soon, it's too hot."

"Steve."

"I'm serious."

"Let's just go buy one of those little hand crank fans."

"So I can crank it all day? No way."

"You'll dictate-"

"Dictate!"

"-my sunbathing but won't crank a little fan for me? What kind of relationship even is this?"

"Stop it," he says concisely.

Your lips pull into a self satisfied smile and you drink your drink like he'd asked you to. "What are we gonna do after?"

You'd woken Steve up early, before the sun had really come out, a vision and perfect and everything he'd known you would be in the mornings. Hands on his shoulders, you'd kissed him until he'd stirred, skipping kisses over his neck and chest.

"Ba-by," you'd whispered, dragging the last syllable, your voice croaky with tiredness, "let's go get breakfast."

Breakfast at a sticky diner that consisted of pancakes with too much syrup and whipped cream on strawberries. You'd dragged him into the fancy grocery store across the street and filled a basket with fancy drinks, pretzels, lip balm and a net of tangerines.

Now, hours later, sweaty from the outpour of ultra-hot sunlight and your company, Steve doesn't know what's left to do that could be any better than this.

He spread his legs and tucks a rogue lock of hair behind his ear. "What do you wanna do?"

You twist the cap back onto your drink and push onto your knees, grass crushed. "I don't know. Anything. I don't have anything to do tomorrow, so you can keep me as late as you want."

He doesn't feel bad when he says, "Could I keep your for the night again?"

You hesitate. He doubles down.

"I'll take you to your place and you can get some more clothes. And I'll make you something better than takeout, if you want," he promises, thinking of your home-cooked meals, the evident love poured into each one.

"No, it's not-" You smile at him, your eyes soft. "Of course you can keep me. But I'm not staying up to dance with you again." You yawn to drive the point home.

He breaks grass between his fingers. "Fine, no dancing."

You nod in agreement and take his shoulder into your hand, throwing your leg over his to straddle his thigh. You look comfortable despite the 'w' shape you're in, settling down with a harrumph of breath.

Steve tries not to think about the silk of your underwear against his leg, but of course he does. The pink colouring his cheeks isn't from the sun.

You look shy but happy as he grabs your hands, stroking your knuckles with his thumbs. "We can make something cool for the weather," you suggest lightly, the skirt of your dress ruffled by the breeze. "Sanwhiches. And something sweet for dessert 'cos we didn't have any yesterday."

"I don't know about you, but I think I had more than my fair share of dessert."

You drop the top of your head into his chest. "Sicko."

"A little. When it comes to you."

You start to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, humming something very quietly. The Waterboys or something like that, your lips pressed together tightly. You lashes flutter and you rub your cheek with your shoulder.

"What?" he asks.

"I'm just really happy," you confess.

What's he supposed to do? Not kiss you silly? He wraps his arms around your back and pulls you in.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things 4 #x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut

11K notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Note

I saw another anon ask about Konig and his little wifey who likes gifts and shiny things and just

Imagine

His little wifey doing a little fashion show for him with all the pretty outfits she’s bought

Maybe she even got a nice set of lingerie or two for hubby’s viewing pleasure?

Awwww, he loves seeing you happy like this! You're so pretty, he can't help but take pictures, so many of them, his recruits are going to groan from frustration for days on end while watching him being more and more whipped with each passing second. He isn't a fashionista and he doesn't know much about fashion and style and just loves everything you put on because gosh, his wife is so pretty! So nice!! He is a bit old-fashioned like that, he spends so much money on Polaroids! He loves to have the picture of every outfit you compile, and rotates the cutest ones in his vest whenever he goes out on missions - this guy is missing a death flag every time he takes up a picture of you in some expensive new coat or a really cool set of pants and jewelry, and kisses it before committing another war crime and killing a bunch of people. You look so awkward in the shopping center, it's insane. I can imagine Konig strolling through the shopping street with high-end shops in Vienna, hauling all of your bags like the good horsey he is because you wanted to go to ten different stores and gave him a show every time he whipped out his card to pay for everything! He will even allow you to style his clothes, just a little bit - nothing too much and god forbid you from buying him skinny jeans because he will reconsider giving you buying privileges. You buy yourself a nice lingerie but, unfortunately, Konig is an old soldier who doesn't respect art and knows jackshit about cute lingerie pieces that need to be taken out in a gentle and swift manner...he just ravages it from your body because he can't wait to unwrap you like a cute gift! He will buy you a new set later, don't you worry.

#cod #konig x reader #konig

577 notes · View notes

bloodbonesnbruises · 11 months

Text

reasons to ☆ve that are not "for him hehe" (these r definitely vv toxic)

- revenge

- to shock the shit out of ppl

- to be scary and unapproachable

- to traumatise my mother <3 the bitch deserves it

- to be more androgynous and confuse cis ppl <3

- for that clean feeling that comes from having an empty stomach

- to make my family worried and refuse their help so they feel bad for not giving a fuck earlier <3

- to be nothing but bones

- more aesthetic bruises <3

- get drunk faster (don't do alcohol guys)

- to dress like a homeless person and still look cool

- to meet that one "friend" i haven't seen since high school and shock them. also make them envious of my looks

- to be hated and envied by everyone but also get all the attention <3

- pretty/skinny privilege

- dainty and fragile wearing oversized clothes in fall/winter <3 like imagine being curled up in a soft comforter while holding a cup of steaming green tea with your graceful bony hands and feeling small and cozy asgdghsg can't wait

- getting sick easily (love that hurt/comfort)

i will add more later <3

1K notes · View notes

annwrites · 1 month

Text

exactly what he needs, pt. 5 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | other parts here

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: you have an unsettling exchange with cal, you spend the day with nate, then he takes you to a party with the express purpose of getting you drunk.

— tags: shopping with nate, learning to drive, partying, swimming

— tw: f receiving oral, humping nate's thigh in public, coerced intoxication, skinny dipping, reader touching nate's genitals at his suggestion while drunk, lying, dollification, guilt-tripping/emotional manipulation (sexual & otherwise), gas lighting, major invasion of privacy, sexual assault (reader is drunk and nate touches them in a sexual way, so i count it), love-bombing, vomiting, eating | there will not be a date rape in this after the party, i promise!

— word count: 15,729

— a/n: cal, during his convo w/ reader, isn't trying to be an asshole toward nate, he's trying to give her a genuine warning. the line 'he kills what he loves' i went back & added to try & i guess pull some kind of parallel between the two men, like when cal said 'i kill what i eat' on the show. bc i do think cal is capable of love. i think nate is only capable of obsession/infatuation, which is easy to mix up in the heat of the moment.

if nate seems different w/the reader than he does w/ cassie, it's bc he's obviously still hiding his true colors with reader.

the song I had in mind during the party is dangerous (oliver remix), which was indeed used during the show.

i hope reading this feels as ominous as it did writing it lmao.

When you wake in the middle of the night, it's with Nate's arm slung heavily over your abdomen, his hand hanging off the side of the bed.

You wiggle out from under him, still naked, before picking up his t-shirt and slipping it on before quietly unlocking his door and heading down to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Once you have it, you go to head back up to bed, until you hear his father calling to you from the living room, stopping you in your tracks.

You pad into the room, the light from the TV flickering against the dark which fills near every corner. "I was just getting a glass of water," you say, worried that he may think you were trying to steal from him in the middle of the night.

"Anything else you need?"

You shake your head, wishing you were wearing more than just a t-shirt right now. "I'm all set, thank you."

"Can I ask you something?"

You shift nervously as his eyes trail from your bare legs, back up to your face. "Sure."

"How is he? Nate?"

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs, glancing back to the TV. "He doesn't talk to me. Can't stand me, as I'm sure he's told you, or, at the very least, from what you can tell all on your own. I just want to know how he's doing." He looks at you again. "I assume he talks to you."

"If you mean in regards to you: no, he doesn't. You're the one thing he refuses to open up about. He...he seems fine, though. Most of the time, at least. He just seems to have this simmering-"

"Rage?" He finishes.

You nod. "I don't know if it stems from something that happened between the two of you, or if it's from however Maddy treated him, or something else." You glance down to the floor, then back up. "Maybe it's all of it. Maybe his life has just snowballed and he doesn't know how to deal with it. But you obviously care about him. So... I know what it's like to have an absent father." You pause. "I know it isn't my place, but...try to fix whatever is broken between the two of you before it's too late. Even if he hates you for it, he'll at least know you made that effort."

Cal grows quiet, for a long while, only the TV playing softly in the background. Then, "You're a smart girl, I can tell. Mature for your age. So, I'm going to give you a piece of advice." He leans forward. "Run. My son is not the guy for you. You can't fix him, and you can't help him. You can't give aid to a drowning man who chose to jump into the deep end in the first place.

"If you stay with him, he will ruin you. But I know you will anyway, despite this conversation. Maybe in spite of it. Just know that you're not the first, and you won't be the last." He leans back again. "No woman will ever make him happy, will ever live up to his perfect ideals of femininity. And, if they do, he'll fucking hate them for it. That anger he feels toward me? Give it time. You'll become the new punching bag. He kills what he loves"

You suddenly feel sick.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

You swallow, even if your mouth has now gone dry. "Goodnight, Mr. Jacobs," you say, turning away from him.

"Cal," he calls after you.

You turn your head back to look at him.

"Just Cal is fine."

You only nod before going back upstairs.

When you close Nate's door behind you, he's still asleep.

You lock it, then lean back against it, staring at him, your head spinning.

What the hell had just happened?

You watch Nate sleep, wanting to cry. But not for yourself. No. For him. He's only seventeen, and his own father is trying to drive away someone he's only just gotten together with.

You try to piece things together.

Nate dislikes him, of course. The incident in the kitchen had seemed a bit more aggressive than Cal just joking around with him.

So, maybe...maybe he's jealous? Jealous that his son is young and still has options, whereas, at his age, he's set in his ways. But that doesn't make sense, either. Cal is handsome, successful, wealthy, has—what seems like, at least—a lovely wife. Has two sons, who you're sure will both go far, given their dad's money, if nothing else. At least, in Nate's case, it will also be due to hard work and perseverance.

No wonder Nate hates this house so much, had been so eager to get you into his room and away from...him.

It'd been something in the way he had looked at you that had made your skin crawl. Like he could see everything under the thin t-shirt draped over your frame.

Then you wonder if that's true at all, or if Nate's disdain for him is just rubbing off, creating a perception of him that isn't even real.

You want to blame it all on being tired, but you can't just ignore what Cal had told you.

So you finally lie down next to Nate, his body quickly pulling your own against his—finding you even in his sleep—and you stare up at the ceiling.

You try to think back through every interaction you've had with Nate the last couple of weeks. Trying to find any blaring red flags.

This had all started out as a secret: the tutoring.

You wonder if you should've brought it up to his dad just to see his reaction. To see if it would even bother him. But, even if not, it's easy for children to be terrified of disappointing their parents so much so that they hide things that said parent would never even get upset over.

There'd been the Fezco story, which hadn't seemed quite right to you. Rue was a drug addict, a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. However, she seemed to mostly mind her own business and keep to herself. She never seemed the kind to stir up pointless drama. So, why would she target Nate randomly?

You mentally file that away for further observation.

Then there was his dressing you and doing your hair, which still came off as a bit odd. But maybe it's just another way of him trying to show affection? And honestly...you kind of like it. Not in a sexual way, but in a way that makes you feel warm and looked after.

And it's less for you to have to worry about. At least if he's doing your hair, it saves you time and effort in fighting with it.

Him spending obscene amounts of money on you without your permission had been a bit much for your comfort levels, but as you look at him, your heart breaks.

He'd told you how with Maddy he'd done all he could to "get her to love him back". And you're sure that's what he's trying to do with you, because that's what she had taught him love is: financially transactional.

Honestly, you want to hold him just thinking about it.

What had happened to this poor, sweet boy to make him think that he alone isn't good enough?

From his father being cruel and overly-critical, to Maddy being emotionally and verbally abusive, to Cassie being controlling and possessive, he's done nothing but endure mistreatment after mistreatment from people that're supposed to love him and that he tried to love himself.

You stop trying to find something wrong with him then. Instead focusing on the good. Him giving you compliments, always getting the door for you, driving you places, taking you on dates, giving you sweet gifts, helping you with the groceries, opening up to you and you also doing as much with him...the list goes on.

You cuddle closer to his chest, thinking, as you drift off to sleep, that Maddy and Cassie have no idea what they've lost.

When Nate wakes the next morning, you're still asleep, pressed against his side. And as he lays there, looking down at you—you breathing softly—he says it for the first time in a quiet whisper.

"I love you."

You don't stir, even for a moment.

And he means it. Really means it this time.

Because he knows he's finally fucking done right by himself. He'd studied and observed and manipulated you for two weeks until finally getting you into his bed, and you'd played along beautifully. Backing down at every turn when he needed or wanted you to, letting him have control.

From choosing places you both went together, to ordering for you at the bistro, him choosing your clothes, doing your hair, driving you around, letting him touch you—even if you weren't entirely comfortable with it, but allowing it anyway because you knew it made him happy—to making yourself smaller and sweeter and more agreeable to him in his moments of anger and irritation... You were perfectly submissive and gentle and soft.

He'd only have to make a few more tweaks here and there and his work would be done. You'd be everything he's been waiting and looking for.

He lays back against the headboard, fingers dancing along the bare skin of your back—it'd only taken one evening to get you naked and spreading you legs for him in bed. And he didn't think less of you for it. If you'd been with anyone else before, he would, absolutely. But he'd seen the proof plain as fucking day while going down on you last night: you're still intact. No one else has touched you.

No, you'd done it because you were falling, whether you knew it or not. And because he had tons of experience over you. All you had known in that sweet, innocent little mind of yours was that you wanted more of what he was willing to give you. Because it felt so much better when it was coming from another person. From him.

He grabs his phone, scrolling through Instagram, checking his email, his texts, while he waits for you to wake up next to him.

When you wake, it's with your face pressed against Nate's side. It takes you a moment to realize he's already awake, sitting up.

You sit up as well, covering yourself with a dark blue sheet.

"Good morning," you say shyly.

He drops his phone onto his bedside table, giving you his full attention. "Morning, angel."

He leans forward, planting a soft kiss to your lips.

You reach up. "My hair is probably a mess," you say nervously.

He leans back. "You look perfect. But you can use the bathroom if you want."

You nod, standing, and Nate takes in your naked body before you slip on his t-shirt, walking into the bathroom.

Once you've relieved yourself, you brush your teeth, then gasp when you look in the mirror before starting on your hair.

You quickly open the bathroom door and Nate looks at you with a lazy look on his face.

"What did you do?" You ask, fingers reaching up to gently press against the dark purple bruise he'd left on your neck.

He smirks. "Oops."

Blood rushes to your face in embarrassment. "People will see this."

He shrugs. "Let 'em."

You cross your arms, feeling uncomfortable. "It...it looks trashy."

He sighs. "It looks like a hicky."

"Nate-"

He rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So, what, did I fuck up last night, too? I thought you enjoyed it."

You withdraw into yourself. "N-no, you didn't. I did—enjoy it, I mean."

He lowers his hand, looking up to you with a hurt expression. "Do you regret it?"

You feel absolutely horrible.

You pad over to him, sitting down beside him, taking one of his hands in yours, the other coming up to cup his cheek. "No, of course not. I liked it...all of it. I'm sorry. I overreacted."

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his face quickly returns to normal as you hug him.

"I enjoyed it, Nate. That's the first time I've done anything. I'm glad it was with you." You whisper, pressing your body closer to his own.

He waits a moment, lets you sweat over a possibility of having truly hurt him, then you relax when his arms wind around you.

"If you don't want me to in the fut-"

You pull back. "No, I do." You don't really wanting to be walking around with love bites for all to see, but you'll just have to figure out a way to cover them up in the future.

You'd rather that than making him worry that you don't enjoy being intimate with him.

You press your lips to his. You look at him for a moment, giving him a soft smile before you stand, returning to the bathroom.

Once you've brushed your hair, and washed your face, you return to bed, sitting next to Nate.

You gingerly take one of his hands in your own.

“Are you hungry?” You ask.

He glances between your legs, then back into your eyes.

You blush, looking down.

“Are you?”

You shrug. “I could eat.” You look at him again. “Do you want me to make you breakfast again?”

He slowly moves his hand up your thigh. He doesn’t like the idea of his dad seeing you like this. Bare from your thighs down—more-so uncomfortable because you have nothing on underneath the t-shirt you’re wearing, even if he wishes you hadn’t bothered with putting it back on in the first place.

He stands. “Let me see if I can find you a pair of shorts or something.”

“I thought you said nothing you have will fit?”

He doesn’t reply as he pulls a pair of drawstring basketball shorts out of his dresser, turning around to hand them to you. “Put these on.”

You stand, doing as instructed, cinching the waist. They still look ridiculously big, but they stay in-place.

“Good enough,” he says before pulling on a t-shirt and putting on his sweatpants from last night—before going to sleep he’d taken them off, only sleeping in his boxers. He typically sleeps naked, but knew doing so last night most likely wouldn’t have been a good idea. Perhaps after you stay over a few more times he’ll strip one night, letting you wake up to his naked body pressed against yours.

He takes your hand as the two of you exit his room and he leads you downstairs.

You’d slept until nearly eleven, so the rest of the house is already up. He just hopes you sleeping so late isn’t a regular thing. But he understands that you’d exerted yourself a bit more than usual last night. He smirks at the thought.

Thankfully, the kitchen is empty when Nate leads you into it.

You lean back against a counter. “What would you like to eat?”

He seats himself at the island. “Do you know how to make an omelette?”

You smile. “Yes.”

You go to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs, some cheese, and you grab a bell pepper from a fruit bowl on the counter, setting it all down.

You begin pulling open drawers, looking for a knife, a whisk, and a bowl, and Nate just watches with idle amusement at you familiarizing yourself with his kitchen.

You and Nate eat side-by-side, his knee brushing against yours as he takes bites of his omelette.

He swallows. “I know I said it before, but you really are a good fucking cook.”

You glance at him and smile. “Thank you.”

Once the two of you are finished, Nate helps you load the dishwasher. “What do you want to do today?”

You lean back against the counter again and he plants his palms flat on either side of you, caging you in.

You grip the hem of his t-shirt. “I’m not sure.”

“I could take you shopping again?”

Your heart sinks.

You reach up, gently touching your fingertips against his cheek. Your eyes have softened as you look into his own.

“I know we talked about it before, and that you said that’s not why you did it, but I don’t ever want you to think you have to buy my affection, Nate. And I know you also said you didn’t want to talk about them anymore, but I’m not Maddy. My feelings for you aren’t transactional. I’m with you for you. And I’ll never try to control you like Cassie.”

You briefly think back to your exchange with his father last night and that well of sadness you now feel for him deepens. You wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair. “I just want you. Exactly as you are. You’re more than enough for me. Please don’t ever feel like you have to bend over backwards to make, or keep me happy. I’m just glad I finally have someone to talk to and spend time with; that I'm not alone anymore.”

Nate slowly wraps his arms around you as well, wondering what the hell had come over you. He doesn’t dislike it. No, the very opposite. He likes it when you’re soft and kind with him. Not because he needs it, but because your feminine personality, especially in moments like this, more than compliment his masculine one.

All he can think is: this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. You submissive and sweet, loving and caring. Cooking and cleaning and doing as you’re told, letting him—one man—teach you about sex and your own body. Letting him make your decisions for you, like what you can wear, how to do your hair—he plans to expand that list drastically as time goes on. Also letting him think for you in the future, he hopes.

His sob stories about Maddy and Cassie had worked, apparently. A few truths, a few lies, and you saw him as someone who’d been used and taken advantage of by evil women.

You saw him as a good man.

He doesn’t wish he were. He knows what he is. He just hopes he can keep you blind to that truth for awhile longer. At least until after the two of you have started having sex.

He presses his face into your hair. “I’m so glad I met you. Even if it had to happen twice.”

You nod. “Me too.”

Neither of you are aware of it, but his mom stands just around the corner, tears stinging her eyes. And she knows her little boy has finally found the right girl for himself.

When you pull away from Nate, he caresses both of your cheeks, bringing his lips down to your own. His hand slips under the oversized t-shirt hanging from your frame , moving higher until he's cupping one of your bare breasts. He rubs the pad of his thumb against your nipple until it pebbles.

You pull away and he quickly moves his lips to your neck, sucking on that same hicky from last night.

You gasp. "Nate, what if someone walks in?"

He gently bites down and your hips buck against him.

He lifts you onto the counter, moving his lips back to yours, considering reaching his hand into his shorts that hang from your hips, until his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He bites back a curse at the ruined moment.

He pulls away from you with an irritated sigh and you wait patiently while he checks the notification.

He scans over the message, then looks up to you. "Do you want to go to a party tonight?"

You blink at him. "Like a birthday party?"

He smiles at your sweet innocence. "No, baby, a real party."

"Oh." You consider it for a moment. "I've never been to one."

He smirks, stepping closer to you, between your dangling legs. "I figured as much."

"Do you want to go?"

In truth, he usually wouldn't much care either way, but he knows this is a perfect opportunity to get you drunk, just to see what he can get out of it—out of you.

"I wouldn't mind it. It'd give us something to do tonight."

He give him a peck on the lips. "Okay."

He'd honestly thought you'd try to talk him into some fairytale movie night instead. He's pleased with your easy agreement.

"The party doesn't start until nine, which really means to show up after ten, at least. So we have the whole day ahead of us. We could run over to your place, get you changed, and pick up an outfit for tonight." He doesn't mention also getting pajamas for when he brings you back here after getting you loaded. You can either sleep naked or in something of his. But he'll make that decision then.

"Okay," you say pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Once you've changed I'll give you your first driving lesson."

You still then, and he dislikes your sudden change in demeanor. He prefers you agreeable and cute.

"What do you mean?"

He raises a brow. "Don't worry, I'm not going to be putting you on the interstate your first day. I'll teach you some of the basics in the school parking lot."

He moves his hand back under your shirt, gripping the curve of your side.

"And that's all, right?"

He nods.

You gently grip his t-shirt. "Okay."

He smiles.

Once you and Nate have arrived at your house, he follows you into your bedroom. Before you can open your closet to find a proper outfit to change into, he beats you to it. You stand to the side, still unsure how to feel about him picking out your clothes.

You say nothing about it, however, telling yourself it's one way he shows affection.

He hands you the blue babydoll dress he'd bought you, then picks up a pair of matte silver flats from your small shoe rack at the bottom of your closet, setting them near your bedroom door.

Without a word, without even your permission, he opens the top drawer of your dresser and begins to browse your panties and bras.

"W-what're you-"

He looks at you over his shoulder. "I've already seen you naked, sweetheart. Am I not allowed to pick out your panties?"

You blush furiously—your cheeks hot—before sitting down on your bed. You don't answer as he turns back around, picking out a pair of sky-blue panties with tiny dark-blue flowers printed on them and a white bra with lace trim and a heart sewn in the middle.

He tosses the items on your bed.

"Stand up for me, baby."

You do as he asks and he slowly pushes the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing up. You lift your arms and he removes it entirely, dropping it on the floor. You feel the need to cover your bare breasts, but refrain as he rubs the pads of his thumbs over each of your nipples.

He then reaches down, puling at the drawstring of the shorts he'd given you to wear and they fall to the carpeted floor, pooling at your feet.

You feel beyond self-conscious being completely naked before him in the daylight.

And he can tell just by your shift in body language. Pressing your thighs together, hands clasped in front of your genitals. And you refuse to look at him now.

He cups one of your cheeks in his hand, his other arm resting at his side. "Are you insecure?"

You shrug.

His lip twitches. Good, he thinks.

Maddy had been too fucking confident in every way. And Cassie had been completely secure in her looks, her body. And he'd thought them both shallow sluts for it.

But you? You have humility. You need his approval. Because you have no idea what you have.

"Look at me, Y/N."

You do so reluctantly.

"Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are? What seeing you like this does to me?"

He uses his free hand to grab at his erection over his jeans and fills with such fucking satisfaction at seeing your pure, innocent eyes widen when you look down.

You look back up to him. "O-oh."

He glances to your bed behind you, that teddy still in-place. He looks at you again, your eyes watching him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

And he revels in it.

"Lie back on the bed, sweetheart."

You give a terse nod before doing so.

He leans over you, grabbing your bear, before handing it to you. "Hold this."

Your brows furrow, but you take the plush object from his grip.

He stands back up, removing his leather jacket before tossing it toward your chair in the corner. He then kneels down on the floor at the foot of your bed. Finally, he reaches forward, grabbing your hips and bringing himself face-to-face with that pretty pussy of yours.

"N-nate, wha-"

He immediately gets you to shut up by throwing your legs over his shoulders just like last night and devouring your already-wet pussy.

You grip your bear tighter, your body relaxing.

Nate eventually removes his lips from your cunt after a few minutes, then starts planting firm, wet kisses against your inner-thighs. Slowly. One after another after another. Occasionally sucking in one spot here, another there, working at giving you a couple more hickys, marking your privates as his very own.

He does the same as last night, gripping your hips in his large hands, keeping you still.

You whimper quietly, so he blows against your weeping pussy and you wiggle your hips, trying to get closer and he grins.

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit and watches as you pulsate for just a moment.

He reaches down, spreading your labia with his fore and middle fingers and admiring your in-tact seal. Mine, all fucking mine, he thinks before putting his mouth back on you.

He looks up, sees you gripping your teddy bear, biting your lip, your back arched and he moans against you at the beautiful fucking sight of you spread open and completely vulnerable before him.

He has you so fucking duped—thinking he's some injured boy looking for love—when all he really wants is to possess every part of you.

But he knows he's the best thing for you. What you need.

Not any of the idiotic guys at school who wouldn't know how to appreciate you. Wouldn't know how to provide for or protect you. Wouldn't know the first thing to do with you, other than try to shove their cocks in your face, or between your legs.

No, he wants you for far, far longer, and for far more than just some quick fuck.

You're sweet, inexperienced, and all alone. Not even you know what you need, what you want, who you are. But he does.

He runs his tongue along your hymen and you cry out and his eyes roll in pleasure at the sound. Finally he's gotten you to make some fucking noise.

He does it again and your body shudders.

He does his utmost to ignore his cock straining painfully against his pants.

He removes his mouth from you again and he hears a sound escape your lips that's something akin to a sob.

He begins to kiss your thighs again, working his way down to your knees, then back up each side. He sucks against the soft skin, leaving angry purple bruises on both sides before blowing against your clit again. You throw your teddy down out of frustration and he knows he nearly has you there.

He blows again, flicks his tongue lightly against your clit, a kiss and then another on either of your thighs, lightly biting. And then finally, finally, you reach down, tangling your fingers in his hair and you move your pussy closer, your ass now nearly hanging off the edge of the bed.

He looks up at you. "This what you want, sweetheart?"

Your fingers tighten then loosen against his scalp. "Mhm."

He blows against your dripping pussy. "You want me to let you cum, baby?"

You look down at him and your cheeks are a lovely shade of pink, your eyes glazed over with lust. "Please, Nate."

"How about pretty please?"

You lie back down against your fluffy white pillows with their frilly cases. "Pretty please?"

He kisses your right thigh. "Can you say with sugar on top?"

You squirm your hips and he holds them each in an iron-tight grip against the bed.

You let out a small sob.

She's finally fucking crying, he thinks.

"With sugar on top, please, p-pretty please?"

He kisses your left thigh, sucking on that pretty purple bruise of his own doing.

"And a cherry?" He asks.

You let out another sob and he can see a tear slip from your eye, dampening a spot on the pillow beneath your head.

God it's hardly taken him any effort at all. But, then again, you have nothing to compare him to.

"Prettypleasewithsugarontopandacherry?"

It all comes out as one long, garbled word, you say it so quickly. But he deems it good enough. He knows he's humiliated you by making you beg. But that you're so desperate for it that you'll do anything to have his mouth back on you.

"Good girl," he says before getting back to work with his tongue.

You start crying. "T-thank you."

It's after another ten minutes—you whining and grinding yourself into his mouth, whispering his name quietly over and over again—that he finally lets you fall over the edge. And it's something beautiful to fucking behold when you do.

Halfway through, he'd spread your right leg wider, his hand squeezing your thigh, keeping it in-place. He'd found your left hand with his, twining his fingers between yours, your hand squeezing his every few seconds as you concentrated on trying to find your release.

And when you orgasm, your hand squeezes his so hard it hurts, even a bit. He keeps your legs spread as you arch your back, your fingers tugging against his hair, rubbing your pussy against his mouth. And once you've calmed, your hammering heart slowing, he keeps your legs spread, watching your ass and pussy pulsate slowly. It's only once they've both stopped that he allows you to finally close your legs.

He climbs up onto the bed, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and you cry quietly for a moment and you can't understand why.

He shooshes you. "It's alright, baby. You did so fucking good for me."

He places a soft kiss to the top of your head and you close your eyes, pressing yourself closer to him.

You feel so...different. Your body feels hot all over, a pleasant soreness between your legs, your thigh muscles a bit more overworked than usual, and your head feels...a bit foggy somehow? You feel relaxed for once. Content.

And the way you feel about Nate in this moment... You can't think like that. Can't acknowledge that little four-letter word. You were being ridiculous. But you'd never felt like this before. Never felt the way you had last night in his bed, either.

You can't say it. If you do, you'll lose him. And you can't lose anyone else. Because you have no one else to turn to if you do.

Now that you know how good it feels to be cared for and wanted and desired, you don't ever want to be alone again.

You suddenly feel tired and feel yourself starting to drift off to sleep against his broad, warm chest, his hands rubbing soothing circles against your bare back. You press your palms against him and yawn.

Then, "You ready for me to get you dressed, angel?"

Your eyes slowly flutter open. "I'm so tired."

He smirks. You would be.

Wait until he starts fucking you multiple times a day. You won't have energy for anything else. Or, that's the plan, at least. All you'll want is to stay naked in his bed. Too exhausted to even get up and put a t-shirt on.

He squeezes your small, soft body for a moment. "I know, but I really wanted to give you your first driving lesson today."

Not that he plans to let you start driving—not that you have the means to do so in the first place—but because he knows you'll learn sooner or later, and he wants to be the one to teach you yet one more thing.

He doesn't want it coming from another man, even if it's your dad.

You're his.

He sits up and you bury your face in a pillow and all he can do is think how cute you look.

"C'mon, let's go get you cleaned up."

You look up at him, at his outstretched hand, and you take it, following him sleepily to the bathroom.

As you stand in the shower, Nate gently wiping down your naked body with a warm, soapy cloth, you almost want to cry from how loved you feel.

You just can't manage to wrap your head around how Maddy or Cassie could've ever treated him the way they did. How Maddy could've been so cruel. Could've only wanted him for what he could give her. How she could've been so materialistic when he alone is so...wonderful.

You suppose you understand Cassie losing it over the thought of losing him. But it seems so evil to try and trap someone so kind and thoughtful in a relationship they no longer feel safe or comfortable in.

God, no reason he doesn't want to talk about either of them.

And then his dad treating him so terribly and trying to drive you away almost immediately after the two of you get together... You wonder if it isn't so Nate won't be 'distracted'. If he's the type of man to try and force his son to live up to some ideal image of manhood he himself could never quite achieve.

Your heart swells with affection for Nate, just like it did last night and this morning both.

You're broken from your thoughts by him speaking. "Turn."

You do.

Once Nate has rinsed you off, even shaved your legs, and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, he gestures for you to sit on the toilet lid and you watch as he pulls out your straightener like the day before.

You sit silently for a moment as he runs it over your hair. Then you decide you have to finally ask about his interest in styling.

"Nate?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

He's quiet for a moment, then, "Sure."

"How did you learn to do hair?"

He raises a brow, even if you can't see it. "Just comes naturally, I guess."

"Is...is that something you think you'd like to do one day? Styling or barbering?"

He nearly laughs at you. A straight man as a stylist.

"No. I just like doing yours."

"Oh." Then, "Why? Do you not like how I do it?"

Your tone sounds hurt, if not also a bit worried.

Good, you're finally worried about what he thinks of your appearance. You want his approval.

"I didn't say that. I just like taking care of you; dressing you up."

Like a doll, you think, but you don't say it.

He drops his hands, the hot tool now hanging by his side. "Why? Do you want me to stop doing it? Does it bother you that much?"

You turn back to him, gripping the towel wound around you. "No. I didn't say that."

You echo his own words back at him and his jaw feathers, not liking it. He'd picked out your clothes for you, gave you an orgasm without asking for anything in return, bathed you, and was now doing your hair, and you wanted to get fucking smart with him?

His free hand twitches at his side.

"It means...it means a lot to me, Nate. That you want to do things like this for me. That you care enough to try in the first place. No one has ever been so sweet to me." A tear falls and you quickly wipe it away, looking up at him again. "You're the most selfless person I've ever met."

He softens, his jaw relaxing, his fist loosening. He kneels down. "You're sure you don't mind?"

You shake your head, giving him a warm smile. "You make me feel so..." You trail off. You can't say loved. "So cared for. And safe."

You lean forward, kissing him softly. He moves his free hand under your towel and it falls open. He slides his hand from your thigh, to your hips, then to your back, pulling you closer to him. Finally, you wrap your arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss, flicking his tongue against your lips, silently asking for entrance, which you immediately grant him. Just as you start to spread your legs, clearly wanting him to give you something more, he stands, returning to your hair.

And as he finishes up with the straightener, all he can do is bite back an amused smile at you having called him 'selfless'. As if the things he does to you are for you.

Once Nate has finished with your hair—parting the fronts on either side from the rest, then joining them together in the back with a light blue bow he clips into place—he leads you back into your room.

He kneels down in front of you again, slipping your panties over your legs—you gripping his shoulder for support as you put one foot through one side, then the same with the other—he plants a quick kiss to your belly, which makes you giggle—the sound making him hard again. He then puts your bra on you.

Once he's clasped the back, he grabs your new dress and carefully lowers it over your head, careful not to mess up your hair. Once he's tied the large bow at the back of it, he adjusts your Tiffany necklace.

The pendant still resting in his palm, he looks at you. "Can you promise me something?"

You nod gently.

"Don't ever take this necklace off unless I tell you otherwise."

You're quiet for a moment, then, "Okay."

Once Nate has slipped your flats onto your feet, he looks you over for a moment, his eyes honing in on the hicky he'd left on your neck.

You stare back at him for a moment, before reaching up and pressing your fingertips against it. "I think I have some concealer-"

He shakes his head, not feeling like bothering with giving you a full-face of makeup at the moment.

"Do you have any chokers?"

Your brows furrow. "The necklaces?"

"Mhm."

You shake your head. "I never really got into those."

Well, you're about to, he thinks. He offers you his hand. "Let's go."

You slide your palm against his.

Once you're seated in Nate's truck, you grab your seatbelt, until he holds it in-place before you can pull it across your chest.

"Let me."

You let go and wait as he reaches across you, buckling you in. "I-I can do that."

He gives you a peck on the lips and a smile. "It's fine, I don't mind," he states before shutting your door.

Just as you're perhaps ten minutes away from the school, Nate turns down an unfamiliar road.

"I thought we were going to the school parking lot?"

He slides his hand up your thigh, under your dress, until it's so close to your panties he can feel your heat. "Just making a little detour, something I want to pick up real quick."

Perhaps five minutes later he pulls up to a small, expensive-looking boutique. He exits the truck before you can ask him what's going on, coming around to your side. He goes through the same—but also slightly-new—rendition of opening your door, and now also unbuckling you. He grabs you by the hips, helping you down, then taking your hand firmly in his as he walks inside.

An older woman with straight grey hair, an orange dress, and glasses calls out to the both of you, welcoming you to her shop.

You greet her back, while Nate all but ignores her.

"What are you looking for?" You ask, looking at him.

"I need to see if they even have it first."

He looks to the woman. "Where's your jewelry section?"

She points to the back of the store. "Back there and to the right. Let me know if you need help finding anything. Or need something ordered in a different size or color."

He leads you alongside him, until he finds a small display of lacy chokers.

He releases your hand, picking one up, holding it toward you.

You shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I don't wear them for a reason. They're called chokers for a reason. They're really uncomfortable and-"

He cuts you off by tying it around your neck. "You wanted to cover the hicky I gave you. So, unless you want to put on a sweater in this heat, I don't see any other options."

You go silent, feeling like he's wrapping a collar around your throat instead.

He notices your sudden change in demeanor.

"What's wrong?"

You reach up, gently touching the fabric wrapped around your throat. "I don't know." Your tone is unsure.

He flexes his jaw. He takes a calming breath, refusing to make a scene in public. He sighs, cupping your cheek. "I just thought I'd buy you one to make you feel better. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to." He smirks, trying to come off as playful, flirty even. "I might prefer it if you don't, actually."

You blush, a small smile coming onto your lips.

He nearly releases a breath of relief.

He's fine with letting you think that him putting a collar of ownership on you was all your idea. He's fine with letting you think it's something else entirely.

You look in the small mirror set up off to the side of the jewelry selection. "I guess it feels okay."

He picks up a few more then. "Anything you'd like to look at while we're here?"

You shake your head immediately and it displeases him.

He leans down, kisses you, then whispers against your lips. "We're not leaving until you've picked out something for me to buy for you."

He kisses you again and again, then pulls away.

"You're sure?"

He nods. "I told you yesterday that I plan to spoil you fucking rotten. I like buying you presents, sweetheart. So let me."

Even if he knows it's just another form of him love-bombing you.

You gently twine your fingers between his and begin to browse.

By the time the two of you are done, Nate has spent over three-hundred dollars on you.

You'd only picked out a pair of sunglasses and a cheap pair of earrings, hoping that'd be enough for him, but he'd shopped more for you than you had for yourself.

He'd bought you two more dresses, a pair of jean cut-off shorts with a light-purple shirt to go with them, a new pair of sandals, the chokers he'd picked up when you first came in, and a few bows for your hair, along with a couple bottles of nail polish.

Just as you'd thought the two of you nearly finished, Nate had stopped, you bumping into his backside.

"Sorry," you'd said, squeezing his hand, but he'd not been paying any attention to you.

And when you followed his line-of-sight, your eyes grew wider.

No. Not lingerie.

But it was too late. He was already leading you over to their wide array of options. From simple bras and panties, to thongs, garters, chemises, but Nate only shows interest in, of course, babydolls.

He picks up a burgundy one, holding it up to you, but not looking at you, but your body. He shakes his head, then flips through the other colors before finding a soft pink one. He removes it from the rack.

"Nate-"

He quickly cuts you off. "We'll get this one. I'd like to see it on you at some point."

He takes your hand as he leads you up to the register.

You'd stood silently by his side as he swiped a shiny black credit card, an unsettling feeling in your gut, but you merely pressed yourself against his side then—willing it away—and he'd pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as he grabbed the decorative boutique bags off the counter with one hand, taking yours in the other as he led you back out to his truck.

You're silent the entire way to the school, Nate's hand wedged firmly between your thighs, and it feels like the choker around your neck grows tighter.

Once Nate has pulled into the school parking lot, he kills the engine, turning to you.

He'd noticed your silence on the way to your destination. Had noticed your refusal to look in his direction. Instead keeping your eyes on the passing scenery outside your window.

He knows he's moving too fast, doing too much. That it's making you uncomfortable. Perhaps more than uncomfortable. And he fears that if he pushes too much harder, right now, at least, you might just jump ship. You've only been together since Thursday evening. Not even a full two days yet.

But he's good with words, always knows exactly what to say after reading someone to get desired results.

You're no different.

He turns toward you, you still looking out the window. "Hey," he says softly, quietly. "Can you look at me?"

A couple seconds pass and then you do.

He removes his hand from between your legs, instead using it to take one of your own in his. He looks down at your hands, furrowing his brows. "I'm sorry if...if maybe I did too much back there. If I made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention. I just..." He looks out the windshield. "I see everything you've gone without. Things I never have. Nice clothes, shoes..."

He looks back at you then. "Even just someone to talk to. I just..." He sighs, acting like he's at a loss for words. "The last thing I want is for you to continue on that way. So, sometimes, I like to buy you gifts. Take you to nice places on dates. Above all else, I want to make sure you're always happy.

"I want you to feel as happy as you've made me in the time we've spent together. Because I've never met anyone like you. Someone so good-natured and empathetic and affectionate. I think that's honestly what it is," he says with a small laugh, as if he's just figured something out. "I've never had that before. From anyone. So it makes me want to...to be better. It makes me so fucking happy to do things for you. To take care of you. I feel like maybe you bring out the softer side of me—the best of me. A side of me I don't ever share with anyone else. Because every time I have, they've either used it against me, or taken advantage, or mocked me for it. So, I feel like I always have to keep it under lock and key.

"And now I feel like it's only served to make you uncomfortable and-"

You interrupt him by reaching up, pressing your palm against his cheek. Now you understood it better. It wasn't just about him liking to give you gifts. No. It went far deeper than that.

This—this young man right here—is who he's always been. But he's never felt allowed to show it. The last thing you want to do is make him feel, yet again, like he needs to hide it away.

This is the side of him that you want to see.

"It did. Because for a second it felt like...like maybe you're trying to change me or..." You don't want to say it, but you're both being honest. "Or maybe control me? And after only a couple days together, that frightened me. But now? Nate, this," you say, reaching down to take his other hand in yours. "This is the one thing you can give me that I actually need. Honesty. If I understand it—you—then it won't bother me. Whatever it is."

You rub your thumb against the back of his hand. "You don't ever have to be afraid of being like this with me. Of opening up. If anything, it makes me feel closer to you. I know some girls expect men to be masculine and tough all the time, but I don't. I just want you as you are."

He gives you a loving look. He reaches across the console, wrapping his muscled arms around you, his hand cupping the back of your head. "I'm so glad I have you now."

You nod. "Me too."

He pulls back the least bit, simply looking into your eyes, until you press a kiss to his lips, and then another, and then he grabs your chin, deepening it. After a moment, you climb across the truck, into his lap, your legs bent on either side of him. He quickly reaches down, sliding the seat back. He then reaches under your dress, into the back of your panties, squeezing your ass in each of his hands and you grind down against him, gasping lightly before pressing your mouth back against his.

His cock is already straining against his jeans, desperately aching to finally fucking be inside of you, but he once again tells himself no, even if he's already grown sick and fucking tired of it.

He then reaches into your panties, his palm flat against your slick pussy.

You pull away a bit.

"I want you to cum on my hand," he whispers.

You don't even think about it before you begin to buck your hips against his palm, bringing your mouth back down to his own.

In a few minutes, the truck is shaking from the movements of your hips, trying desperately to reach your finish, pushing down against him as much as the limited space the two of you occupy allows.

Damned bucket seats, you think.

Nate wants to shove a finger or two inside of you, but knows that seal is meant to be broken by his cock and his cock alone.

Eventually, you groan in frustration. He reaches up, throwing some hair back behind your shoulder, which your dress is beginning to slip off of. "What's wrong, baby? Tell me what you need."

You whimper, grabbing his arm, humping his hand, but it's no use on its own.

"Would my leg be better, angel?"

You look up at him and nod.

First, he reaches around, pulling loose the bow tied against your back, then pulling down the top of your dress, until that lacy little bra is visible. He quickly unhooks it at the back, tossing it into the passenger seat. He then grabs your hips, repositioning you over his left thigh.

"Go on, sweetheart, cum for me."

As you begin to grind down against his thigh—a shudder wracking through your body—he leans forward, taking one of your breasts in his mouth.

"Mm, so much better," you say quietly, head thrown back.

His hand is now soaked, but he reaches into the back of your panties once again, gripping your ass, feeling your movements as you ride his leg.

It's only a few minutes later that he begins to feel a wet sensation against his thigh and he pulls back, watching you.

Your face, neck, and chest are red with a sex flush, your soft breasts as well. He firmly grips your hips. "Come on, angel. Cum for me."

You begin to move faster, grinding down against him, whimpering, sighing.

"That's it, baby, I know. I know it feels good."

You whine, nodding your head.

"You look so fucking beautiful. Cum on my leg, sweetheart. You're almost there. Come on, baby."

It only takes a few more seconds before you fall over the edge. "Ah, Nate!"

You press your lips back to his, riding out your orgasm, bucking your hips against his thigh until you're sore and can't go anymore.

And his cock is throbbing from you saying his name as you climaxed. A sound he'd hoped to hear last night, or even this morning, but all that mattered was that he now had that lovely fucking sound in his head.

You only whispering his name in your room hadn't been nearly satisfactory enough.

Once your movements have slowed, you slump against him, your breathing ragged.

He holds you, hands rubbing against your bare back. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. "You did such a good job, angel."

You lie your head on his shoulder. "I did?"

He hums in approval. "I fucking loved hearing you say my name like that."

You pull back, eyes now hooded. "Really?"

He smirks. "Of course. Why wouldn't I like that?"

You gently plant your palms against his chest.

"Did you like that?"

You look at him from under your lashes and nod shyly.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Good."

You glance down at his erection, then back up to him. "Should I-"

He shakes his head. "I just wanted to take care of you. I enjoy helping you cum."

Lies, fucking lies. Yes, he enjoys knowing he's the one making you orgasm, but God if he doesn't want to pull his cock out and force it down your warm wet throat right now just to get some fucking relief.

But he can't. Not here. Not like this.

You nod.

He grabs your bra and begins dressing you again.

"Right blinker."

You glance at the levers on either side of the steering wheel. You know it's one of them, but unsure which one exactly.

You look at him.

"Try the lever on the left side."

A small green arrow starts blinking on the dash.

"Now left one."

A new arrow appears.

"Hazard lights."

Once Nate has schooled you on the various buttons and levers and switches his truck has to offer—you hope can you remember all of them—he makes you identify the brake and then the gas, then the gas and then the brake over and over, before telling you to adjust your mirrors, and finally instructing you to take the vehicle out of park and do a lap around the parking lot.

You don't go over ten miles per hour as you do as instructed, his palm resting on your thigh all the while for support.

One you've reached the spot where you first started, you press down on the brakes a bit too hard—the both of you lurch forward in your seats.

Your face grows warm and you look at him, gripping the wheel tighter. "Sorry."

He chuckles and you're glad you at least got him to smile. "It's ok. We'll work on that. Go ahead and go around again."

You do as instructed.

At the end of your lessons, Nate deems that you've done rather well. He'd had you drive around the parking lot a few times, reverse, park, even parallel park, which wasn't your favorite, but he tells you that all of it will improve in time the more he has you do it.

When he finally comes around to the driver's side to unbuckle you, you can't help but smile at how...special you feel.

He'd told you before you ever even switched seats that he'd never let another person drive his truck. Ever.

You'd thanked him for the privilege, then joked that you would only put, at most, a couple dents in it.

He'd told you he might have to punish you if that happened, his hand snaking between your legs.

On the way back to Nate's house, he'd called ahead and ordered the two of you Chinese for dinner, saying he wouldn't take you to a party on an empty stomach.

You'd merely told him thank you, twining his fingers between your own, his other wrist draped over the wheel.

As the two of you sat at the dining room table in his house, eating your dinner side-by-side, he'd fed you some of his Kung Pao chicken, your throat immediately burning. He'd laughed as you gulped down half a glass of water.

You ignored his telling you water would only make it worse as you drank more.

He finished half his food, putting the rest away in the fridge before coming to sit back down beside you while you finished, his body facing yours, pressing soft kisses to your hair every few moments as you ate your rice and chicken.

And at one point, when you'd finally looked at him, the look in his eyes was nothing short of adoring.

He merely continued to stare at you, his fingers threading through your hair. "You're so beautiful."

"Thank you."

He nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you went back to eating.

So polite, he thought. Even after giving you oral you had thanked him—thanked him—for getting you to orgasm. God, you were so different than anyone he'd ever had before.

As his eyes trailed over your body, he couldn't help but smile at knowing you're his.

Once you're full, he leads you up to his room, stripping you out of your outfit for the day, before slipping one of his t-shirts on over your head for you to relax in for the next couple of hours before he gets you ready for the party.

You seat yourself on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to decide what the two of you are going to do next, until he sits down on his lifting bench.

"Do you care if I work out for a little bit?"

You shake your head. "Go ahead," you say with a smile. Perhaps even a little eager to watch him.

He lies back, legs spread, feet planted on the floor on either side of him, then reaches up to start weight-lifting.

You lean forward, your legs crossed, elbows pressed into your thighs, head resting on your fists as you watch him with utter desire.

The way his biceps flex, his abs taught as he pushes the weight up from him, then back down, with little difficulty. You lick your lips as your eyes trail lower, somewhat wanting to see what you'd felt pressed against your heat earlier in his truck.

You know you had told him that you didn't mind him being softer, gentler, but the fact that he plays football, drives a big truck, and works out...it's all definitely a turn-on.

After a number of reps—you'd not bothered keeping count of just how many, you were otherwise occupied—Nate sits up, only glancing to you before starting with the leg lift next. And your eyes once again trail from his abdomen, all the way down to his muscled legs, dark hair littering both.

You feel warm, especially between your thighs. God, you can't believe he's all yours.

Who cares if he wants to blow large loads of money on you and dress you up occasionally if you get to watch him do this sometimes.

Once he's finished, you sit up straighter as he walks over to you. You look up at him.

"Sorry if that was a bit boring."

He knows you liked it. Can tell from how intently you had watched him, the obvious warmth of your cheeks.

You shake your head. "It wasn't," you say, your voice barely above a whisper you're so turned on.

He grips your chin, running his thumb alonger your lower lip. "No?"

You lightly shake your head.

"You liked it?" He pretends to feign mild suprise.

You nod.

He studies you for a moment. Then, he leans down toward you, forcing you to lay back on the bed.

He reaches between your legs and you gasp in surprise as he runs two fingers along your soaking wet folds. "That much, huh?"

You nod, then spread your legs wider, reaching down to the hem of his t-shirt, quickly removing it, leaving yourself completely naked before him.

A silent plea for him to do something—anything—to relieve that pulse going between your legs now.

He rubs his thumb over your clit and you smile, reching up to grip his broad shoulders.

"Did that feel good?"

You nod. "Y-yes."

He looks down at your pussy. "So wet for me, aren't you, baby?"

You spread your legs wider, the backs of your thighs now resting flat on the mattress they can't be parted any further.

And all Nate can think is how needy you fucking are. And he loves it. How easily wet you get for him, how you're already so willing to let him touch and taste and tease you. How you so easily hand over control of your body to him.

He presses a kiss to your lips for just a moment before pulling away, rubbing his thumb over your clit again.

"Mm, Nate..."

He smirks as you close your eyes, expecting him to give you yet another orgasm today.

Finally, he steps away, shutting the bathroom door behind him, the shower turning on.

Your eyes pop open and you shoot up in bed, bringing your legs back together, wondering why the hell he'd left.

Nate takes his time showering, hoping you're lying on the bed sexually frustrated from his teasing you, something he plans to do a great deal more of in-time.

He knows how powerful of a weapon sex can be, and with your experience being null...he never had that kind of upper-hand before. He's beyond elated that he does now.

He'd known Maddy had been lying when they fucked for the first time. When he had pulled out of her and there's been no blood, when she'd clearly known what the hell she was doing. But, because she'd been something warm and tight to stick his cock into, he'd resigned himself to not having a virgin like he wanted.

But you? You don't stand a chance against his sexual prowess.

Once he's showered and has also shaved, he jacks off thinking about the things he's done to you so far, but even more-so the things to come.

When he finishes, it's with cum shooting out, onto his hand, on the dark shower walls. Finally he feels some small form of release.

It's beyond fucking difficult maintaining control when it comes to being intimate with you, but he has a plan and knows he has to—must—stick to it. It's imperative that your first time with him is full of emotion and love and passion.

Because once the two of you have shared that moment?

His hooks in you will be permanently set.

Once Nate had showered, you'd not said anything about his teasing you. In reality, you kind of liked it... You knew he was being a flirt by doing it, if not also a bit of an ass, but for some reason all of that turned you on all the more.

The build-up to something else.

The two of you lied down on his bed for awhile, you naked, pressed into his side, one of your legs twined around his own while while some cheesy romance movie played—something he'd put on, thinking you would like it.

But you couldn't focus on that. Instead, all you could think about was how good this feels. This level of comfort and warmth and trust with someone to be with them like this. Naked in his bed, one of his arms around you, fingertips brushing against your hip, his other bent behind his head.

You think how lucky you are to have him. He's smart, handsome, sweet, so, so kind and giving and selfless, mature, determined...the list goes on.

He moves his hand up, his fingers working themselves against your scalp and you close your eyes, falling asleep listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart.

You're woken by Nate planting featherlight kisses against your cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, lips. Your eyes flutter open and you wrap your arms around his neck, stretching, arching your back. You smile up at him through drowsy eyes. "Hi."

You crane your neck up to kiss him and he melts into you. Literally melts.

Your softness, your graceful femininity, your love and desire for him and only him.

He pulls away for a moment, your gentle fingertips touching his lips as you look into his eyes.

"Time to get up and let me get you ready, angel."

"What if we stayed here in your bed?" You ask, your voice light and dreamy.

And fuck him if he doesn't consider it for a moment.

He shakes his head, then. He needs to get you drunk tonight.

"Sit up for me, sweetheart."

You keep your arms around his neck as he pulls you up with him, yawning as he disentangles himself from you, then takes your hand in his, leading your naked form into the bathroom as he turns on the shower.

Once he's washed you, the two of you go through the same rendition as that morning. And due to your still feeling sleepy, you let him do as he pleases as he brushes out your still-straight hair, forgoing any accessories. He then leads you back into his bedroom, seating you on his mattress as he goes through the bag he'd packed for you. He'd found a comely black dress in your closet that he'd actually been surprised you even owned, it showed so much skin. Well, a lot for you, at least.

But it'd also been shoved into the back, so it clearly was not a favorite of yours.

You raise your arms as he slips the soft black dress over your naked form. He admires it on you for a moment—it's a mini dress, with a plunging neckline, the sides cut out, leaving your sides bare, but against your back is a large bow.

He doesn't consider putting a choker back on you, wanting anyone who looks at you tonight to see the mark he'd put on your body, branding you as his property.

He then kneels down, slipping a black pair of pumps onto your feet which are covered in a pleasant floral pattern, small bows on each.

He then stands, heading over to his closet and throwing on a t-shirt and jeans, and a pair of clean socks and tennis shoes, shrugging on a zip-up hoodie before offering you his hand.

A small smile plays on Nate's lips the entire way over to the party. This afternoon had been so perfect. You naked in his bed, asleep in his arms, then sitting there contently—silently—while he readied you, dressing you up as he pleased. And now here you sit in the passenger side, entertaining yourself with his right hand resting in your lap, holding one of your own while your other traces idle shapes along his veins and skin.

As he slows for a traffic light, he glances at you, how beautiful you look. And all he can think is how much he loves you.

"Are you happy, baby?"

You look up at him, smile, then nod. "Yes."

The light turns green and he looks back to the road before the both of you.

Once Nate has parked, you feel your pulse rising under your skin. Flashing lights, and loud, thumping music come from the two-story house before you, numerous people coming in and out, milling around outside, drinks in-hand.

Once Nate has come around and unbuckled you, you stay seated. "There's a lot of people here."

He just looks at you, waiting for you to continue. "I...I get anxious in crowds."

He takes your hand in his, helping you down. "Just stay close to me, then, sweetheart."

You twine your fingers securely between his, your other arm coming up to wrap around his own and you press your body as close as you can into his side as you enter the strange domicile you've never been to before.

And Nate eats it up—you clinging to him so closely, afraid of being parted from his side—and he feels both a sense of satisfaction, as well as jealousy, if not also possessiveness, as young men's eyes trail along your young body. All of them want what they'll never have. You belong to him now.

He glances down at you and you're already looking up at him, completely oblivious to the men practically lapping at you with their tongues.

He gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head, then leads you further into the house, the music growing so loud you can feel the bass in your chest, intermixing with the wild beat of your heart.

Nate's eyes dart this way and that, looking for possible familiar faces—not because he wants to spend any amount of time with anyone but you tonight—but because he wants the word to spread like wildfire that you're already wrapped around his finger already. Completely devoted to him.

When he spots the kitchen, he leads you in that direction, honing in on the plethora of alcoholic drinks sitting out on the counter.

He releases your hand for a moment, your body pressing impossibly closer to his own, as he looks over the bottles, searching for something good to start you out with. Something sweet and sugary to get you drunk on before he has you start downing hard liquor to keep you that way for the rest of the night.

His goal is to get you drunk enough that you black out and forget what he has planned this evening.

He spots a bottle of sparkling cider and picks it up, pouring some into a solo cup, placing it in your small delicate hands.

"I-I don't drink!" You practially have to scream at him over the music.

His brows furrow, acting like he has no idea what you've said. He leans down, placing his ear close to those pretty lips that he'd put some pink lipgloss on before leaving.

"I don't drink, Nate."

He places his lips against your ear, his hand gripping your hip in silent encouragement. "Just try it, you might like it."

You look at him for a moment, then finally take a sip. And your eyes widen in interest before taking another one. He bites back a satisfied smirk.

"Do you like it?"

You nod your head fervently and he can't help but think how utterly fucking adorable you look.

He takes your cup, filling it nearly to the brim with the orange substance.

He, himself, grabs a bottle of Budweiser before leading you further into the house, seating himself on a couch before pulling you into his lap, one of his hands coming to rest firmly between your legs under your dress.

He takes a sip of his beer, then watches as you take another sip and then another from your cup. He reaches up, tipping it forward, forcing you to down a third of it in one go. Finally, he drops his hand, picking up his beer again and laughs playfully when you look at him, shaking your head with a smile.

By the time you've reached the bottom of your cup, you're already drunk. Your head feels light, like it's spinning. You lean back against Nate, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Did you finish it?"

You merely nod, a giggle escaping your lips.

"Want me to get you another one?"

You sit up straighter, then turn to look at him and burst out laughing.

He can't keep himself from smiling at you.

"Is that a yes?"

You nod, scrunching your nose up adorably before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing a firm wet kiss to his cheek, then kissing his lips. He notes that you taste pleasantly of apples.

You stumble alongside Nate as he pulls you into the kitchen, filling your cup again and you don't notice, as you go to take a sip, that he once again puts his index finger under the base, holding it in-place until half the cup is drained.

He glances behind you, seeing Maddy across the room, wearing some revealing purple dress that nearly shows her ass, Kat at her side.

He watches them as they watch you, Maddy leaning over to Kat, saying something to her, which he can't quite make out.

He thinks, if he's read her lips correctly, she said 'what the fuck did he do to her?'.

He looks down at you, cupping one of your cheeks in his hand. "Do you want to dance?"

"What?" You giggle again, hugging him affectionately.

When you pull away he repeats himself.

"Do you?" You ask, your words slurred.

He doesn't answer before grabbing your hand, leading you into the middle of the living room, pulling your body against his. He grabs your hips, shaking them this way then that, one of your arms slung over his shoulder, the other occasionally lifting your drink to your lips.

He then sees Cassie, who's been watching the two of you for God knows how long, so he leans down, pressing a long, passionate kiss to your lips, adding in plenty of tongue.

You moan against him and he has half-a-mind to reach into your panties, wondering if all the alcohol has gone where he hopes it has.

He refrains. He won't humiliate or disrespect you like that. Not in front of a crowd.

He moves his lips down to your neck and you throw your head back. He moves one of his hands under the cut-out side of your dress, under your panties beneath, gripping one of your ass cheeks. The other comes up to caress the back of your head as he begins kissing your neck, sucking on that purple bruise, keeping it firmly in-place.

He licks your neck when he sees Cassie finally walk away, chugging her beer.

Nate pulls back, looking down at you.

You smile up at him. "I feel so-" you laugh. "So good." you giggle a few times. "I want you so bad."

He raises a brow. "Is that so?"

"Mhm." You reply, kissing him.

He puts his lips right up against your ear. "I bet if I checked them, your panties are fucking soaked right now. Aren't they?"

He feels you nod and blood fills his cock.

"You wet for me, baby?"

You nod again. "Yes," you say breathily.

His fingers tangle in the hair at the back of your head, gently yanking your head back, and he devours your neck. He wedges one of his legs between your thighs, moving his lips back to your ear. "There you go, angel. Take what you need."

You grind against him and whimper.

He presses his lips against your own, teasing you with his tongue.

Your kissing grows sloppy, uncoordinated, your hips bucking randomly against him.

He pulls away and you pout. He pulls you back into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels before holding it against your lips. "Try this one, sweetheart."

You don't argue, you just drink, the whiskey dripping down between your breasts, which he quickly cleans with his tongue. You giggle. "Stop it," you say between laughs.

He holds the bottle to your lips again and doesn't stop until you've drunk more than a sufficient amount.

You tug against his shirt then and he gives you his ear. "I have to-" You laugh. "Have to potty."

He holds you against his side as he goes in search of the bathroom, hoping you can hold it and that you haven't broken that tab just yet.

He finally finds it at the end of a hall. He knocks once, twice, then opens the door, finding it empty.

You stumble inside.

"Can you go on your own?" He does not fucking want to have to wipe you, but will look after you if that's what needs done.

You nod your head, slamming the door in his face.

He leans back against a wall, waiting for you. And rolls his eyes when Cassie comes to rest back against the wall opposite him.

She takes a swig of her beer—because of course she's drinking beer—at least you like the sweet stuff, which he thinks certainly fitting for you—before crossing her arms over her ample chest.

He only gives her a bored glance before leaning his head back, taking a drink of his Budweiser.

"What does she have that I don't?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters while staring up at the ceiling before looking at her. "Are you serious right now?"

She shrugs dramatically, her eyes widening. "You never had any interest in her before. Didn't you call her 'fucking boring' one time?"

He shakes his head. "Doesn't fucking matter what I said before, Cassie. I'm with her now. End of story."

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "She's not even your fucking type!"

He laughs, mockingly. He licks his lips, glancing away, then back to her. "You have no idea what my type even is."

"I thought it was me..." She mumbles.

He raises a brow. "Are you fucking slow or something? Alright, fine. You want to know what she has that you don't?

She nods her head dramatically. "Yeah, I do. Because it sure as hell isn't looks, or-"

His fuse is near-gone by now. "She came to me a fucking virgin, for one. I sure as shit couldn't have said the same for you."

She flinches.

"Do you know how humiliating it was to be with you? The way you acted sometimes-" He rubs his thumb against his brow, lowering that hand back down to his side. "You were nothing more than a greedy whore looking for attention, and that still hasn't changed even now. It's why you're trying to make a scene in the middle of a party in front of all our peers. I mean," he holds out his hands, palms face-up before her. "What did you really hope to accomplish with this?" He relaxes one of his arms back down to his side again, the other holding his beer to his lips for a quick drink.

"Look at the fucking way you're dressed for one. You might as well have walked in here naked-"

"Look at the way she's dressed!"

"I know exactly what she's wearing because I put it on her!"

Hurt flashes across her features, remembering when he had once done that for her.

"So, is that it, then, you just needed a new doll to play with?"

He leans back, lightly banging the back of his head against the wall. "You don't fucking get it."

"Then explain it to me, since I'm so ignorant."

He looks at her again. "She's everything I've ever wanted. You can't hope to hold a fucking candle to her. You, Cassie, you were just a toy for me to fuck when I had nothing better to do. You're the girl you brag to your buddies about making another notch in your belt for. She's the girl you marry and provide a life for."

Her lip trembles.

He shakes his head. "Even then, I don't brag about you because I'm fucking ashamed I was ever even with you. I'm probably lucky I didn't catch something, since half the guys around here have rode you like a goddamn Greyhound."

She explodes then. "Fuck you, Nate! I gave you fucking everything! I bent over backwards for you—to be perfect for you. I blew up my life for you! I thought we were in love and that...that we'd have forever together and...so what? What is it, then? Do you love her now?"

He throws his bottle at the wall, no more than half a foot from her head, causing her to jump in fear as it shatters, alcohol spraying on her. "Yes, Cassie, I fucking love her!"

Right as he screams it in her face, you open the bathroom door, hearing every word.

Both their heads jerk in your direction and you glance from Cassie to Nate, back to Cassie, before finally settling on Nate again. You let out a quiet sob. "I can't get them back on, I keep falling over."

He looks down, and sees your panties around your ankles. He suddenly softens then. "Oh, baby, c'mere."

He kneels down, grabbing your hand and placing it firmly on his shoulder. "Lift your leg for me sweetheart."

You do, head spinning as he slips one foot free. "Now the other side, angel."

Cassie watches, heart breaking at how gentle he is with you. The sweet names he calls you—something he'd never done for her. She was, at the most, Cass.

Finally, he stands, pocketing your lacy black panties.

You lean back against the wall to steady yourself, and he cups both of your cheeks in his hands and all she can do is stare at the two of you. At the look in his eyes—seeing that it's true; they're filled with love and devotion and care.

"Did you go?" He asks, his tone gentle, but concerned.

You nod.

He brushes a thumb over your lips. "Did you wipe, sweetheart?"

You nod again.

He presses a firm, yet soft kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before wrapping one of his arms around you, holding you close to his side, not sparing Cassie another glance as he tells you "Let's go get you another drink."

Cassie slams the bathroom door behind her, unable to think of anything else but how, if that had been her, he wouldn't have waited for her, wouldn't have helped, or tended to her. Would've most likely started a fight with her over how she was embarrassing him. How she was being a trashy slut.

What the fuck was so different about you?

Once Nate has gotten you so drunk that you can't even stand up on your own, he has to carry you back to his truck bridal-style. His jacket is draped over you to keep you warm, your face pressed against his neck while one of your hands grips his t-shirt for dear life.

He quickly unlocks the truck, his keys held firmly in one of his hands underneath you, and he lowers you into your seat, carefully buckling you in. He gently shuts the door, coming around to the driver's side. Once he's buckled in as well, he locks both doors, making sure you don't do something stupid in your stupor, like try and open it.

You lean your head back against the seat, holding his jacket over you.

"So dizzy..."

He turns the heat on. "Just close your eyes, baby. We'll be home soon."

You do, wishing the world would just slow down.

Once Nate has gotten you home, he carries you inside, and when he sets you down in the foyer, you slam back against the wall, back to giggling again.

He tries to shoosh you, holding a finger up to your lips, but you gently pull it down, trying to instead shove it under your dress.

He shakes his head. "Are you going to be a naughty girl tonight, then?"

You shrug, but barely, your limbs not entirely cooperating.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours and you giggle yet again and his hand grips one of your inner-thighs.

He pulls back a little, glancing down the hall, then to you. "Do you want to go swimming?"

You nod enthusiatically, then immediately regret it as you press your forehead against his chest, willing the dizziness away. "Nooooo..."

"So you do or don't?"

"Swim mmm."

He takes that as a yes.

He leads you that way, you nearly falling on your ass halfway down the hall, but he drags you along, despite your stumbling. He grabs a couple beers from the fridge, intending on giving one to you outside.

Once you're in the backyard, he picks you up, slinging you over his shoulder. "Oooh noooo."

"Oh yes," he replies.

Your head slumps, bobbing with every step he takes, until he finally sets you down on a pool chair.

He hands a bottle of beer to you and you can't quite figure out the twist top, so he takes it from you, opening it, then handing it back. He watches in satisfaction as you take a long drink, licking your pretty pink lips.

He kneels down, not even buzzed and reaches his hand between your legs.

You hum with pleasure, closing your eyes.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

Your eyes pop open.

"Do you want to go skinny dipping?"

You nod.

He helps you out of your heels and then your dress, tossing the latter onto the chair you'd previously occupied.

He grips the back of his shirt, pulling it off, then toes off his shoes and socks before he reaches down, unbuckling his belt, and unzipping and unbuttoning his jeans before he pulls them, along with his briefs, off in one motion. You barely get a chance to look over his naked form before he walks the both of you over to the pool. He seats you on the side, your legs dangling in the warm water as he slips in.

He grips your hips, easing you in as well, wrapping your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and his own arms around you to ensure you don't drown.

You gently lie your cheek against his shoulder, the only sounds to fill the night being the lapping of water, crickets and frogs, and the pool filter humming under the water.

"I love you," he whispers, knowing you won't remember any of this.

"Mmm," is all the reply you can manage, your body shaking with a small laugh.

"You're all mine. Every part of you."

You stay silent, enjoying the bouyant feeling of weightlessness and the warmth of him.

"Can you tell me that, angel? That you belong to me?"

"I..." you giggle. "I belong to youuu."

He hums his approval.

"I'm going to take your virginity tomorrow," he says, tone relaxed.

"Okaaay."

He smirks. You have no idea what he's even saying.

"And when I do, you're mine. Forever."

You only wrap your arms tighter around his neck. "Juuust get the home-" you snicker. "Homework done, 'kay?"

He doesn't say anything as he wades the two of you arond the pool. His studious little angel.

You yawn and he knows it's time to get out then.

You take his hand as the two of you exit the pool. Nate grabs some towels out of a nearby bin, but you laugh when he comes to stand in front of you. He fills with seething fucking rage when he sees that you're looking at his cock when you do it.

"What's so funny?" He asks, hands in fists at his sides.

"I've n-never seen one. In-" You cackle. "real life. It's so-"

If you're about to insult him, he knows he'll snap and do something he'll later regret.

"So preeetty."

All the tension releases from his body. Not quite what he'd been expecting, but he'll take it.

You look up to him with a drunken smile. "I l-like it."

He smirks. "Do you want to touch my cock, sweetheart?"

You nod.

He takes one of your hands in his, wrapping it around his member, which quickly grows harder in your grip.

"Feels funny."

"How?"

"Soft. Like vel-Velveeta."

He knows you mean velvet.

Your strokes are sloppy, unsure. He knows that you have no idea what the fuck you're doing, but it only turns him on all the more.

Just as he begins to consider asking you to get on your knees, he looks toward the house and immediately loses his erection when he sees his dad watching the both of you.

You frown. "What...w-what happened?"

You look up to him.

"You're exhausted. Time for bed."

You hang your head as he wraps your naked body in a towel. "Noooo..."

"Yes, c'mon," he says, taking your hand, grabbing your clothes and his in the other, slipping his shoes back on, handing you yours.

Once the two of you have taken a shower—Nate not wanting his sheets to stink like chlorine—he puts you to bed, lying down beside you, still naked.

Before you fall off to sleep, however, he reaches over, grabbing your phone from the nightstand.

He hopes to God you're not too drunken to answer his next question. "What's the pin for your phone?"

It takes a few tries and a lot of laughing, but you finally give him the four-digit code, which he immediately commits to memory.

And then you drift off to sleep, once again firmly against his chest, feeling safe and happy.

Meanwhile, Nate goes through every single app on your device. He's glad to see you have no social media, minus Pinterest and Letterboxd accounts, neither of which have any messages on them. He browses through your emails, finding nothing of interest.

He next checks your gallery, searching for nudes he's sure he won't find, even checking for hidden folders.

He finds naught.

Finally, after browsing your texts—you only having threads with him, your dad—which you haven't texted with in hardly three weeks, and Lexi—who you left on read Friday when she texted you asking 'what the hell is going on with you and Nate?'—he briefly considers blocking her number, but knows that decision, that action, needs to come from you—he installs an app for tracking your location, syncs it to the very same app on his own phone, and then hides it.

He makes it so that, unless you go into your settings looking through your app list, you'll never find it.

He tells himself that he's only doing it to keep you safe. But he also knows that if he ever catches you with someone else, he'll fucking kill him.

You wake before dawn with an extreme feeling of nausea. You practically jump out of bed—head pounding—and race to the toilet, barely making it as you kneel before it, vomiting up the contents of your stomach.

Nate wakes as well, sitting up, heading toward the bathroom in a panic to take care of you, before remembering that he's naked. He grabs a pair of briefs from the floor, sitting on his bench press as he pulls them on. He comes into the bathroom then, kneeling beside you and pulling your hair out of your way as you continue to get sick.

Once your stomach has calmed, you close the lid, flushing, then lying your head down. "Oh God."

He smirks, running his hand along your naked back. "Hangover?"

"Don't ever, ever, ever let me drink again."

He stands, grabbing a clean washcloth and running it under some cool water before wringing it out and holding it against your forehead.

You merely hum your appreciation.

"I feel so horrible."

"It usually goes down a lot easier than when it comes back up."

You groan.

He presses a kiss to your hair. "Are you cold or hot?"

"Both. My body is freezing."

He stands, grabbing a spare blanket from the foot of his bed, then returning to the bathroom, wrapping you up in it.

"Thank you," you mumble.

And then the feeling hits you again, so you throw the toilet lid open and vomit once more.

It's almost an hour later before you feel confident enough that, if you go back to bed, you won't get sick all over it. Nate puts a trash can on your side anyway.

He'd gone down and gotten you water, a bottle of Gatorade, and some crackers before coming back up and setting them on the table on your side of the bed.

He likes that you now have a side.

While you lie there, facing away from him and instead toward the side that the trash can is on, he also lays on his side, rubbing your back.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For?"

"Embarrassing you, probably."

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"I don't remember most of it."

His hand stills, but only for a moment. So it worked, he thinks, a sick sense of satisfaction filling him.

"What's the last thing you do?"

You close your eyes. "It's like there's holes in my memory. I remember dancing. I think I went pee. I think...I think I went pee and Cassie was in the bathroom with me?" You pause for a moment and sigh. "I think you carried me to your truck. Did we swim?"

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "Just for a little bit. Then we came up and watched a movie until you fell asleep on my chest."

You hum in response. "Was it The Princess Bride? I think I remember."

He's glad you do, because he sure as hell doesn't, since it never happened. "It was."

"Oh."

You're quiet for a moment, then, "Have you ever been drunk?"

He nods. "A few times. I try not to make a habit of it."

You moan. "That's smart. Smarter than me."

He chuckles. "First time for everything. Including get wasted. Honestly, it's more on me than it is you. You've never drank before and don't know your own limits. I should've cut you off a lot earlier."

You press your face into the soft pillow under your head. "That's a lifetime achievement I could've lived without. But it's not your fault."

You lie your cheek against the pillow then. "How long until I feel better?"

He shrugs. "A few hours, better part of a day. Just depends how long it takes to work its way out of your system."

You take a sip of your Gatorade and chew on a cracker. Once you've swallowed you lie back down.

"Just close your eyes and try and get some sleep, angel."

You nod against the pillow. "Goodnight."

He presses a kiss to the back of your head, curling his body around yours, pulling you back against him. "Goodnight," he replies, even if it's now morning.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader)#nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs imagine #euphoria x reader #euphoria x you #i'm so mean to cassie i'm so sorry lmao #i prommy i don't hate her #she's just another one of nate's victims & someone who deserves sm better than the hand she was dealt #lana really went off with 'this is what makes us girls' huh

271 notes · View notes

pickingupmymercedes · 2 months

Text

It sounds silly - Lewis Hamilton

Request: "Also if you have time or want to could you write something where the reader is struggling with a self image issue and where Lewis gives words of encouragement?" -@chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: bit of angst, self image problems, body image discussions.

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Tooth rooting fluff coming right up. I mean it, you guys are not ready for the levels of softness in this. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the request. My mind went wild with this one.

a/n.2: BTW a good friend of mine proof read it and we tried something different with the writting, so please give me a heads up on what you guys feel and how it compares to the previous fics

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The reason you gave for canceling your dinner date with Lewis seemed trivial, even childish. You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, confronting your reflection—a vulnerable woman who felt the sting of her insecurities more acutely than she'd like to admit. The muted light from the overhead fixture highlighted the lines of worry on your face, adding to the ambiance of tension that filled the room.

You had told Lewis that a migraine was to blame, but there you were, with smudged makeup and half-curled hair, staring at an Instagram post that had reignited old insecurities. The post was a fan-made video showcasing all of Lewis's past girlfriends, and while he seemed content with each of them, his smile was undeniably brightest with you. But you couldn’t shake off the feeling of inadequacy when comparing yourself to his past, seemingly flawless partners.

The doorbell interrupted your thoughts. Hoping Lewis would get the hint and leave, you chose not to answer, however, when the familiar jingle of keys met your ears, you realized he was using the spare key you’d given him.

"Hey, love, where are you?" Lewis's voice resonated through the apartment. The ambient lighting in your living room painted a warm glow around him, accentuating his concerned expression. The soft, muted tones of the decor and the comforting scent of your favorite candle filled the space, an atmosphere of intimacy and familiarity to a place he was around often.

He found you in the bathroom, a vision of distress with red, swollen eyes. "What happened? Why didn't you answer the door?" he asked softly, taking in your disheveled appearance.

You hesitated, reluctant to admit the true reason for your emotional turmoil. "I told you I had a migraine," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Sensing there was more to your distress, Lewis gently tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. "Look at me, please," he requested softly.

Reluctantly, you met his gaze, feeling the weight of his concern. "I know it's silly, Lewis," you began, already apologizing in advance, your voice quivering. "I'm a grown woman who’s achieved success in life, yet… I find myself comparing to those other women."

His expression softened, but there was a hint of persistence in his eyes. "I sense there's more you're not telling me,” he said gently. "Love, talk to me."

Swallowing hard, you admitted, "I... I saw something on Instagram." Tears welled up again as you continued, "A fan-made video of all your past girlfriends. They were all so... beautiful and skinny. And then there’s me."

Understanding dawned on Lewis's face as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. "Oh, love," he murmured, his voice filled with an empathetic thone that only made things worse.

You buried your face in his chest, feeling a mix of relief and vulnerability wash over you. "I'm sorry," you whispered, ashamed of how your insecurities got the best of you.

"Don't be," Lewis reassured you softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm committed to us, to what we have. You're the one I've chosen and it’s not because of comparisons."

As you clung to each other, the weight of your insecurities began to lift, replaced by the comforting and understanding presence of the man who loved you deeply. His hand moved to the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles as he whispered words of reassurance.

Wanting to shift the atmosphere and distract from the emotional weight of the conversation, Lewis suggested, "How about we make dinner together tonight?"

You nodded, grateful for the idea of focusing on something else. "Sounds good."

"How about pasta? It's quick, and I think you’ll have the ingredients," Lewis replied, already heading towards the kitchen.

As Lewis began to gather the necessary ingredients, he felt a strong urge to show you just how beautiful he found your body. Wanting to uplift your spirits and reaffirm his admiration for you, he started to become more affectionate.

While stirring the sauce on the stove, Lewis wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you close to him. He pressed soft kisses along the side of your neck, his hands tracing gentle patterns on your hips and sides.

"You know," he whispered, his voice husky, "I've always found you incredibly sexy, just the way you are."

A warmth spread through you, not just from the heat of the stove but from the genuine affection and desire in Lewis's touch and words. It was moments like these that made you feel cherished and desired, erasing the doubts and insecurities that had plagued you earlier.

"I love you," you whispered, turning in his arms to press a lingering kiss on his lips.

"I love you too," Lewis replied, his eyes filled with warmth and sincerity. "And I'll keep reminding you every day until you believe it."

Feeling the weight of the emotional conversation lifting, you decided to show Lewis the video that had triggered your insecurities. Taking a deep breath, you handed him your phone, pointing to the Instagram post.

Lewis took the phone from your outstretched hand, unlocking it to search for the video you mentioned. He watched it in silence, his expression thoughtful as he took in each frame. When the video ended, he set his phone down and looked at you with a soft smile.

"I've had my fair share of relationships in the past, but with you, it's different. I want you to know that," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

You looked into his eyes, hesitating for a moment before opening up. "It feels so childish. You're a superstar, and I can't help but compare myself to your past. I know it sounds silly.”

Understanding filled Lewis's eyes as he took a step closer, gently cupping your face. "I understand why you’d feel that way, but you have to know, that to me, you are more than enough. I chose you for who you are, not for how you compare to anyone else."

His words, though simple, held a depth of sincerity that touched your heart, easing the sting of your insecurities. You nodded slowly, taking in his reassuring presence.

"Thank you for being so understanding," you finally said, your voice filled with gratitude and relief.

"I'm always here for you." Lewis said, squeezing your hand gently.

As the evening wore on and dinner was ready, Lewis took a step back, extending his hand towards you. "May I have this dance?" he asked with a playful grin.

You chuckled at the unexpected request. "But there's no music."

"Who needs music?" Lewis replied, a tender smile on his face. "I just want to hold you close and dance with you."

Gratefully accepting his hand, you allowed Lewis to pull you close, placing one hand on his shoulder while he held you securely around the waist. As you began to move slowly together, you felt the gentle rhythm of your hearts beating in sync.

There was no need for music. The silence between you was filled with the unspoken words of love, understanding, and acceptance. As you held each other in a tender embrace, the warmth and closeness spoke volumes, conveying love, reassurance, and unwavering support without the need for words.

In the quiet intimacy of your living room, swaying gently together, you found solace in Lewis's presence. With him by your side, you felt not just loved, but truly cherished. You knew that with him, you could open up without fear of judgment, feeling understood and supported in every moment.

As the night deepened, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the comforting cocoon of your home and him. With each passing moment, you felt more connected, more understood, and more cherished. The insecurities that once plagued you were now distant, replaced by the undeniable truth of Lewis's unwavering support.

He pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes with a mischievous grin. "We should make our own video." playfully winking at you, trying to lighten the mood further.

You laughed, swatting him lightly on the arm. The playful banter was exactly what you needed to dispel the last of your insecurities and bring a genuine smile to your face. With a chuckle, Lewis pulled you close once more, relishing in the sound of your laughter. "I mean it, though," he whispered, his voice filled with love and a hint of mischief. "I want to capture all our beautiful moments together."

Blushing at his boldness, you shook your head, your heart swelling with love for the man who always knew how to lift you up. "Maybe one day," you teased, "but for now, let's just enjoy this, yeah?!"

Lewis nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "Sounds perfect," he whispered, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, sealing your love and the promise of many more cherished moments to come.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #f1 imagine #ella asks #formula 1

342 notes · View notes

pumpkinbxtch · 3 months

Note

“No one asked for it” ME!! ME!! I WILL ASK FOR IT I WILL!!! ME!! Plsplsplsplspls do an Apollo/Lester x Reader. PLEASE

you said you have an idea, DO IT. unless it’s nsfw 💔💔 but if it isn’t PLEASE

but if you can just do one in general I’ll take it

Me I’m the target audience it’s me

(Fem or Gn!reader)

I don’t have any specifics bcs I’m so desperate atp :’)!!!

thank you for reading this 😭 hope you have a nice day

.・・. “offering” .・・.

— apollo/lester x fem!reader

Summary: apollo fell in love with you and that scares him, probably the only thing he can do about it is nothing. or not?

Warnings: none, I think. swear words? probably a little angsty.

A/N: hello gorgeous, you are the first to ask me so thank you. IN THIS HOUSE WE LOVE LESTER/APOLLO so don't worry, THERE WILL BE MORE (or i hope so) For now I will leave you with this small but cute one, I hope you like it and I LOVED reading you, if you have any others requests don't stop your precious heart.

Forgive me if it is not worthy of you. Kisses.

- From the other side of the milky way, María. 💙

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Apollo knew that falling in love with you could represent a danger, his love seemed cursed no matter the time and space where it flourished. He could rarely (or rather never) be happy with the person he loved, but he just couldn't help it and his human form made him nothing more than an embarrassing, clumsy, sweaty bundle when he was with you. Everything about the situation seemed wonderful (and tragic) to him, he didn't know when he had started to feel that way but his heart was beating as if it were the first time.

He tried-and really tried-not to make it obvious. You'd already risked getting into this mess with him and Meg, you'd saved his not-so-divine ass a thousand times, and now you got involved as his love interest? No thanks, he preferred you more as a human and not as a cute bush. Although he wondered what kind of flower you were? No, stop, he wouldn't create any more flowers with ex-lovers.

But your pretty eyes, your lips and, oh, that laugh that seemed like a melody composed by damn Mozart! Damn, he had a huge crush on you. And what was he? a skinny guy with a bird's nest for hair and acne problems, ugh.

Maybe the walk he was having with you around New Rome was the closest to what you would do as a couple, so Apollo began to daydream. He grabbed a flower from the flower beds where you were walking and held it in his sweaty hands.

He looked at you. How your hair danced with each step and you smiled as you saw how the simple everyday life of the locals resulted in something beautiful. The sun, gods! He used to be in charge of it and couldn't contain his jealousy towards the other gods for enlightening you with such grace.

Apollo rolled the flower on its stem with his fingertips and admired its pink petals.

Then, he slowed his pace and left you walking on your own. How it hurt. He just wanted to love and be loved.

Noticing his absence, you turned on your heel, kicking up a small wave of dust.

—Apollo? — You called him and he felt a crack appear in his human heart.

He looked up and walked towards you slowly. The sun was already setting, Ra would have already finished and he was surely laughing at him.

— Darling? — He responded, feeling the heat on his cheeks immediately. Flirting wasn't so easy for him anymore, yet he kept trying.

You snorted and gave a small smile.

— Again with that.

Wanting to brush aside your mockery, he approached you and placed the flower behind your ear. Hearing no complaints, he gently placed his hand on the back of your head and kissed your forehead. At least his father hadn't given him an embarrassing height to achieve that.

His heart raced and he tried to keep your cheek resting on his chest hoping you could hear his heartbeat. A silent way of telling you what felt for you, would you have understood?

You straightened gently making you face each other and the breeze suddenly caressed both of you. Apollo's tangled brown curls played with the flurry of his twirling and framing his blue eyes. He looked so young but his essence emanated the ancestral, it was like admiring those museum pieces but raw. You felt so bad about yourself.

How can you fall in love with a god? The answer was short: You couldn't. You shouldn't.

You shouldn't have.

The breeze brought with it small particles of dust that made your eyes blink suddenly to cover the discomfort, however, a few seconds after noticing it, Apollo raised his hand and diverted the wind from your face. A gentle and terribly sweet act.

You both navigated simple moments like that but you couldn't see them taking you anywhere. So what did it matter? Before it all ended and broke your heart, you would live to mourn it.

Your hand wanted to travel to Apollo's cheek but you only managed to leave a ghost of your touch. Despite being familiar with him and playing bad jokes on him, it still seemed unreal to be able to touch him in such an impetuous way. You stood on tiptoes and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

The surprise of the act unbalanced him and he stumbled. He blinked repeatedly and his cheeks flushed.

— That was...?

— An offering.

It was probably towards the wrong god but Apollo didn't care if only the present mattered. More so if it was one with you.

#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#apollo #lester papadopoulos #lester papadopoulos x reader #apollo x reader #toa #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson #lester x reader

193 notes · View notes

kaicubus · 8 months

Text

Being with Victor Van Dort

₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ───────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ─────────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊

warnings ✩° : fluff headcanons, no cursing, sweet victor, some implied sexual headcanons but it's not a sexual movie i just LOVE victor so bad ugh i need him, kaicubus british accent.

pairing ✩° : victor van dort x mostly gn!reader

authors note ✩° : nothing is done about him so as usual, i'm stepping up to the plate. tall skinny emo boy IM COMING FOR YOU. why do i want to do more? thinks. i'm trying to get my halloween fics out guys i promise...

────────────────────────────────────────────

To say Victor would do anything for you in and outside of his power is such an understatement. He has such little power in what he does compared to other people, especially suitable bachelors, but he tries so hard with what he has.

You two meet because your parents need you two to be wed, so of course, he's a stranger. A very kind, and understanding stranger who at times feels like he's so brittle around you he'll break at any second.

He bumps into you? Victor scurries away. You look at him? Victor slams himself into the wall in the process. He kind of loses composure around you.

When he warms up to you eventually, Victor actually talks about his interests a lot. You find out he's an excellent musician, talented in piano and violin, an exceptional artist, and he's an avid reader who enjoys dark poetry.

He's still very insecure about the idea of you loving him or at least liking him, but he'll never bother you with questions because he doesn't want to seem needy (but he is so needy). If his insecurities do get the best of him, Victor will ask gently, "Do you actually like me? If not, I get it. I'm not rich nor strong enough to support and provide for us, I just want to be sure." Of course, you answer him honestly and he's over the moon when you tell him you actually do love him.

Victor notices things about you that no one else would notice, like the amount of moles you have on your left arm, if you prefer crowded areas or not, and if you cut your hair just a few inches to the point where it's not even that noticeable.

Speaking of, if you're ever at a ball or a place where there's a lot of people and you're not comfortable with crowds, Victor will take you away to a secluded area and calm you down from there.

He is overly apologetic. Sometimes it gets slightly annoying with how much he does it, but you never react negatively and always reassure him. Victor will apologize even if you're the one who caused something, blaming it all on himself so you don't feel bad at all.

Victor's love language is surely words of affirmation as he loves to give you endearing complements but also he feels good receiving them. He doesn't expect anything, because that's the least of your worries he thinks, but even so much as a simple flick of his hair and saying how nice it looks that day drives him absolutely mad.

However, when he compliments you, he's never short of charming. Victor catches you off guard sometimes when he reminds you how 'ravishing you look' or 'how you put the stars to shame with your glittering smile.' Usually he draws parallels with you and the stars, moon, sun, or flowers. He always makes you feel seen.

Naturally, as your husband, Victor is protective over you. He's never one to start a fight over a worthless scum trying to flirt with you, but he's not shy to let his presence be known and to grab you by the waist into his thin frame.

Calls you my love, darling, my beloved, and gorgeous.

Loves receiving. Victor will never ask anything of you, sure, but he won't deny it when it happens. He loves being kissed first, he loves being pulled down to kiss you, he loves being marked in hickeys especially on his collar bone, all of that.

One very specific thing is that Victor really enjoys dressing you and putting your makeup on. There's just something about the silent intimacy of sliding on your dress, gliding the thin fabric of tights on, tightening your corset, and delicately lining your lips with a dark, rose red lipstick that he loves so much. Even if he can't do the whole outfit, you'll still allow him to do your makeup or brush your hair.

Victor also likes things a very specific way. Not that he's controlling, he's far from it, but little things like overlined or underlined lipstick makes him fidgety. He'll swipe his thumb over your cupid's bow if that's the case and pretend like nothing happened.

He writes long, lengthy love letters. Sometimes explicit ones if he isn't there with you. He's uh, good at writing!

Victor shivers a lot. Take that as you will.

Loves painting portraits of you.

#kaicubus #corpse bride #corpse bride victor #victor corpse bride #victor van dort #tim burton #corpse bride fanfiction #corpse bride fic #corpse bride preferences #victor van dort x reader #victor van dort x you #victor van dort x y/n #preferences #headcanons #victor van dort headcanons #halloween #halloween fanfic #halloween writing #tim burton film

392 notes · View notes

javispunk · 11 months

Note

Love your workkk!!!!!

Soo I have a request…

Soo established relationships where the reader as a joke mockingly says something like about our old man Joel’s stamina or something 😭 and then ofc joel gives her a lesson whole night with all the filth 😛😭😭 (also can reader be like skinny framed small chested female) 💜

Thank you so much!! It means a lot! Hope you like it :)

Old Man

Summary: You usually joke about Joel's age, not only between the two of you, but also around other people. Either because he walks or runs slower than you, or just because he gets tired easily. He never complained about it - in fact, you thought he found it endearing. But you were so wrong, and he made sure he'd let you know when you got home safe.

Pairing: Joel x fem!reader, established relationship.

Content/Warnings: NSFW, smut (absolute filth), 18+ (minors DNI), age difference implied, fingering, giving oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (use protection kids), spitting.

Notes: English is not my first language, so please excuse any mistake. Please feel free to leave any requests you'd like me to write. Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you!

The walk through the forest on your way to Bill and Frank's house was calmer than you'd expected. With your hand in Joel's you didn't find a single clicker and you managed to relax a bit, walking slowly but not so slow in order to reach the village before lunch. Frank made sure to tell Joel that we'd be received with a proper meal, something you haven't had in a long time. So that was exciting. You didn't know them yet, but Joel made sure to let you know they were decent guys.

The place was mined with traps for clickers and you could see surveillance cameras everywhere. These guys knew what they were doing. Once you saw the gate opening and an unknown man greet you from afar, you out of instinct positioned yourself behind Joel. His broad shoulders completely hiding your small figure. You were scared, and that was understandable.

"You're alright, sweetheart." Joel assured you, holding your hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss it for a second.

His words put you at ease, as you saw the man approach both of you. He shook Joel's hand with familiarity, looking at you after. The fact Joel trusted them was enough for you to do the same.

"Who's this beauty?" you heard him ask, extending his hand to shake yours.

You smiled. "None of that, please." You spoke before telling him your name. "Thank you for having us here."

"Our absolute pleasure. I'm Frank." he shot a smile at you again, before gesturing to the entry of the house. "And that's Bill over there." You looked at the man from a distance, just to notice a rifle on his hand. Frank noticed your expression. "Don't worry about him."

You smiled once again at Frank out of courtesy, but sneakily grabbed Joel's hand behind his back in worry.

"Let's sit! Lunch is almost ready." Frank gestured to the table set up on their front yard, and guided you both to his house with an extended arm.

***

"This is delicious!" You exclaimed.

"Bill made it." Frank pointed out.

"It's great, thank you so much." You kept speaking after putting down your glass on the table. You looked at Bill with an attentive eye.

"It's nothing much. Just meat that I hunted and some roasted vegetables from the garden." He kept his voice low and expression serious.

"Thank you, Bill." You heard Joel's voice from across the table in front of you.

"I'm sorry but I'm dying to know." You heard Frank at your right, as his body rapidly turned in your direction. "How did you meet this guy?" He gestured to Joel.

You looked at him and laughed. "Well, I had been alone for a while, and I was perfectly fine on my own." You made sure to look at him, mockingly. "But Joel found me in a time of need. He helped me without asking nothing in return. So I trusted him my life, and now we're here."

Frank smiled through the whole speech. "You must be the first, you know."

You shot him a confused look. "The first?"

He shook his head in approval. "The first to melt that old stone heart of his."

"Is it that noticeable?" You admitted.

"Please!" He exclaimed with a grin. "I've never seen him hug anyone, let alone kiss someone's hand that dearly."

You felt yourself blush slighty, before looking at Joel. He laughed, while telling Frank to cut it out.

"No worries, we're all lovers here." He placed his fork down on his plate. "How are you guys holding up?" He spoke now to Joel.

"We're making it alright. Walking from dawn to dawn is a bit tiring but we manage."

"Our old man here thinks he can handle that like a 20 year old. I notice his stamina's hanging on by a thread, always tired and irritable." You spoke while looking Frank in the eye. "It's like living with a 60 year old man." Just after, you turned to Joel, who was chewing his food slowly, fork in his right hand unattended, and turned his gaze from your glass to your eyes. His stare was somewhat still and serious. You analised his expression with confusion and mouthed a "what?" that only him could hear or see. He stared at you the same way before slightly grinning at you, dragging his eyes now to his plate, smile still plastered on his face while he brought food to his mouth. You continued looking at him until Frank spoke.

"I'm sure there's a car around here you could have." He wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin. "There's batteries in the houseshed. Take one and it's yours." I saw Bill shoot his partner a hard serious look, apprehensive.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Bill insisted.

"Of course." He shot back at him. "There's also gas in there. Take some gallons."

"That's really not necessary, Frank." Joel spoke.

"Oh it is. I don't take her for a liar, you on the other hand, I've seen you lie for far less. I also know you're a stubborn old gentleman." He placed the napkin on his lap. "So please, take it. Use it. There's no point in it being there."

You looked at Bill for approval. He just continued eating with furrowed brows.

"Thank you." You spoke.

"No need. I'll go grab dessert." You saw Frank leave his seat and enter the house.

***

Joel had been awfully quiet since lunch, even when Frank showed us around all the shops who were still in need of renovation. Not even his contractor heart gave in a little bit. His mind seemed to be somewhere else.

"We don't know how to thank you both, honestly." You spoke as Bill and Frank helped you put your things in the trunk of your new car. It was getting dark already.

Frank repeated himself again, saying it was his pleasure.

Once Joel thanked the men for the hundreth time, he got in the car after opening the door for you. The journey was quiet for most part, until you spoke softly.

"Are you okay? You haven't spoken a lot."

He turned his eyes at you for a second, before connecting his gaze to the road again. "Just tired."

Your hand rested on his tigh, a familiar gesture you'd gained in the past few months. You thought nothing of his behaviour, you were both exhausted from the walk through the forest and the day filled with activities Bill and Frank made sure to provide you.

The ride went quickly, faster than you'd think it would. You filled it with quick pecks on Joel's right cheek, in order to 'wake him up' a bit. His hand travelled to the inside of your tigh, squeezing every once in a while. All was quiet.

As soon as you parked, you got out of the car in order to pick up both your stuff, as Joel would eventually carry all the weapons. When you returned you saw him carrying your stuff inside the house.

You spoke as you entered the house first, Joel following behind you. "I'm so fucking tired." You stretched your arms in the air before hearing a thud. All your weapons on the floor as Joel dropped them. Arms still in the air, you felt Joel's arms grab the middle of your body, folding you in half over his shoulder.

"Joel!" You screamed as he lifted you up in the air, adjusting you on his body. "What are you doing?"

He carried you in silence. This must be a joke, you thought. He's just being playful. He'll put you down soon enough, if you ask him to. You recognized the turns he took. After passing the kitchen right up front, passing through the main hall, up the stairs. Bedroom.

He didn't even bother to close the door. "Joel." You repeated, trying to catch his attention.

He dropped you in the middle of the bed with a throw. "Yes?" He aknowledged you as he started to unbuckle his belt, looking at your figure, legs bent, feet next to your tighs. His eyes were dark, his expression solemn. You moved up the bed on your back, as you watched him take his shirt off over his head and quickly discarting his pants. He paused for a second, looking at you, half clothed.

"Take your clothes off."

You quickly took your pants off, still looking him in the eye, overwhelmed by his demanding voice. "You take the rest." You replied.

He rapidly got closer to you, but you extended one of your naked legs, touching his chest, creating a gap between you both, trying to get his attention. "What is this?"

With more force than usual, Joel grabbed your leg and separated both of them, one to each side, hovering his body over yours, applying pressure on your chest. Your mouths were connected in an instant. His tongue not even asking permission to touch yours. His right hand went between your legs, slid your panties to the side and felt your wet core on his fingers, until quickly finding your bundle of nerves.

"Fuck, Joel." You breathed slowly on his ear.

"How are you so wet already?" He asked as he inserted two fingers inside you at once.

"Oh, fuck-" You moaned beneath him.

You heard him grunt as a response. His fingers pumping in and out of you rythmically, hitting your favourite spot every now and then, making you sigh every single time. Joel disconnected his lips from yours, only to travel down your body, and end up on your core. He wasted no time, immediately kissing your clit, while pulling his fingers in and out of you faster. Your hands flew to his head, grabbing and pulling on his silver strands of hair, which only made him respond in a gutural moan. The vibrations of his mouth sending you into a frenzy, giving you chills.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You were losing your fucking mind, begging him to take you right there and then.

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” You heard him between your legs. “I’m not done with you down here.” He continued his rhythmic motions.

Your eyes started to roll to the back of your head as he hit the right spot with every pump. “I’m not gonna last longer.” You tried to spit words out of your mouth the best you could.

“Cum on my mouth, gorgeous.” He said before fastening his pace. It took you just a few seconds to arch your back in pleasure, grabbing his hair between your fingers and pulling viciously. With your eyes closed, you felt him remove his fingers from you, which left you with a sense of void. His body above yours again.

“Open wide.” He demanded.

You did as he told. He spat inside your mouth. You receiving it with contentment. You looked him in the eye while you swallowed his spit mixed with your own fluids.

“Shit, look at you.” His lips attacked yours. “So fucking pretty like this.”

“Are you gonna fuck me or not?” You teased him.

“In a minute, sweet girl.” You saw him take his boxers off, throw them to the bedroom floor. He lifted your t-shirt over your head, removing it and made way to your breasts with his mouth, sucking on your nipples, biting them.

Just by looking at you, and without warning, Joel fully pushed himself inside you, letting you feel every inch of him stretch you beyond measure.

You couldn’t say a word, just animalistic noises came out of your mouth. Joel loved them so much he continued adjusting your pussy around his cock, feeling you clench every few seconds.

“Fuck Joel, stop teasing. Go faster.” You pleaded.

His voice next to your ear. “You’ve been teasing me all day, calling me old man. Telling people I haven’t got stamina.” It clicked in your mind. You always called him that dearly. You heard one more grunt from him as he thrust into you deeply. “Who’s been fucking you all this time?”

Your mouth falling open as the knot in your stomach build after a few faster thrusts, your head banging on the headboard.

“Who makes your eyes roll like that?” You heard him, head thrown back in the pillow. “Who makes you this fucking wet, hum?” You heard the wet noises you two made after he picked up his pace.

“You do, Joel.” You managed to spit out.

“Who makes you cum every single fucking night?”

Tears fell down your eyes, as you cried to reach your orgasm. “You do.”

“My sweet girl.” He continued, while wiping your tears for a second. “You’re gonna take me in your mouth, is that okay?”

“Yes.” Your answer to his question mixed with your cries as your orgasm sets free. Your moans echo all over the room, you can’t help it. Still enjoying your high, you feel Joel’s warm spur hitting your face, some entering your mouth, some spilling all over your cheeks and neck. You did the best you could to catch it all in. You opened your eyes to Joel with his cock in his hand, still rock hard.

“What a fucking sight.” He continued pumping his length. You swallowed his cum, until there was nothing to come out anymore. “God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You grabbed him by his neck, forcing him to glue his mouth to yours, letting him taste himself from your tongue for a minute.

Panting, sweaty and with disheveled hair, you looked into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t ever tease me like that again.” You demanded.

“You want it.” He paused, a proud cocky smile on his face. “Don’t ever call me an old man again.”

“You love it.”

You felt his arm wrap around your torso and pull you on top of him, sitting you up on his lap, just before lifting you up to the bathroom for a shower. The air contaminated with condensation and your laughter.

#joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller the last of us #joel miller tlou #joel tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #tlou smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal

685 notes · View notes

triple-asstro · 2 months

Note

Hi, I was wondering if I could make a request since I saw that they were open?

Basically it’s the 2012 turtles prompt and how they have a spa date with the reader and how they react towards it? Basically the reader makes it a surprise in which it’s all therapeutic and relaxing for their lover after a long stressful day. There’s face masks or mud masks, nail polish, candles, face rollers, snacks, and a robe of their signature color.

a/n: hello, i am sorry that i'm not as active as i was it's not that i don't hate writing little scenarios like this but more life stuff and just a general need for a break! i'll still answer reqs but expect a slow response if anything love you all <33

Leo

I feel like while he’d be overly ecstatic about it

Especially since we all know he does meditation religiously

Plus he’s excited to spend time with you

He’s nearly silent every time you either paint his nails or place a new face mask on

“Is that patchouli?”

“Shush…Relax. Let your worries wash over like…I don’t know a river.”

He appreciates the amount of effort that was put in, always observing what new trinket you’ve carried in

When you entered in with a basket full of face masks, mud masks, candles, and one stuffy blue ball of fur, you couldn’t tell whether he was scared or ecstatic

He’s overly silent during the entire thing, not wanting to ruin the mask

And when you present the robe, he’s over the moon

He keeps thanking you over and over, almost getting down to his knees before you stop him

You gossip about drama you’ve overheard, and he gossips about his brothers

Raph:

ok let's be honest his form of relaxing is not this

But because it's you, he's willing to try

He’s trying his best to keep his irritance at the lowest level he can

His eyes grow in terror every time you leave and bring back another bag

Thankfully, he's more open to the prospect of more when he gets his robe

It feels like heaven honestly like legitimately like silk combined with wool

he quiets down, watching with an occasional smile

Tries eating the cucumber eye patches

“Can you paint my nails black”

Because he has CRBF (chronic resting bitch face), at first you think he hates it

But he tells you he doesn’t and thanks you afterwards

(potentially wears animal face masks)

Donnie:

Ok we know how much anxiety is trapped in that skinny legend

True, this whole thing was so that for once, he could feel relaxed

But this is Donnie, so it’s going to take a long time

First, you put on the specially made purple robe (he loves it btw)

Probably info dumps about his preferred textures while you put on mud masks

He’ll lay down and you think you got him relaxed

But no, he’ll jolt back up and rant about whatever new invention idea came to mind

Even when he’s exhausted, he seems to never stop thinking

Appreciates the face rollers and nail polish because they make him feel more ‘human’

You talk about your day while you two snack (he probably takes notes of any specific detail you mention for later)

Mikey:

2000s sleepover was the vibe for that session

He’d been exhausted for that entire day, so this made him feel at home

While you guys were relaxing with your face masks on, he suggested watching some movies

Lineup was: Legally Blonde, Wild Child, and Adventure Time

You both end up watching for so long, the masks stain your faces

Gathering snacks in the kitchen and simultaneously watching him attempt to cook

He smiles like a baby deer through the entire thing

Gives surprisingly good advice on whatever you’re ranting about during nails

You give him nice hearts on his nails

Hugs you until you pass out as thanks

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2012 x reader #tmnt 2012 headcanons #tmnt #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt mikey #tmnt donnie #request

90 notes · View notes

letstalkaboutfandomsbaby · 11 months

Note

I couldn’t find your rules so I’m sorry if it isn’t ok to do requests but plsss elaborate on secret chubby chaser iida

My only rules for this blog are to be nice and have a good time 💕

CW: chubby fem reader, "fat" used in a nonderogatory way, mentions of porn and masturbating, Iida is emotionally underdeveloped and doesn't realize that liking big girls is a normal thing

───────────────

Okok but listen. Imagine Tenya Iida growing up thinking he has to fit a certain mold. His family has expectations for him and he wants to meet those expectations, including those that they have for relationships. His family never specifies what kind of partner they want for him, but based on his observations with media, he believes that he's supposed to find and pursue a certain type of girl. Based on movies, books, TV, etc, Iida has come to the conclusion that he needs to pursue a skinny girl, because that's what all the love interests look like in the media he consumes.

But Iida finds himself drawn to other women, women with soft bodies, curves, ones with plush arms and legs and tummies. He thinks he's weird for liking fat women since the only time he's seen them in media is in a negative context, he thinks he's abnormal for liking bigger women. I mean, big women are a porn category, not people you settle down and have a life with... right?

He thinks he has a fetish for plus size women because he's never been taught that his attraction for bigger people is normal regardless of how they look like. So, he keeps his feelings a secret, indulging in porn of larger women but never going out of his way to date bigger women. He dates a few women, all fit and skinny, but he doesn't find himself attracted to these women. He thinks all of this is normal for a long time.

Oh but then he meets you. He saves you from a villain and carries you to the medic and oh god, you're so soft, so warm, so plump and squishy, he wants to melt into you and sleep for a thousand years. He somehow gets your number, maybe because you bonded over something, but you keep in contact after the attack.

Iida starts having a crisis. He likes you: you're brilliant, funny, cute, gorgeous beyond compare, but he's worried he just wants to fuck you. His only experience with plus size women has been one sided through porn, he genuinely does not know how to approach you or gain your favor. Be patient with him because he will fumble for a long time, he just doesn't know what to do.

I imagine he still casually dates a few women, none of which look like you, because he's trying to train himself to like "normal" women, but he just can't. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get you out of his head. He's even started masturbating to the thought of you and he feels like such a perv because of it, but he can't help himself. To him, you're walking temptation, your curves making him go crazy. He wants to touch you, to kiss you, to treat you like a queen, but he thinks he's expected to like other women so he thinks he can't have you! He is a stupid stupid guy sksksk

You'll probably have to make the first move, because knowing him, he'll never approach you first. He will be confused but overjoyed, agreeing to whatever you want to do for your first date. He'll be stiff and awkward because he's not sure what to do, but just give him time. Eventually he will get the hang of things and initiate holding your hand, putting his arm around your shoulders or waist, he'll even kiss your hand after a date! He'll become more comfortable as time goes on so expect him to get more and more confident.

It will take him a long time to accept his feelings for you as normal because he doesn't know any better. Please don't hold it against him. He will never treat you bad or hide your relationship, but he will voice his concerns that his family won't accept you (this isn't true, he just assumes this) which may make you feel bad. I can see things getting a little angsty at some points because you may think he doesn't fully accept you as a partner. But he does, he just doesn't know how to show it. You two probably have a big fight about it and you leave him and he shows up at your door like a sad wet kitten and you take him back when he tells you that he made dinner reservations to introduce you to his family. Then it's happily ever after from then on sksksk

───────────────

#ask #smut #☀️ asks #tenya iida #chubby fem reader #chubby reader #this ending feels abrupt 😬 my bad

350 notes · View notes

timhalamet · 5 months

Note

hey love -

can u write something for Evan rosier x fem!reader?

Maybe where reader is Sirius’s cousin/sis. And she’s a gryffindor?

Maybe an enemies to lovers?

thanks 💕

skinny dipping

Pairings- evan rosier x gryffindor!reader

summary- insufferable evan rosier is sure on annoying you with his humiliating pranks.

tropes- enemies to lovers, fluff

warnings- mentions of sex, language, some slut shaming, mentions of stripping this is also my first time so I hope you enjoy! :)

a/n- also if you guys have any ideas or requests please feel free to send them 🫡

its a bit like a drabble and I apologise for that 😞

ever since first year Evan Rosier has been set on annoying with his insufferable remarks, and poor attempt and flirting.

Not only that, but he also seems to enjoy watching you being humiliated by mucliber, who absolutely adores you.

'Y/n!' Mucliber calls out skipping down the halls, jumping onto the gryffindor table, receiving glares and disgusted looks from your fellow mates and class fellows, laying on the table infront of you resting his face on his hand, smirking.

'oh Black will you do me the favour of going out with me to hogsmeade?' He asks waiting answer.

a dreadful beat of silence passes.

you roll your eyes used to his antics, 'bog off mucliber' you say as you stand up hollering your bag over your shoulder, walking out the hall brushing off the burning gazes. You end up catching evans eyes as you walk out his jaw clenched before catching your gaze he instantly smirks. A bit too much.

you sigh.

another day, another one of muclibers attempt at asking you out. It's been two years however he somehow doesn't get the hint. You curse angrily under your breath, as you walk outside towards the great lake.

You set your bag down as you sit at your spot, resting against the tree.

You hear someone behind you, and you turn around to see your older brother.

'you do know I can beat him up for you?' Sirius jokes as you notices your fingers tugging at the grass.

he adds noticing your face 'not that you can't take care of him on your own, it's just my duty you know?'

'i know it's just he can't seem to to get the fucking hint!.' you scoff

'he's a twat dont worry though I'm sure me, prongs and moony can come up with a way to shutting him up. We can always black mail him into leaving you alone or we'll tell everyone his mum stills bathes him.' he states smirking.

You shoot up almost toppling over as you choke on your saliva holding onto the tree for support.

You gasp for breath as sirius calmy pats your back, well I better get back to the boys, james probably doing some stupid shit right now, better join him before he gets detention without me' he brings before kissing your forehead before sprinting towards the castle.

You look around the grounds to see it empty, it's a free period, although it's slightly unusual there's no one outside.

you hesitate before pulling off your uniform off piling them on your bag, leaving you in your black lace bra and matching underwear. you head for the lake slowly stepping into the water chilly at first touch you slowly drunk the rest of your body into the water. you quicky submerge your whole body in and swim for a while, ridding any thoughts you had, instantly soothed at the warming water and the sun peeking out.

you grab your wand from the edge fo the lake going to retrieve your clothes and get out the lake before you notice your clothes missing. you gaze around carefully before you notice your clothes are actually missing.

fuck.

worryingly, you look around everywhere still floating in the water.

tears prick your eyes frustrated as you huff bawling your fists, before you hear a stupid snicker.

one you'd notice anywhere.

evan fucking rosier.

you look up as you consciously wrap your arms around the upper part of your body that is visible.

you meet his stupid crystal blue ocean like eyes-

'missing something?' he smirks mockingly as he dangles your uniform from his long slender fingers.

'oh don't be so immature rosier and pass me my fucking clothes.' you hiss wiping away your loose black curls from your cheek.

'say please' he grins.

you roll your eyes, growing more frustrated.

'0h fuck you rosier' you spit

'wouldnt you like that'

'what?'

'you heard me. Bet you spread your fucking legs if I asked hm?'

'whats your fucking problem?!' you exclaim confused.

'will you? Will you spread your fucking legs for me if I asked? What about now? What if I asked for your pink lips to wrap around my dick and take it like a good girl?' he spits

your chest grows heavy as you feel sick

'stop it!'

immediately his stomach drops as guilt crawls it's way into his throat.

'fuck you know I didn't mean that.'

you turn around as you try to even your breathing closing your eyes.2

before you can turn your back you head a splash of water and evan missing you look around waiting for him to submerge from the water only to be meeted with silence.

'rosier?' you call out as eery silence creeps into your ears.

'ok haha so funny you can come out you call out as you open your arms calling into the water.

you feel a lump in your throat as nothing happens.

'evan? evan come on, oh my god' your voice wavers as your hands shake.

you quickly reach to the edge of the lack about to get out and change and run to the castle for help before you feel something tug your ankle, before fully pulling you into the water.

your scream as your ears ring, but your under water.

there's no one to hear you.

all of a sudden the thing stops pulling you and you raise to the top of the water gasping heavily as tear roll down your face.

as you submerge youre met with evan grinning, his face dripping as well before dropping softly as he notices your tears and scared gaze.

your blood boils as you glare at him, sniffling, swimming past him, not getting anyway as he pulls you into his chest, one hand on your waist.

'rosier you dick you fucking-'

'you know I didn't mean that.'

'what?'

he sighs running a hand over his face as he swallows

'im sorry. I didn't mean that i wasn't thinking probably and I let my jealousy get the best of me I don't think of you like th-'

'jealousy?' you ask your eyes widen as your chest contracts.

'yes fuck!' he swallows hardly ' I got jealous. fucking Mucliber getting all in your face..'

you zone out as you just stare at him ranting watching him looking anywhere but at you as he rubs the back of his neck, you at his perfectly fine torso and abs to his strong muscular arms and pretty pink lips and long lashes and his ocean eyes-

'take a picture it'll last longer' he teases

you snap out of your trance blushing and growing flustered looking away.

hes fingers leave the back of his neck to your chin as he tilts your face gently to meet your gaze.

'can I kiss you?', he whispers carefully, not wanting to scare you off holding you as if he's scared of you slipping through his fingers.

you nod your head quickly before pressing your lips over his.

you sigh contently into the kiss as your hands grab his shoulders his hands cupping your face.

after a few minutes you break away, which felt like hours, the both of you gasp as you rest your head against his

'fuck I've been waiting to do that for five years' he states adorably before pressing his lips against yours again.

131 notes · View notes

harry-styles-obsessed · 4 months

Text

Story does include smut. Minors do not interact with this post, thank you.

Trigger warnings: description of near assault/ bullying, age gap, dominant, dark Harry (kinda?), praise, dad! Harry, younger reader (early 20s), body image issues, self esteem issues… reader is just incredibly insecure… everything that goes hand in hand with that basically— and lots of smutty stuff! This will be kind of slow burn!! Long story so get comfortable! Also please read with discretion lovelies. You all matter.

This story was requested but the requester asked to remain anonymous so I will not be mentioning anything about their request but please to anyone out there struggling with any type of body imagine problems please PLEASE know you’re absolutely beautiful and I hope one day you will see that.

Harry x plus size Inexperienced fem! Reader (Harry is not famous in this story)

Make you mine

"You cannot be serious Anna"

Your voice was annoyed and frustrated "oh I'm deadly serious”

You throw a glare directly at Anna who's grinning at you mischievously "you’re unbelievable. I’ve got work to focus on anyways so… no.” You murmur a flush of red appearing upon your already reddened cheeks. You didn’t do parties. You didn’t like parties. Full stop. Parties were where bad things happen and you were not planning on getting involved with that type of shit.

"Don't change the subject! Y/n please... PLEASE. You know it'll be fun!! Plus Jamie is fine as hell... his tattoos and shit like-" you felt annoyance spread throughout you your hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose "alright alright! Fine.. whatever. I'll come with you to your friends stupid party." You mutter rolling you eyes watching out of your peripheral as Anna does a little happy dance, before tightly wrapping her arms around your neck

"Thank god! Now we've got to choose your outfit. That red dress looks real good on you." She spoke suddenly sporadically searching through your wardrobe making you roll your eyes. She cannot be serious. Going to a party is one thing but dressing up with zero body confidence is another thing.

“Anna.” You spoke in a warning tone, fear and worry spreading across your features “I am not skinny. Im not even pretty. I don’t have your body confidence!” You didn’t feel beautiful whatsoever. You felt like an absolute failure and mess most of the time. You just felt ugly. Sure Anna would beg to differ but she was your best friend, of course she would boost you up. You hated the way you looked it made you feel sick... you hated your body. You hated yourself. You hated everything to do with yourself. “Y/n! Enough. You’re beautiful. Keep talking shit and I might just have to get a handsome guy to show you how perfect you really a-“ “NO. Anna. Oh my god gross— no.”

You say exasperated as you plop down onto the bed, laying down- your arms dangling just above your head as you breathe quietly hearing hangers clattering together as your best friend continued viciously searching through your wardrobe.

Jamie Goodman was.... Something else. He was annoying. The class clown basically. He used to be in your tutor group in school and he just had to fucking follow your path to college classes and annoy you further. Anna thought the world of him and you were almost 100% certain that they had slept together once or twice.

"Found it!!" Anna cheered spinning around with the red dress held in her hands grinning widely "c'mon put it on! I want to get there early!" She spoke and you squeezed your eyes shut, exhaling. You loved Anna. She was your best friend, you adored her, but god could she get so fucking annoying sometimes. She made you want to rip your hair out but... she wouldn't be your best friend if she didn't do that occasionally.

"I cannot believe you made me agree with you" you mutter before standing up yanking the dress from her hands, stripping off your clothes as she too began getting changed into an outfit far too revealing- a tank top that was more like a bra top. And short shorts, her entire stomach and rib cage exposed along with her long legs. Gods to have her confidence and carelessness…

"Might want to pack condoms." You speak to her, hearing the shifting of material pause as she glances at you brows raising before a slight laugh leaves her lips "I'm on the pill, babes. Chill." She smiled assuringly and you sigh shaking your head. You and her were complete opposites- her full of confidence however you were a mess. No confidence. No body confidence... no dates... no boys... you’ve never had a first kiss or even had a man touch you before... you’ve never been intimate with anyone before— ever. And quite honestly you were afraid to even experience it.

—

“Come on!!”

Anna shouted from downstairs and you stood up after contemplating your life decisions— spraying your perfume all over yourself leaving your face bare from any makeup. You didn’t want any advances being made upon you just because you looked a bit different with makeup on... although you highly doubted that would ever happen. No man wanted to touch you. If for a dare they would but not for any other reason. Or so you thought.

You jog downstairs to where Anna is keys in hand before she smiles grabbing onto your hand and dragging you out of the home intertwining her fingers with yours "it'll be fun girl. Loosen up."

The drive there was fairly fast and you had almost twenty minutes to spare. "We're here too early." You spoke but Anna only shook her head grabbing a present from the back and you raised your brows "it's Jamie's birthday. That's why we were both invited...." your lips parted eyes widening Anna laughing, “you shouldn’t told—“

"Shh y/n. Don't worry. Here." She then shoved a smaller wrapped present into your hands winking at you as relief wrapped around your body. Thank fuck.

You then got out of the car with her, walking with her towards the front door, the door being opened by the familiar dirty blonde who quickly pulled Anna into his embrace hugging her for a little too long to be “just friends” before his eyes turned to you and he smiled. genuinely.

"Didn't think you'd come, y/n. But glad to see you here." He spoke and without even hesitating he pulled you in for a hug your eyes widening at the sudden hug shared between the two of you. You hugged him tenderly, awkwardly almost— not entirely knowing how to act.

"Anna persuaded me. But c'mon.. how could I not come see the birthday boy." You smile awkwardly after pulling back, soon holding the present out for him to take his baby blues smiling as he smiled taking the present from you "well nonetheless- glad you could make it. And thank you… I appreciate it.” You only nod not saying anything else, a slight nervous smile remaining on your lips— Anna purposely elbowing you in the ribs to attempt to loosen you up more her eyes saying it all.

Jamie was way different without all his friends around... he was kind. Real. Genuine. How strange... "c'mon let's go into the living room. We can watch a movie before the others arrive. Would you girls like a drink?"

—

A while passed before eventually more people were filing in, you remained sat on the sofa drink of Pepsi in your hand as you took occasional nervous sips. Anna had been whisked away by Jamie and you were certain they were creating the slight banging noises coming from upstairs... and well... that said something didn't it?

You grimaced just at the thought before shaking your head clearing your throat before you decided to stand up, the living room becoming a major crowded area and so you feeling your anxiousness grow quickly left the area, walking around for a bit before finally stopping stood just in the doorway to the kitchen your fingers grasping onto your Pepsi tighter as you took more sips from it. You exhaled softly leaning into the doorway slightly your brows creasing as you stared at a mixture of young adults and what looked to be literal 16 year olds dancing together... what the fuck? That's not creepy at all… however that became the least of your worries as you suddenly felt a rather warm presence behind you, your stomach fluttering anxiously,

"Excuse me"

You quickly turn around expecting a teenager only to come face to face with dad-like material. Old enough to be a dad... he wasn't a teenager. Your mouth was working faster than your brain as you only managed to stammer over a word before finally backing up "I'm so sorry..."

You smile nervously allowing your eyes to scavenge the man— he had piercing green eyes. Beautiful chestnut brown hair that had slight curls to it on the top and a beautiful smile that showed two pretty dimples. Tattoos were layered up and down his skin, a butterfly one seeming to be on his chest from what you could see. He wore a loose fitting shirt that was unbuttoned at the top revealing some of his toned chest. He was... god like.

"No need to apologise, love." He assured with a smile as he went to walk past you, shoulders brushing momentarily before he stopped glancing over his shoulder looking back at you “you look a bit young to be here..."

He spoke some sort of amusement in his eyes not revealing whether he was toying with you or being genuine. Shyness wrapped around you momentarily before you soon answered in an attempt to stick up for yourself— "I'm twenty two, sir." You speak politely the man fully turning so his body was facing you "you look a bit old to be here." You soon retort as he doesn't respond, instead only raising a brow as if pushing the idea of you telling little white lies to him. "Call me Harry."

"You look a bit old to be here, Harry." You rephrase

His eyes glinted with amusement before he cleared his throat "got off work... decided to come have some fun."

You narrow your eyes at him as if showing you didn’t believe him but really you were poking fun at him… exactly what he was doing with you. “What do you do for work?" You ask noticing the palpable tension that was between you and him. It only seemed to be growing more intense as the seconds went by.

"Surgeon"

He spoke simply and you raised your brows "like plastic surgery? Butt lifts and-"

"No." His words were light and airy as he laughed shaking his head "reconstruction surgery."

"Reconstruction?”

“There seems to be an echo in here.” his tone was playful but still nonetheless he nods to confirm your question but he still saw the curiosity on your face "say someone gets into an accident or— a kid falls off their bike let's say he wasn't wearing any protective gear apart from a helmet. No sleeves. No knee pads... no nothing... if he hits the road and skids down it, his skin is either going to be red and sore or his skin is going to be torn off. There's no exact way we can put that dirty infected and broken skin back onto him so we have to reconstruct the skin somehow..."

Your brows raise in interest "so like take it from somewhere less obvious? The leg.. or something?" You speak and he nods taking a sip of the beverage in his ring covered hand,

"Yeah. I mean my job is to simply make the skin look top condition... in the end it doesn't matter where the skin comes from. If it can stretch far enough to cover the wound then you know... it's good enough."

You hum in response clearly rather interested before you smile "that's interesting..." you study him carefully trying to figure him out. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you but Harry seemed to beckon a different side out of you…

"I didn't think a surgeons "thing" was parties..." you soon murmur

"There's a lot of things you don't think, love. If I remind you quickly we've only just met..." his emerald eyes twinkled with amusement brows raised as he smirked.

Your cheeks immediately flush red and you stare at him slightly dumbfounded a nervous smile forming on your face "sorry" you giggle out Harry only shaking his head as he smiled "I'm just kidding. But you're right... parties aren't places surgeons often involve themselves with.. me particularly" he admitted and just as you were about to say something, a different voice cut mine off— “Hey dad can we order pizza?" Your eyes immediately move to the voice. Jamie. His hair slightly dishevelled some red marks left on his neck. Wonderful. But that barely mattered anymore as you looked at who he was talking to… harry. Your heart immediately stops in your chest. Jamie's dad was Harry. The man you were flirting with. That wasn’t flirting though was it? Your stomach flutters nervously. This absolutely was not happening no way…. Your cheeks were a crimson red colour, your eyes slightly wide and your lips slightly parted and god were you glad Harry’s attention wasn’t on you anymore.

"Jamie there's pizza in the fridge. As your mother said, we cannot afford takeaway right now. Remember?" His voice snapped me back out of your thoughts as you focused back on the handsome man, eyes flicking to look at Jamie.

"But dad there's like 80 people here!" He exclaimed Harry's face remaining calm and unfazed "who invited them?" He spoke Jamie's brows arching "you cannot be serious! Oh my god!" The boy yelled before storming off not saying anything else. Childish much? At this old age? Talking to his father like that? Wow the disrespect.

You look back at Harry only when he speaks— "sorry for his behaviour." He spoke as you remained shocked "it's okay... but... I didn't realise you were his dad..." you admit and he smiles slightly "he took his mothers last name. His mother and I are divorced, you see… he doesn’t exactly like that his mother has gone out for a pamper evening and has left me to look after him.” He explained— so Jamie really did have daddy issues? Huh. Your lips part slightly as you realise what he was saying "oh... that makes sense... i- uhm... wow."

Harry nods "Jamie still holds a grudge against me. It's diff-" harry cuts himself off realising what he was saying to his sons friend before he sighed pinching the bridge of his nose "I apologise... uh..." your eyes snap back up to his eyes from roaming across each of his tattoos “Y/n…” you speak with a small smile "I'm sorry y/n... you've come here to party and-" the way your name rolled off of his tongue so perfectly drove you insane and you weren’t sure why. "No sir..." "Harry." He cuts you off making your cheeks flush red "sorry, no Harry. I came here not on my own accord..." you let out a nervous laugh. "My friend begged me to come. I didn't really want to be here anyway so... it's okay. You're far more interesting than this party anyways." You speak soon realising how weird that sounded your eyes widening, Harry quickly catching on as he let out a small chuckle that sounded like honey to your ears— waving one hand at you to signal you not to worry. Dismissing your concerns. "Don't worry. I know what you mean."

You smile feeling the conversation become dry and although you didn't want to leave you knew you should best go find Anna. "I'll see you around, Harry." You speak with a small smile and he nods his head at you "yes you will. I'll see you around, y/n." He tilted his head at you and you smiled before quickly leaving to go and find Anna. As you made your way through all the dancing bodies your eyes finally locked on Anna who seemed to be totally black out drunk. Already. Great! Another time where you had to look after her for her stupid decisions. Her eyes immediately found yours and she practically jumped up and stumbled towards you, lips smushing against your cheek leaving a nice red lipstick mark “Anna you’re so drunk… you really don’t know when you stop.” You murmur to her, watching Jamie drunk too but sensible enough to remain vigilant assuring you that he could deal with her. You were unsure but eventually accepted it walking back to the kitchen and grabbing another drink, sticking to yourself yet throughout the entire night you felt eyes on you… which was an extremely rare occurrence. But this night— someone couldn’t keep their eyes off of you. He couldn’t.

The night continued on, you didn’t touch a drop of alcohol but eventually nearly everyone was filing out and just as you were about to go and find Anna again a cold hand grabbed a hold of your wrist yanking you harshly back into the kitchen where you were roughly slammed against the kitchen counter a pair of dark brown eyes meeting yours— your breath hitched your eyes wide, drink that was once in your hand now on the floor the liquid spilling out of it,

“You’re so pretty…”

The boys wandering hands began groping at your body “p-please get off of me.”

“P-p-p-p… scaredy cat. Never been touched by someone before hmm?”

Hi words were vile and cruel making your stomach churn. “I—“ you tried to gather your thoughts “I don’t even know you! Get off of me!” “Well my names Evan and your name is Y/n. Correct? You know me just fine babe..” a low chuckle left his lips your eyes widening further as you felt his hand suddenly trailing further down your body,

“Somebody hel—“

“Shut up!” His hand clamped over your mouth as he glared into your eyes “don’t you want to not be a virgin anymore? Isn’t that embarrassing? But it makes sense doesn’t it. Have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror lately?” His words are cruel amusement flickering in his dark eyes your breathing growing laboured as tears formed in your eyes “what? Babe I’m telling you the truth don’t you get that? I just want to help—“

“What the fuck is going on here?” The sudden voice made both yours and Evan’s head snap towards the door the once horrible guy now stumbling back, eyes wide as his eyes remain upon Harry. Your breathing trembled, hands shaking “nothing” “nothing? It didn’t look like nothing.” Harry spat out taking intimidating steps towards Evan “I have half the mind to break your jaw…” “you’d be arrested” Evan spat back, Harry raising his brows “on what terms? Self defence? I saw you touching her. I saw her cry. I heard her scream for help whilst you covered her mouth. Now that isn’t very consensual now is it?” You watched with horrified eyes as Harry was now eye to eye with Evan not touching him whatsoever but the clear domination he had, had Evan pressed into the wall looking scared out of his mind “but you’d be arrested. Assault. bodily harm. Sexual assault… I doubt you’d want to find out anymore of the charges you could face… isn’t that correct Evan?”

But before Evan even said anything the once confident asshole had ran straight past Harry, practically shitting himself.

Harry’s jaw was clenched, tempted to go after him but decided not to knowing he had better things to worry about. You. He attempted to calm himself down before he eventually looked towards you noticing how you remained against the counter— still trembling “y/n…” he took a slow advance towards you and your breath hitched “hey… it’s me. It’s all alright.” His tone was softer than before, extending his hand out towards you his concern clear, and before either of you could’ve prepared yourselves you had practically slammed yourself into him arms wrapped securely around his waist, your fingers curled into the material of his shirt as you trembled his tall figure towering over you as he peered down at you, shaking in his embrace, scarred… he secured both arms around you and pulled you closer to the point your face was smushed completely into his chest the smell of his strong expensive cologne drifting into your senses… he smelt like heaven.

His hand slowly traced up and down your back in a soothing manner. “You’re okay, y/n.” His voice was assuring as he kept a tight grip on you attempting to console you as best as possible yet you refused to let him see your face, remaining practically glued to him. “Is there someone you’d like me to call? Someone to take you home?” He questioned but he didn’t get a response out of you, you were shutting down completely as a flight or fight response. He however didn’t push you, instead wrapping his arm around you again as he began leading your half aware self upstairs walking you into the guest bedroom of the large house— closing the door behind the both of you before he sat you down, your shaking hands rushing to grab onto him again scared he was going to leave…

“I’m here y/n. Right here.” He exhaled softly sitting beside you on the bed, his large hand resting upon your shoulder gently— thumb caressing lightly against the material of your dress his eyes watching the top of your head, you refused to look at him and that saddened him. “Hey…” he reached his free hand out towards you finger pressing underneath your chin as he guided you to look at him your eyes filled to the brim with tears “h-harry..” you whimpered his eyes softening and he without even thinking pulled you in close “I’m here. I’m right here…” “please don’t leave.” He silently shook his head and exhaled softly before he kicked his shoes off, the thump of each one landing on the ground making you realise your friends friend dad was sharing a bed with you… to comfort you of course.

Harry leaned back, tattooed arm being quick to pull you close giving you no choice as he simply pulled you on top of him “i— too heavy—“ you breathed out shakily but that didn’t stop the man from pulling you onto his chest, arms tightly wrapped around you “nonsense. Relax.”

Those two words were the only words he spoke to you, forcing you to relax against him, his hand trailing up and down your back soothingly making sure to give you all the comfort possible. He held you tight not daring to let go of you, his eyes constantly checking on you until he believed you were asleep your breathing much more calmer and quiet, but despite the fact that he knew he could leave… he didn’t want to.

9PM slowly rolled to 11PM until it was 4AM— Harry was still wide awake, eyes however slightly hooded his breathing slow and quiet along with yours. You hadn’t stirred at all you remained silent, Harry stayed convincing himself it was because he was worried you would have a nightmare but he knew it was much more than that. Much more. His eyes tiredly focused on the red digital clock 4:15AM… he never called in sick for work— ever. But if he had to, to look after you then he would. He had spent the time you were asleep trying to figure out his feelings, telling himself how wrong it was… but you ignited something within him. Something he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Harry”

Your morning voice was cute somethings harry noticed immediately. “Y/n.” He responded, voice deep but soft his voice confirming he had stayed there for you. He had protected you… something no other guy had done for you… “what time is it?” You ask him groggily as you slowly force yourself to sit up, Harry’s arms unwrapping from around you “4:19” he spoke simply and you rubbed your eyes letting out a quiet groan your head pounding from the events of last night. You were now sat on top of him, slightly straddling him— innocently so Harry’s eyes searching your face tiredly his hands lazily grasping onto your hips mindlessly. “Can I ask you something personal?” You soon question him, his brows arching flawlessly as he tries to figure out what exactly you meant but nonetheless he nodded his head. “Do guys really not like fat girls?”

The question clearly alarmed him, his eyes readjusting on you before he furrowed his brows “what makes you say that?” He murmured quietly “what he said last night… or what he was hinting at. The reason I haven’t lost my virginity yet is because I’m too fat.” Harry stares blankly for a moment or two before he blinks his eyes a bit of surprise lingering on his face not expecting you to be so honest with him seeing as you had only met last night…

“Y/n that was a boy. A boy looks for magazine cover girls… skinny… big boobs big butts— fake. Edited. A man looks for what’s on the inside. A pretty smile. A pretty personality. What’s on the inside… sure people will have their own preferences…. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful. Because you are.” His eyes remain glued to yours, searching your face for any look of doubt which he could shut down immediately but there was none detected… only surprise. “I’m beautiful?” He nods silently to confirm your shocked question, a smirk forming on his lips making his dimples appear and your breath hitches as you search his face and in those moments you finally realise the position you were in— legs straddling him, hands touching lightly against his chest your eyes widening slightly “I’m so sorry I-“ “stay.” His voice was stern green eyes staring into yours “what?” Your voice is shocked yet again and he smiles

“Be a good girl and stay.”

You felt your heart pounding wildly in your chest your eyes searching his face “you’re beautiful, y/n… you want to know something?” His hands remain resting upon your hips and you nod hesitantly “yesterday when I met you… I was certain you weren’t as innocent as they say you are… but maybe you are… have you ever touched yourself before?” His words leave you shocked, your cheeks furiously heating up as you stare at him shocked “w-what?” “Have you ever touched yourself?” Your breath hitched feeling him rub soothing circles into your hips your eyes searching his face certain he was toying with you…. To make you feel some sort of hope… or maybe he just felt bad for you and at that thought your heart dropped “Harry I— I don’t need your sympathy please… I—“

“Who said anything about sympathy y/n? Have you touched yourself before? A simple question.” His words made a hot fever like wave flush into your stomach a shaky breath leaving your lips “yes… but…” your mouth got as dry as a bone as you attempted to wrack your brain to not say something stupid. “But…?” He coaxed delicately your eyes snapping to meet his again “but I can’t get what I want.” He quirks a brow and you knew that he knew what you meant. He wasn’t stupid. “It’s embarrassing—“ “oh no it’s not.” His large hand caresses against your cheek, finger tips soon curling around the nape of your neck as he began pulling you closer to him until you were practically inches away from one another…

“It’s okay y/n.”

You search his eyes nervously and he smiles a slight twinkle in his eyes making your stomach flutter with butterflies “life is a learning curve…”

You stare at him expectantly, confused, watching as he smiled “you just haven’t had the right teacher.” His words made your stomach leap as your breath caught in your throat… what did that mean? He was going to teach you? But before you could’ve even asked he had sat himself up, back against the headboard— lips finding yours in a deep sensual kiss his fingers pressed against the nape of your neck keeping you still the kiss getting deeper, more passionate, leaving you breathless— you weren’t even sure you were doing it correctly, Harry pulling back momentarily to look at you “Harry I don’t know how to do this.”

“Don’t worry, love.” His tone was reassuring as he smiled calmly at you. “Just follow my lead.”

His lips attached to yours again his kiss making you dizzy. It was addicting. His hands trailed up and down your sides delicately, before his hands carefully began prying at the hem of your dress guiding it further and further upwards before finally removing it from your body his eyes studying you. He looked at you as if you were a supermodel…

“Lay down.”

His tone was demanding but you still did so. Getting off of him and laying down, left only in your bra and underwear which was highly vulnerable for you but you tried not to stress too much.

He got onto his knees, the bed creaking slightly as he adjusted himself over you, his lips pressing against yours gently as he began kissing down your neck— sucking slightly every so often hearing the sweet sounds that left your mouth “that feel good hm?” You nodded your head gently the simplicity of him kissing your neck drove you absolutely wild your stomach in knots but it felt good. He began trailing kisses down your body, lips pressing softly against your tummy insecurity immediately getting the best of you as you whined attempting to cover up “hey..” he strict voice grabbed your attention “you’re beautiful.” He spoke making you remove your hands which were nervously remaining close to your body. He eventually continued to leave kisses all over until eventually he had reached your thighs his eyes flicking up to meet yours “get comfortable.” He spoke simply watching you grab a few pillows before you laid down comfortably “good girl.”

He peered down just between your thighs— closing his mouth as he sucked in a sharp breath as the sight of you before him… all for him. To devour. To ruin. To make sure you knew your worth… all. For. Him. “If you want me to stop at any point. We can. Understood?” He spoke watching you nod “use your words, Angel.” “Yes Harry.” You spoke shakily and he smiled. Boundaries were always good to have in place. He wanted you to know that you were allowed to have boundaries. You felt the sensation of your panties being slid down your legs, exposing your heat to him— using one single finger to trace up and down your slit a shiver running directly down your spine a low whimper leaving your lips “feels good hm” your breath only hitched no words leaving your mouth as the odd but wonderful sensation soon becomes your favourite thing. His finger didn’t linger too long in any specific place— sliding up and down before mercilessly toying with your clit. Pointer finger delicately tracing around the bud whines and moans leaving your lips as he watched your every reaction as if he was taking an image of the moment in his mind. Not wanting to forget it. “That’s it relax… relax for me y/n.” He praised delicately watching how your body relaxed further into the bed his tongue soon adding to the pleasure, flicking over your clit and all over your body shaking with the new feelings erupting throughout you “feel good angel?”

“Yes sir” a cry of pleasure leaves your lips and for the first time Harry didn’t correct you— instead he smirked, tongue lashing more fervently against your heat.

As your body began to squirm his large hands grasped onto your thighs, holding your still keeping you down for him as he continued flicking his tongue all over your core. “A-ah harry..” you cried out your back arching up off of the bed as an unfamiliar feeling surrounded you— tingles running up and down your body “that’s it… that’s it… oh such a good girl…” incoherent whimpers of his name left your lips until eventually your first orgasm ripped throughout you— Harry moaning, the sound of his moan enticing something within you a look of pride within his eyes “good girl.” He smiled genuinely as you panted, attempting to calm yourself down. He repositioned himself on his knees his hand beginning to trace up and down your arm slowly and carefully soothing you, allowing you to catch your breath your hands working before your brain as you reached out towards his jeans— his ring covered hands immediately stopping your hands,

“Ah ah impatient our we?”

A smirk tugged at his lips “please.” You spoke and he studied you carefully “tell me.” He spoke tenderly “tell me what you want to do?” One hand traced up to your cheek which he caressed gently, thumb brushing over your lower lip delicately “make you feel good…” you murmured softly Harry quirking a brow at your innocence but he decided not to pry. Instead he nodded “are you sure?”

He watched you nod your eyes meeting his again “you’re my teacher right?”

He smirked slightly and let out a low chuckle before he only nodded. Allowing you to undo his jeans as he leaned back. His length was hard— his hand immediately beginning to rub up and down your eyes watching him carefully “see what I’m doing?” He spoke, you nodding. “You do that.” You slowly took over your hand beginning to pump up and down, his head leaning backwards eyes rolling into the back of his head slightly and the more comfortable you got the more quick your pace grew “you’re doing it darling… you’re doing great.” He praised breathy moans continuing to leave his lips— he continued guiding you until his hand was in your hair, helping you as your mouth began hollowing out around him, tongue swirling around the tip— doing everything almost naturally Harry’s groans and moans growing louder

“Fuck y/n your mouth feels so good… fuck!”

His grip tightened on your hair helping move your head up and down until eventually his cock twitched and his orgasm wrapped around him his moans gravelly and beautiful driving you insane making you want more… desperate for more… greedy for more… and as he pulled you up and off of him by the hair his eyes were glazed over with hunger “fuck… you felt so fucking good.” He spoke clearly feeling the same. Just as hungry for more his hand coming to caress against your cheek lightly your eyes showing your hunger into which his thumb stroked against your lower lip “next time.” Next time? His eyes searched your face and he smirked slightly “next time when we’re alone in the house I’ll teach you some more.. but for now… we don’t want to get caught do we?” He smirked slightly before shaking his head chuckling slightly “you did so good.” He pulled you in for a light kiss a little confident grin tugging at your lips…

“Learnt from the best.” You whispered his green eyes glowering into yours as he grinned keeping a hold on you… it was very clear neither of you were forgetting each other anytime soon.

I hope this was okay and you enjoyed it! I kinda just went with the flow rather than with an actual idea in my head so I hope it isn’t awful… I haven’t written smut in a while so excuse it if it’s bad… anyways more stories coming hopefully soon! Thanks for reading loves!!

84 notes · View notes