#& i told him if he comes home with it smudged
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may 6 | strawberry | @jegulus-microfic | 1026 words | slightly nsfw
James is going mad. Truly, stark-raving mad.
He decided last week that he was going to be a good friend and take Regulus for a relaxing day out, because the boy had been cooped up within the library studying for his end of year exams. The dreaded week had finally come around and Regulus, eyes hard and decorated with dark smudges underneath, had flown through all of them. James already knew that his Potions work was going to be the best of the year because when he asked him how it went all of it flew over his head. And James, contrary to popular belief, is actually really fucking smart.
It takes skill to pull off so many pranks flawlessly, thank you very much.
But anyway, James wanted to treat Regulus to a nice picnic out by the edge of the Forbidden Forest where they wouldn’t be bothered by Sirius. As much as he loves his best friend, and he does tremendously, James got the feeling that Sirius was trying to block him from getting closer to his little brother. It seems mad to him because ever since Regulus ran away from home and moved in with the Potters, he and Sirius have rekindled their brotherly bond and James thought it only right if he bonds with Regulus, too.
When he told Sirius this, his friend had looked at him with eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Do not fall for him, Prongs. I mean it.”
James had spluttered, completely taken aback. “What?! Why on earth would I fall for him?”
Raising one eyebrow, Sirius sent him a deadpan look. “You know why, James.”
At the time James hadn’t known. Looking at Regulus now, he thinks he totally understands. He also thinks that being friends with Regulus is going to be the death of him.
Regulus is sitting opposite him on the blanket, raving about how stupid James is for setting up the picnic this close to the Forbidden Forest, and all James can concentrate on is the way he feels hot under the collar whenever Regulus insults him.
Oh Godric, he does have a type.
James also can’t tear his eyes away from Regulus’ mouth and the way it wraps sinfully around a chocolate covered strawberry, his plump lips stretched around the fruit as some of it dribbles obscenely out the corner of his mouth.
James thinks he might faint.
Regulus looks over at him then, looking at him with judgement. “Goodness, you really are mentally deficient aren’t you, Potter? Hello? Is anyone home or do I have to go back to Hogwarts and inform my brother that the best friend he’s ridiculously co-dependent on is braindead?”
James shivers at every biting word, loving the way they brand him as they fall from those sinful lips. There’s a good deal of strawberry juice lingering on his lower lip, some gathering in the corner just begging for James to take a swipe at it.
So he does.
Only, it doesn’t go down the way he was originally intending. He meant to swipe at the juice with his thumb, maybe bring it to his mouth afterwards to get rid of it. Only, his brain doesn’t seem to confer that to his limbs, and so James leans his entire body forward, brings his face so close to Regulus’ that the boy’s eyes widen comically, and swipes at the corner of his mouth with his tongue.
For a moment everything is still, even the sound of the forest hushing in anticipation for their next move, and then Regulus lets out a shaky exhale as his eyes flutter shut. James moves automatically, as if hearing that from Regulus sets him off and he’s determined to hear even more wicked noises from him.
James brings a hand up to Regulus’ jaw and manoeuvres him so that his neck is tilted backwards, giving James the perfect angle to swoop down and curl his tongue over the plump bottom lip. He brings it into his mouth and sucks, relishing in the high pitched moan Regulus makes.
He’s so perfect, James thinks as Regulus lies there and just lets him take it. Take whatever he wants.
When James thinks back to all his encounters with Regulus over the years, specifically those over the summer when Regulus moved in with them, he thinks he can see how gone he was for the boy. It was almost immediate, the way James just completely folded as soon as the snarky insults left his mouth.
A mouth that is parting so beautifully underneath his own. James can’t hold back the guttural groan as he dives back in for a proper kiss, taking everything Regulus has to offer and returning it tenfold. Regulus reaches up to scratch his nails across James’ scalp and James realiates by nipping his bottom lip before pushing Regulus onto his back, moving in between his thighs to hover over him.
Regulus opens his mouth, allowing James to lick into it and suck on his tongue. His other hand grabs tightly at James’ waist, his Gryffindor jumper clenched tightly between his fingers as he encourages James to press his crotch down into his own.
James pulls away on a broken moan and Regulus whines at the loss, blushing when he opens his eyes blearily, realising the sound he just made. James stares down at him as if he’s the most brilliant thing he’s ever seen.
“Please tell me you’ll let me do that again,” James almost begs, brushing his nose against Regulus’.
Regulus shoots him an unimpressed look. “Potter, if you don’t kiss me within the next five seconds I am going to tie you to that tree and leave you there for the foreseeable future.”
James hums. “If you wanted to tie me up, Reggie, you only had to ask.”
“Fuck off.”
Smirking, James brushes his lips against Regulus’ in a teasing manner. “A bit contradictory with your previous statement, love.”
A pretty blush dusts the high of Regulus’ cheekbones and James watches in adoring fascination as the younger boy groans and pulls him back down to his lips.
James can’t help but smile into it.
#jegulus#james potter#regulus black#james x regulus#regulus x james#jegulus microfic#microficmay2024#sirius black#marauders#writing#starchaser#sunseeker#the marauders#the marauders fandom#hp marauders#dead gay wizards#marauders era#the marauders era
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Prom Woes
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word count: 1,246
Request: Anonymous. Hey, I saw one of your dean x reader imagines and I loved it a lot! So I was wondering if you could do a fanfic where dean and the reader are about 17 and the reader’s prom date breaks up with her during the dance and Dean comforts her and confesses his feelings? Fluff follows? 😂😂love your fics bunches!!!
Read on AO3
Standing in the middle of the dance floor, your eyes watered. People moved around you, bodies close to their dates. Sniffing, you shook your head and turned, making your way off the dance floor. It was your senior prom, and the memories that should have been magical were shattered.
“Oh, Y/N/N, you look beautiful.” Your mother gushed, holding her hands together by her chin. She’d just put the finishing touches on your hair once you’d finished your makeup. Your dress was a lovely shade of purple, and shimmered slightly. You’d had your eye on it for months before your parents agreed to go prom shopping. Your father refused to buy a dress months ahead of time in case you changed your mind. So, you’d scrambled two weeks prior to make sure you got your dress.
As you passed a trash can, you ripped the flower from your wrist and tossed it in. “Stupid jerk.” You muttered, wanting to punch him in the face. Finding your table, you dropped into your seat.
“Well, that doesn’t look like how you should look at your prom.” Came your best friend’s voice.
You sighed and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.” You told him sadly, wiping under your eye and smudging your makeup. “Oh, great.” You groaned, seeing the black line on your hand. “Perfect.” You sighed.
Dean furrowed his brows and sat next to you. “What the hell happened? You’ve been looking forward to this night for months.”
You grinned as you Dean sat on the couch watching movies. “We’re seniors!” You squealed.
“Technically, we’re not students until Monday.” He teased. “And you are way too excited.”
“This is the final year of high school. And prom!” You saw him roll his eyes and shoved him lightly. “I can’t wait.” You added. “Jessie will look so hot in a tux.” You sighed.
Dean chuckled lightly. “I still can’t believe you’re dating that idiot.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
You played with the table cloth. “Jessie broke up with me.” You sniffed, your eyes watering all over.
“What?!” He asked, sitting straight up. “When? Why?”
Despite how bad you felt, you let out a soft chuckle at how he sounded. “Just a few minutes ago- on the dance floor.” Your eyes shot to where it was still packed for a moment, then back to the table. “He didn’t really give a good reason, actually.” That fact was just hitting you, and made your more angry than anything. You’d been together since the July before- that was 11 months of your life with him. All to have it ended. At your prom. Your senior prom!
Dean was clearly angry. “What a dick. Where’s that asshole now?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. He left me on the dance floor. I think I spaced out for a few minutes before I made my way over here. I kinda just wanna go home…” What was the point of staying when you looked like hell from crying, and you were miserable?
“Come on.” Dean got up and held out his hand. “Let’s have our own prom.” He grinned.
Taking his hand, you narrowed your eyes. “Should I be worried?” You asked, half joking.
“Nah.” He pretended to think for a moment. “I don’t think…” He laughed.
Sitting across from him at Burger King, you covered your mouth as you laughed. You had been chewing your burger, and he had made a stupid face. “Stop!” You waved. “I’m trying to eat.”
“Hey, I’m just happy to see you smiling again.” Dean grinned, taking a sip of his soda. “I hate when you’re all upset.” He shrugged.
You licked your lips before taking a sip of your soda, giving him a small smile. “Well, you’re good at making me smile.” You blushed. “You’ve been my best friend for forever.” You chuckled lightly.
Dean pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as he sat on your couch. The four year old was not at all pleased that he was staying at his mother’s friend’s house while she was off having his baby brother.
“Hi!” Came a small voice as you climbed up next to him on the couch. “I’m Y/N/N. ‘Member me?” You looked hopeful, as you’d had playdates with him a couple times before.
He glared. “Stupid girls.” He huffed, instantly regretting it when you looked like you’d cry. “Hey, you know how to play hide and seek?”
You face lit of. “Course I do!” You giggled.
“W-what if I’d like to be more than best friends?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
You froze with your burger almost to your mouth. “What?” You asked, not sure that you’d heard him right. Setting down your food, you swallowed. “You want to be more?”
He shrugged. “I’d like the chance.” Dean admitted nervously. “I’ve loved you for awhile now, honestly.” Your felt your chest tighten as your stomach fluttered at his words. “I just always wanted you happy, and didn’t want to screw us up. Then I saw how bad that dick hurt you.” He sighed, running his hand through his short blond hair. “All I wanted to do was hold you close and make it stop hurting you.”
Chewing on your lip, you chose your words wisely. “Dean…” You said gently. “I just got out of almost a year long relationship.” Which was something you needed to say before saying more. “While I do love you, a lot, I’m not going to pretend I can be more right now.” That would be fair to Dean at all. “I won’t shut the idea down, though.”
Dean nodded, smiling. “I get that, I do!” He told you. “I just couldn’t hold my tongue anymore.”
You chuckled lightly. “I vote that we finish our food, and go to my house, get comfortable, and watch cheesy movies.”
“I like that idea.” He agreed.
–6 months later–
Dean pouted at you over Skype. “You can’t make it home?”
“I’m sorry!” You sighed. “I have to work.” You explained to your boyfriend of three months. “I’ll be home for Christmas, I promise.”
“Fiiiiine.” He said dramatically, making you chuckle. “How about we have a Skype date on Thanksgiving? You with your food, me with mine.”
You smiled. “I love that idea, actually.” At least you knew that you’d be seeing him in a month, so this would work for now. “How is everyone?”
Dean chuckled. “Mom keeps asking about you. Dad calls you his daughter already, and Sam just started high school.” He shook his head. “I hope he hits a growth spurt soon.” You laughed, knowing what he meant. Sam was a bit on the skinnier side. “How’s school?”
“It’s school.” You shrugged. “I miss you, though. I went to a party the other night with a friend and wound up leaving because I got tired of telling guys off.”
“Well…”
You furrowed your brows. “What?”
Dean smirked, a twinkle in his eye. “What if I told you that you won’t have to worry about that for long?” You raised an eyebrow, urging him to go on. “I’m getting an apartment near you. This January.”
“Really?!” You grinned. “How?”
He laughed. “Dad is opening up a second garage. He needs someone to oversee it. I said I’d do it. I’ll be just half an hour away from you. Not three or so hours.”
“You did that for me?” You asked, feeling loved.
“Us, babe.” He corrected you.
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Cloudy With a Chance of Murder.
Part I: leaving the crime scene.
Part II: the phone call.
Part III: a visit to the morgue.
Part IV: the lunch break.
Part V: lunch part II.
Part VI: the perfect cover.
Part VII: the storage closet.
Part VII: case closed.
These links are being a right pain atm, I'll fix them later sorry! But the link for part VII should be working and it should have all the other links if you need them! Thank you!
It was one emotional nose dive followed almost immediately after another. And another. And another.
But now, the case was closed. And she was spent; so drained both mentally and physically that she was almost certain she could sleep for a whole week.
If not for the mental images of Castle, straddled by a bikini-clad babe, engaging in what looked to be a very vigorous make out session. It replayed in her mind over and over again, offering her no respite; not even for a second.
You're all I will ever need or want.
She believed that, wholeheartedly. Still, the events of the evening had penetrated her heart like the bluntest of knives. She needed to slink away and mend her wounds: alone, like always.
"Walk you out?" Castle offered as she picked up a stack of files: her homework for the night.
She had no doubt in her mind that he knew she was struggling. He had a good poker face - much better than hers - but she could see it in his eyes, he wanted to talk, to sort things out. She just wasn't ready for that yet.
"Uh- no. Thanks. I'm good."
She watched, just for a split-second, as Castle's carefully crafted mask dropped and the concern - the fear that he had screwed this up already - became so evident. Her heart skipped a beat and she wanted to change her mind but then came the flashbacks; the lipstick smudges on her boyfriend's face, the women atop him whom only seemed frustrated by the sudden interruption. Nope, not tonight.
"Night guys," she said to all three of them.
It was final; decision made. She was going home alone tonight, the second time in as many days, with the crushing fear that maybe they were crumbling already.
She drove aimlessly for a while, not even sure where she was headed. It wasn't until she pulled up - a decision made on instinct, not plan - outside of the familiar apartment building that she began to understand what it was she needed right now.
Her best friend.
Lanie answered on the second knock; obviously not having expected a visitor at this time of night, but she didn't seem entirely surprised by Beckett's presence.
"Come in," she said softly before Beckett could find any words at all.
No greeting, no explanation as to why she was there, nothing.
Beckett moved further into the apartment, scanned her surroundings: TV on, throw blanket draped over the couch, half-empty glass of wine on the coffee table.
"Long day?" she asked her friend.
"Very," Lanie answered with a smile.
She walked past Beckett, into the living room, and turned off the TV. She sat on the couch, then patted the spot beside her in invitation.
Beckett hesitated for a moment - what was she even doing here? - but then relented and sat by her friend.
"What's wrong?" Lanie asked once they had settled.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" Lanie arched a brow and Beckett could almost hear the do you think I'm stupid? accusation in the action. She shrugged and Lanie rolled her eyes. "So this has nothing to do with a certain someone's date tonight?"
Beckett bit her tongue, swallowed down the anger invoked by the damn incessant relaying of events in her mind. "How did you know about that?"
"I watch TV."
Of course. Because Kristina Coterra doesn't ask you out in private, she does it live on TV. She does it for the whole Country to see. She puts men who are publicly single but secretly dating their partner on the spot, making them make stupid decisions.
"And Javi told me," Lanie added, giving Beckett someone knew to aim her misplaced anger at.
Beckett sighed. "Of course he did."
"I was just curious as to why Writer Boy would be going on a date with Kristina Coterra in the first place," Lanie stated, not-so-subtly fishing for the confession they both knew she didn't actually need.
"Why wouldn't he?" Beckett pouted.
"So, we're still playing dumb," Lanie surmised. "Noted."
They sat in stubborn silence.
Lanie thought that if she waited, her friend would eventually cave and confess everything.
Beckett thought that if she waited, her friend would eventually cave and leave her be.
After two agonising minutes, they had their winner.
"Fine, don't tell me," Lanie groaned. "But whatever is or isn't going on, you should probably just talk to the guy. You know what Castle is like; he probably just did something stupid because in that weird little brain of his he thought it was the right thing to do."
Beckett took a long, slow breath. She hated when Lanie made a logical solutions seem so damn obvious, especially when it was so damn obvious but she was just too emotional to have been able to see it herself.
She rolled her eyes. "I never actually confirmed that I was here because of his date," she complained.
"You never actually confirmed a lot of things, doesn't mean I don't know it to be true," Lanie teased.
Beckett rolled her eyes again. "I'll leave you and your accusations in peace." She turned and walked to the door. As she left, she looked at her friend and smiled sincerely. "Thanks, Lanie."
#my drabbles#kate beckett#richard castle#caskett#castle#kate beckett x richard castle#castle fanfiction#castle fanfic
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eating him whole he's my biiiig n lanky stupid bf<3
#₊˚ପ⊹ soliloquy .ᐟ#popped the screencaps into my editor#so his eyeliner stands out#i sat in his lap and did his eyeliner for him btw!#& i told him if he comes home with it smudged#i'll kill him#he said okayyy<33#i love him sooo very much
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Can you make like a one shot of this post I saw it said this: People usually say matt gives them a submissive vibe, or that hes a mommy kink typa person, in my opinion, i feel like hes way too dominant that he would absolutely destroy you, his eyes, their so dominant, i feel like when u tease him in public hed whipser “just wait till we get home, ur gonna beg me to stop” LIKE COME ON LOOK AT THAT SEXY CRACKER ISTG🧎♀️🧎♀️🧎♀️🧎♀️
Wait Till We Get Home
matt x reader smut
Masterlist
WARNINGS: Smutty smutty smutty smut smut orgasm denial p in v unprotected sex
The loud music played in the background as I sat on my boyfriend’s lap at our friends party. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer to his chest. He laughs at something one of our friends says and I close my eyes.
I hate parties with a passion. I’m only here because Matt begged me to go with him. A mutual friend of ours had thrown this party for whatever reason, and Matt hadn’t talked to them in a long time. So he begged me to go with him so he wasn’t alone durning the outing.
So here I sit, on my boyfriend’s lap, thinking about the comfort my bed would bring me at this moment. My nice warm bed with soft blankets and smooth sheets. With fluffy pillows and my many stuffed animals. And my favorite part, sleeping next to my boyfriend.
I love waking up next to him. I love when he wakes me up by kissing my neck and groping my body. I squeeze my eyes shut, a familiar feeling growing between my legs. I move my hips back, grinding against Matt.
He huffs and holds me still, continuing to talk to our friend as if nothing happened. I bite my lip as I get an idea and grind backwards against him again.
Matt’s jaw clenches as he holds me still by my hips. I try again but he holds me still. I roll my eyes and lean back against him. He continues to talk to our friend as if nothing is happening right now. I sigh and give up, turning around a bit to face Matt.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” I mumble to him. He only nods and lets go of my hips, letting me get up and make my way through the crowd of people to the bathroom.
I close the door behind me and set my purse down on the counter by the sink. I dig through to find my emergency makeup bag to fix up the smudged eyeliner on my eye. I hear the doorknob of the bathroom door turn, and immediately turn around.
“Someone’s in here!” I shout. I mentally face palm for not locking the door.
The door opens and Matt comes in. He closes the door behind him and says “I know, you told me you’d be here.” He locks the door.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Matt steps closer to me and pulls me close to him by my waist. “You should wait to fix your makeup, darling, I’m about to absolutely ruin it.” He whispers in my ear.
I blush deeply. “What?” I ask.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t plan for this.” He murmurs. Matt pulls at my shirt and slips a hand under it to cup my breast from over my bra.
“Matt..” I whisper. His hand slips under my jean shorts, tugging them to the side to touch my core over my panties.
“You’re already so wet, baby.” He says.
He pulls his hand away and I whine from the lack of contact. “Matt.” I whine out.
“Just you wait till we get home, baby.” He whispers in my ear.
“What happened to ruining my makeup?” I ask as I slink my hands over his shoulders and pull him closer to me.
“You’re not getting anything until you beg for it, and we’re at home.” He grabs my hands and pulls them off of his shoulders.
“But Matt-“
“But Matt!” He mocks me. He steps back. “We should get home.” He says and unlocks the door of the bathroom.
I pick up my makeup and place it all back in my purse. I walk quickly behind Matt as he pulls me by my wrist, saying his goodbyes to our friends and then leading me outside to his car.
We both get in and he quickly pulls out of the driveway. Before I can even get my seatbelt on, Matt’s hand shoots for my thigh and travels inward to my dripping core. He slips his hand under my shorts, rubbing my clit through the fabric of my panties.
“Put your seatbelt on.” He tells me. I nod and do so while his fingers softly trace up and down over my panties.
“Matt-“ I moan softly.
He only smirks as he turns the wheel with one hand, taking a left onto the street his house is on. He pulls into the driveway, pulling his hand away from me. I whine from the lack of contact as he shuts the engine off and gets out of the car. I quickly undo my seatbelt and follow him into the house.
Matt pulls me by the wrist to his bedroom, harshly slamming the door behind us. He yanks me to the bed, taking off his shirt before towering over me, and pressing a feverish kiss to my lips.
I fiddle with his belt on his jeans, beginning to undo them. I pull the belt through the loops and discard it on the floor. He pulls my shirt over my head and does the same.
His hand reaches to skillfully unclasp my bra in one quick motion, as he’s done so many times before. I press the palm of my hand against his bulge in his boxers. He groans and takes my hand by the wrist, grabs my other wrist, and pins me down to the bed.
He smirks as he uses one hand to pin my wrists down, and uses the other to reach for a discarded tie on the bed, an undecided option from earlier when getting dressed for the party. He uses the tie to bind my wrists together, tying them to the headboard.
He then trails soft kisses down my body to my shorts, before almost yanking them down my legs and throwing them on the ground. He presses a soft kiss against my clothed clit. He lifts back up and pulls his boxers down, releasing his cock as it slaps against his stomach.
He presses the tip against the soaked part of my panties. He rubs himself slowly up and down my clothes core. I whine and twist my wrists around, trying to beg him for more.
Matt smirks. “So needy.” He mumbles. He taps his tip against my clit before movies my panties to the side, slipping his cock over my clit, collecting my wetness and then bringing it back up. He repeats this motion over and over and I squirm around.
I whine once more. “Matt please, I need it. I need you!” I beg.
“Do I need to gag you?” Matt asks as he leans down, his hand reaching up and squeezing my throat lightly. “Or will you be a good girl?”
I gasp through the shirt breaths I’m offered. “I- I’ll be good.” I manage to say.
He presses a kiss to my lips. “Good.” He mumbles. He lets go of my throat and sits up. He then pulls down my panties and throws them on the floor.
Matt uses his tip to collect my wetness once more, using his hand to spread it around his cock. He positions himself at my entrance, slowly inching his way all the way into me.
We’ve done this a thousand times and I’m still not used to his size. I gasp and writhe as he lets me adjust to him. He holds me still by my hips. “Oh, baby. You’re gonna be begging for me to let you cum.” He says as he begins to fuck into me at a fast pace.
His pace gets quicker, he raises my hips to meet his as he pounds into me. I feel the bulge from his cock inside me, the outline showing in my lower abdomen. Matt smirks and presses his hand over the clear bulge, saying “Feel that, baby?”
“You have, ngh, no idea!” I say through moans. Matt chuckles as he continues to pound into me.
His thrusts begin to hit that sweet spot inside me and I moan out loudly. I feel the familiar bind in my stomach begin to form. “Matt, Matt!” I moan out. “I’m gonna cum, please Matt!”
“Not yet.” He says. He thrusts into me just enough to make me edge, before pulling out right before I could reach my orgasm.
“Matt!” I whine. He only chuckles and unties me from the headboard. He lays down next to me. “What are you doing?” I ask as I sit up.
He pulls me over to sit on top of him. “Ride me.” He says.
“What?” I ask.
“You wanted to fuck so bad, fuck me. Fuck yourself with my cock, darling. Go on, do it.” Matt’s hands find their way back to my hips. He helps me lift myself up and position his cock at my entrance, before I sink down.
I moan out and stay still for a moment to adjust. I move my legs to get a better position to ride him. I lean back and place my hand in his thigh, helping me to steady myself as I raise my hips up and down his length at a slow pace.
Matt groans and grips my hips. “Faster babe, come on. Don’t pretend like you weren’t begging for this just a little bit ago.” He says.
I begin to quicken my pace, bouncing myself up and down his cock. Matt moves one hand to grip my ass cheek while the other stays on my hip, helping me to ride him.
“Fucking love this view.” He grunts out.
I moan softly and reach my hand down to rub my clit, only Matt stops me.
“Not yet.” He says with a groan. I whine lower myself down so he’s all the way in me.
I lean forward and kiss his lips feverishly, grinning down on him to get some friction to my clit. He smirks, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
Matts hands grip my thighs in place as he positions himself to pound upwards into me. I moan loudly as he begins at such a fast pace.
“Matt!” I scream out. “Oh god, Matt!”
“Beg for it baby, beg me to let you cum.” He says as he pounds into me. I feel his cock twitch in me, knowing he’s going to cum. It’s now or never. If I don’t obey him, he won’t let me stop cumming like last time. I’m not sure I can handle that overstimulation again.
“Matt, Matt please let me cum! Please, please Matt, I need to! I need to so badly, Matt!” I beg, tears forming in my eyes from his harsh grip on my thighs and is relentless pounding into my pussy. “God, Matt, please!”
“Since you asked so nicely, and we’re so good to me.” He grunts as he thrusts into me sloppily. “Go on, darling. Cum all over my cock like the food girl you are.” He says into my ear, his breath sending chills down my body as I moan out, immediately obeying him and releasing all over him.
He follows just a few thrusts after. Our white liquids mixed together as he pulls out of me. They spill out of my pussy as he pulls out.
“That’s the best part.” He mumbles against my shoulder.
“What is?” I ask breathlessly.
“Cumming inside you. Maybe I got you pregnant this time.” He smiles.
I shake my head. “Matt, I don’t know that I’m ready for that.”
“But you’d be such a good mother.” He mumbles as he moves us over to lay on our sides. I lay my head on his arm as his hand plays with my hair. “You’re so good with kids.” He murmurs against the top of my head.
“Matt, I want to. Just not right now.” I tell him.
“Okay.” He mumbles. He nuzzles my head against his chest. “Do you need anything?” He asks me.
“Can we just lay here for a bit before we clean up?” I ask.
Matt nods. “Anything for you baby.”
TAGS: @bernardenjoyer @sturniolosreads @mbbsgf @xxsadlovexx @whicked-hazlatwhore @sturnsgirl @keira324 @stuniolobbg @timmyscomputer @meg-sturniolo @sturnioloenthusiast @nickdevora @hearts4chris
#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#christopher sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#chris x reader#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo x reader#sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo blurb#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo edit#matt sturniolo imagine#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt x reader#matt sturniolo fanfiction#matt sturniolo fluff#matt sturniolo oneshots#matt sturniolo x fem reader
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i want to taste you better
TAGS: MDNI 18+, overstimulation, cunnilingus, dirty talk, DADDY'S HOME (no daddy kink, sorry) WC: 1k
A/N: the sequel to this drabble. ONCE AGAIN thank you to sleep token for writing sexy ass lyrics and giving me the best titles. I'm gonna make a whole series of smut drabbles based off sleep token lyrics fr
Your car was in the driveway, but the house was unusually dark when Simon opened the front door. You always preferred to keep the lights on whenever he was away—said it felt ‘less lonely’ when the house was lit up. He didn't mind paying a bit more when the electricity bill came in if it meant you could find some comfort while he was away.
He dropped his bags at the door, deciding to deal with them later. He had more important things to do like finally holding you in his arms after being gone for two months. It certainly wasn't the longest he had been away, but it didn't mean he was any less eager to come back to you.
Simon crept up the dark stairs, avoiding spots he knew would creak beneath his weight. At the end of the hall, there was light framing a closed bedroom door.
He briefly thought about what you could be doing in there. Innocent thoughts at first—it was late, you had work in the morning, so you'd be in bed and winding down. But, the low drawn out moan that slipped from the door told him otherwise.
Fuck, he missed that voice. It wasn't the same hearing you whimper and moan from some shitty, little burner phone.
Your heavy breaths could be heard just outside the door. He lingered for a moment, pressing his shoulder to the wall. Your cries were beginning to crescendo, the tell tale sign of your orgasm.
Who was he to deprive you of that? It would just make your pretty noises all the more sweeter when he fucks another orgasm out of you.
When you met your peak with a choked gasp, Simon turned the door and stepped in. The air was thick with your scent.
You yelped at the sudden intrusion, sitting up and grabbing the blanket to cover your naked body. When the shock cleared, you were able to get a better look at the man who entered your bedroom. “Si?”
He clicked his tongue and cocked his head. “Thinkin’ of me, love?”
You cast the blanket aside and moved to slip off the bed, no doubt to run and hug him, but he stepped forward. “Don't move,” he commanded. “Lay down on the bed.”
You did as he said, laying back on the bed as he approached, anticipation holding your breath. You stared up at him looming over you. His black face mask was still on, obscuring mouth. You could see the faint black smudges still around his eyes.
Simon wasted no time slipping between your legs. He laid his palms on your inner thighs and spread them open to fit himself.
“Couldn't wait ‘til I got home. Were you really that fuckin’ desperate?”
You tried opening your mouth to defend yourself, but one of his hands, warm and calloused, slid between your legs. His thumb parted your folds to get a proper view of your glistening cunt, arousal leaking out and soiling the sheets below.
“My dirty girl,” he sighed, rubbing his thumb over your dripping hole. You squirmed, and he held you down by the hip, fingers digging into your soft flesh. “Gotta clean you up now.”
Both of his hands slid up the curves of your body, making sure to caress the mounds of your breasts before one settled on your jaw. He leaned over, stabilizing himself with one arm, and paused just before your lips.
You brought a finger up to tease the edge of the fabric over his nose before trailing to the string looped around one end of his mask. You pulled it off to reveal your lover's face and his smirking lips.
“Missed you,” you mumbled, leaning up for a kiss.
Simon met it hungrily, sweeping his tongue along your lower lip to prod into your mouth. His kisses devoured you. He pulled away to trail his lips down your neck, sucking marks along the column of your throat, laying his claim to you once again.
He wanted you to remember this in the morning—the marks on your skin, the ache between your legs—and remember it was him that made you feel that way. It would only ever be him.
He moved down your chest, paying attention to the hardened tips of your breasts. He latched his mouth around one nipple while his hand kneaded the other breast.
You arched into his touch and gasped when his teeth grazed over your nipple. Your fingers ran through his hair, urging him lower, just where you really needed him.
“More,” you whined, rutting yourself against the leg wedged between your thighs. “Please, Si.”
His hands smoothed over the curve of your waist as he slipped down to meet your cunt. He pulled your legs wide and hooked them over his broad shoulders.
Simon didn't waste time delving into your dripping cunt. His fingers formed a ‘v’ around your opening and he slotted his lips between them, lapping up the arousal from your orgasm. He was starved, almost desperate to taste you again. He shut his eyes and lost himself in you.
Your cries and moans fell on deaf ears as he dragged his tongue through your folds and toyed with your clit. The orgasm you gave yourself left you sensitive to his eager ministrations. Each flick of his tongue over your clit had your legs locking around his head, tense but thruming with pleasure.
He pulled your legs back open when you squeezed too hard, gripping your soft flesh and continuing to devour you. When he pushed two fingers deep into your cunt, feeling the way your wet heat pulsated around his fingers, he groaned.
“Fuck, you're tight. Want you to come on my mouth, love. Come on—ride my face.”
With his fingers buried in you and his lips on your clit, Simon worked another orgasm out of you. Your back arched and you finished with his name on your lips. He removed his fingers and replaced them with his mouth, letting your ride out your orgasm on his tongue.
“Ngh, fuck,” you cried, when he refused to pull away. You looked down at him as your chest heaved. “I can't.”
You tried shifting yourself away, but his grip on your thighs was relentless. His tongue ran over your clit again and your body twitched.
“You can. One more, just one more for me.”
#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#cod smut#ghost smut#ghost x reader#ghost x reader smut#simon riley smut#cod mw2#cod fanfic#ghost scenario
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love me like you do
summary: harry’s never had someone take care of him the way that y/n does.
word count: 2,361
a/n: here's another old exclusive guys. there are lots and lots of fics lined up for you for the next couple of months while I work on a 20k realtor!y/n and a 20k ex-boyfriend!harry so enjoy!
//
At first, Harry thought nothing of it.
The honeymoon phase, he told himself. It made sense, it was expected. His past lovers had all been the same during that time — always obsessed and seemingly in love. Seemingly.
But after a few months, they always started to change. They’d distance themselves first, take a while longer to reply or to get in contact with him. Then, they’d get blunt and annoyed quickly with him. They wouldn’t want him close, wouldn’t shower him in affection. Wouldn’t let him touch them.
And then, eventually, they’d leave. Maybe on the odd occasion, they’d butter him up and get a little splurge on his card, or go to him just for their release. A few had cheated, some just left. Nothing for Harry has ever lasted past a year and a half, and now it’s nearing the two-year mark and he’s confused.
Y/N is a lovely woman. She’s kind, funny, smart, gorgeous. Harry thinks her kindness and wit is what attracted him to her in the first place, and in the two years he’s known her, he’s only started to love her more.
It’s not like he thinks deep down she’s a horrible person, but Harry has grown accustomed to how things typically work in his relationships, and none of the above has yet occurred.
Currently, he’s lying on his stomach with his face smushed into Y/N’s pillow. She’s straddling his lower back, her bum on his bum and his shirt is long gone as she massages the tender knots out of his shoulders. She’s been doing it for thirty minutes now. Harry’s been watching the clock.
He’s been feeling a little ill the past few days. Migraine, sore muscles and the occasional fleeting moments of nausea. He lost his appetite and strength pretty quickly and Y/N has been on the ball with it — at his feet with a sick bucket, coddling his head to her chest with a cold compress against his skin. She’s done it all and Harry can’t quite understand it.
From past experiences of being ill or caught with the flu, the only person to have ever taken proper care of him had been his mother. And now, his lover is doing what past lovers didn’t, and Harry’s confused.
It’s not that Y/N isn’t an overwhelmingly kind and compassionate person, because she is. Her caring and nurturing behaviour is nothing out of the ordinary for Y/N, but Harry has never experienced such care from a romantic partner before.
It’s like Y/N has forgotten about the gruelling twelve-hour shift she just got home from, but Harry hasn’t ,and although he’s the one that’s sick, she’s the one that’s been on her feet all day.
“Come on, I’ll do you.” His words come out gruffly, muffled slightly by the pillow that restricts the fluid movements of his lips. He can feel Y/N shake her head from above him. She sinks the balls of her palms into the backs of his shoulders.
“You need to relax and rest.” She argues, thinks her reasoning will be enough for him not to ask again.
Harry shakes his head and shuffles beneath the weight of her body. Y/N lifts to her knees, allowing him to turn beneath her and onto his back. Harry’s eyes are bleary and sleepy as he blinks to gain his bearings. He stretches for her hips, hands finding them with ease.
She’s sitting on his lower tummy, dressed in a pair of cycling shorts and one of his old Rolling Stones t-shirts that she changed into the second she got home. There’s dotting of mascara smudged below her eyes and a couple of pimples that are starting to show through the worn, minimal makeup.
He knows she’s had a long day, could tell the second she got in and pretended that she was okay for his sake. Her hair is tied back low on her neck, stray strands wildly framing her face. She looks tired, burnt out. Harry just wants to look after her.
“Bad day?” He finally asks.
Y/N blinks twice and shrugs, head rolling as her shoulders raise and her cheek meets it. “Busy,” she tells him. “Nothing I’m not used to.”
Harry squints.
He knows she’s used to it — the long days with early starts and late finishes, the ones without a break in-between, where she doesn’t get to eat, save for a few grapes she manages to steal every now and then. He knows she’s used to it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not exhausting her.
He squeezes her hips gently. “Know you’re used to it, pet. Don’t make it any easier, though.”
She doesn’t say anything. Her hands are on his, encouraging them to sneak up her shirt to feel her skin. She’s warm, soft. Y/N pouts down at him. “Want a kiss.” She says, eyes glassy with affectionate need.
Harry copies her expression, reaching up to caress the side of her face. “Can’t let ya get sick, babe. Why don’t you let me run you a bath and you can relax?” He offers, eyes gentle and she lets hers flitter closed for a moment, like she’s pondering over her answer.
She shakes her head.
“You’re the sick one. I’m going to run you a bath, and then I’m going to make you some soup for your throat. Know it’s still been hurting you.”
Harry doesn’t say anything — knows that whatever he argues, she’ll bite back better. His body sinks into the sheets, head in the pillow as a heavy huff of annoyance and adoration slips from his mouth.
//
When Y/N said she’d run him a bath, Harry didn’t expect it to be overflowing with bubbles or for every possible available surface to be littered in glowing candles. But the bathroom wasdecorated with such and Harry was overcome with an overwhelming amount of love for his girl.
She let him take his time in there, relaxing and soothing his muscles while she cooked up some magic for his throat. Getting out of the bath, Harry most definitely does not expect to wander into the kitchen to see what he does.
Y/N behind the stove, dishing up the soup with two fresh rolls from the bakery a mile from them. She’s got the lights dim for him — knows they’re hurting his head — and there are more candles around the living room.
The coffee table is littered with them mostly, Netflix is up and ready on the TV and as he looks to the sofa, he notices she got out her favourite blanket — the soft one that Harry swears is made from angel wings.
And he looks at her, starry-eyed and all. She’s got a gentle smile on her lips when she notices his presence and Harry is fucked.
He can’t stop the rush of emotion that consumes him. His eyes turn glassy, nose tingling and heart aching. Harry reckons he’s easily the most loved man in the world and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He can’t help the single tear that slips down his face but he wipes it before she notices.
Harry approaches her, arms wrapping around the middle of his love and he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck. “Thank you, for all of this. Love you so much.” He rasps into her skin.
He can feel her body warm against his touch and she smiles, rashes down to hold her hand over his. “Love you loads, too. And you haven’t got to thank me, this is just what you do when you love someone.”
When you love someone.
She shrugs her own words off like they’re the most obvious thing she’s ever said, but Harry can’t stop falling harder for her.
He’s loved people before, he knows that. But now, looking back, he wonders if anyone has ever loved him before her.
Harry doesn’t remember a time that a previous lover put him before themselves. Where they cared for him and put his needs first. Where they showered him with care and adoration just because.
No ones ever loved him as she does.
The tears start to pool again as he pulls away and helps her carry their bowls and drinks to the sofa. They sit close, dipping pieces of bread into the creamy soup Y/N prepared and keeping their eyes on the TV.
Harry is struggling to focus though when Y/N takes a glance at the clock and carries their empty bowls to the kitchen. He cranes his neck across the back of the sofa to see what she’s doing, but her back is to him as she runs the sink tap and rummages through the cupboard.
What he does see is her shuffling back to the living room with a small glass of water and a curled open palm carrying three little white tablets atop it.
Y/N settles beside him, handing him the glass with a tired smile and offering him the pills. “They’ll help with your head and throat, hun.” She curls into the sofa, her knees to her chest and close to Harry’s side. Y/N props one arm against the back of the pillows and her fingers find the long hairs at the nape of Harry’s neck, gently craving through the soft locks.
He watches her for a moment, completely dumbfounded and speechless if he’s honest.
Something like Y/N taking care of him when he’s sick shouldn’t have him feeling so fucked and in love, but it does. He’s teary-eyed because his girl is taking care of him off her own back. Because she isn’t complaining once or making anything about herself.
Because she’s loving him beyond the words of saying it.
And he cries.
Y/N’s stunned at the sight, thinks maybe he’s about to sneeze, but his body starts to tremble and she realises what’s going on. So, gently, she pries the glass and pills from his wanton hands and places them blindly on the coffee table before reaching back for him.
“Hey,” she coos.
Her hands caress the damp and flushed skin of his cheeks to bring Harry’s gaze to meet her reassuring one. “Why are you crying, H?” Her words are asked in a light and airy voice, one that isn’t serious as she chuckles softly, but he still knows she’s concerned for him.
He shakes his head and pulls her into his side, laughing at himself too because, why is he crying?
“Just never had anyone look after me apart from my mum before. Really fucking lucky to have you, love. No ones ever loved me like you do before.”
Her hand is sprawled across his gently heaving chest and she kisses his neck with a soft peck, offering a squeeze. His hand is brushing comfortingly up and down her arm but neither of them really know why he’s the one trying to comfort her.
Y/N swallows, reaching her right hand across her chest to find his hand that lingers over the front of her shoulder, and she interlaces their fingers, squeezing. “I wish I could show you how in love with you I am… no words can describe it.” She admits, bashfully.
Harry squeezes her hand, using his other to wipe his face and he laughs again, because he’s so in love that it hurts. It hurts so fucking good because he knows this is it for him. She is it for him. Together against the world. Their future, their everything.
“I know, baby. S’the same for me.”
His raw voice sends a shiver through her spine and her own eyes are watering with salty drops of emotion. It hurts her too. More so knowing nobody has ever treated him right, nobody has ever taken care of him and loved him like he’s always deserved.
“I’m always gonna love you like this, H. Always gonna put you before me. Put us before anything else. You’re it for me, hope I’m it for you, too.”
He grins, cranes his neck to look down at her through hooded eyes. “‘Course you’re it for me. Been my future since I fucking laid eyes on ya, pet. It’s us forever, yeah?”
She breathes, tears slipping but she nods her head. He doesn’t get the chance to stop her before she’s leaning up and smacking a kiss to his lips, eager and sweet. He doesn’t pull away either, as selfish as it is.
Y/N reads his mind, knows what he’s thinking. “Don’t care if I get a bloody cold. You’re worth it.”
“God, I fucking love you.”
#harry styles#harry styles imagine#imagine harry styles#harry styles x you#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagines#harry styles oneshot#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst
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i’ll tell you in the morning
tasm!peter x reader
summary:
“you’re going to fall through the couch.”
“the couch would never betray me.”
warnings: overly considerate peter, scheming reader, fluff and stuff
*
“you’re supposed to be in bed.”
his voice rolls, like a click on a cassette, and you know that peter is not really there.
because it’s all a little blurry. his voice, the door opening, the feeling when he kneels down next to you, his breath hot in your ear.
it’s all some remanent of a dream. a brief moment where you might wake up, but decide not to.
“i’m serious,” his voice ebbs and flows, waving in and out, like your consciousness. “you know i don’t like it when you wait up for me.”
you groan and roll even further into the couch. your face is smushed, and your hair is a mess, sweaty because you’re drowning under every blanket in the house. it smells like cotton, and peter’s deodorant, and potato chips that you probably dropped through the cushions.
you dig your nose in deeper, trying to get back to that dream.
peters probably not actually there, you think, because if he was he would’ve kissed you awake. his hand would be lazily running through your hair, and his body would be pressed against yours. you would be cuddling by now.
real peter is much nicer than dream peter, who shakes your shoulder, albeit massaging you right afterward. “c’mon, bug, we’re going to bed.”
“sleeping,” you mumble, pulling away from him.
dream peter continues to try and wake you up, while you wonder—amidst the dream, no doubt—when real peter will be home. you want to be drowning in his collarbone instead of your own sweat.
there’s a kiss next to your ear. “you’re going to fall through the couch.”
“the couch would never betray me.”
“we’ll see if you’re saying that in the morning, when your neck is bent the wrong way,” he whispers, and rests his head against yours. you feel it as he breathes out, relaxes. almost like he’s purring into your ear.
so you keen into him, a bit awkwardly, considering that it’s his forehead. “why’d you wake me up?”
“you can’t sleep here.”
“c’mere,” you murmur to him, your hand wrapping around the back of his neck, fingertips just brushing his hair. “cuddle with me.”
“being cute isn’t going to stop me from moving you.”
“peter,” you try and push him away, “go to bed.”
“why are you out here?” his nose trails down your hair, to your neck. “it’s almost four in the morning.”
you ponder this, and decide that you don’t really remember what you were doing before you fell asleep here, with your hand shoved in the crook of your neck. “the beds cold,” you slur, head falling back into the cushions as you doze.
“that’s because all of the blankets are out here. why didn’t you turn the heat up?”
he’s playing with some baby hair by your ear now, trying to lull you to sleep, probably, because he loves you.
“i was waiting for you,” you whisper this like a prayer, “and now you’re here.”
“you waited in the wrong spot. i would’ve come to bed with you. there’s no room for me here,” he smiles when you finally turn your head towards him. he’s got a smudge on his nose, and his eyes are sunken in—aged from exhaustion.
“i know.”
you’re both whispering. trying not to wake that drowsy, lovesick part of yourself right now.
“hmm?” he leans into you, nose brushing your cheek. almost like he’s breathing you in. “what, bug?”
“i wanted to fall asleep with you.”
then his eyes are wide open, and he leans back, brows furrowed in a tight line. “i told you i was going out.”
you muse at his confused face, and lean back towards him. “i know. i didn’t know when you’d be home.”
“you could’ve called.”
“i’m not going to interrupt your repertoire with a burglar at midnight. it’s rude.”
“not to me.”
you tsk, and lean away, back into the pillow comforting you while simultaneously scheming to ruin your morning.
“you need more sleep than i do,” peter adds, trying to keep you awake with his sheer willpower, his hands squirm under your shoulders. “we’ve talked about this.”
“no, you threatened to tell my mom—“
“that’s not what i said,” peter interrupts, groaning into the sofa.
“that i wasn’t getting enough sleep. and i said that you could make your own decisions, but that i wasn’t going to stop waiting up for you.”
“it makes me feel bad,” he ignores your gentle protesting. “i don’t want to keep you up.”
“peter, it’s not like you’re out dancing with strippers.”
he laughs, unexpectedly. and you grin back at him, with a sheer conviction undiluted by any hints of remaining sleep.
“you’re up helping people. i don’t mind waiting for you,” you emphasize this by leaning in to kiss his forehead, tasting sweat and not minding at all.
“you’re going to be tired tomorrow. when did you fall asleep?”
you acknowledge your win for what it is, and sit up on the couch, looking around your apartment like you can’t remember where you are. “probably an hour ago. i didn’t know when you’d be home, and i waited a while, but then i moved to the couch so you’d have to wake me up if i fell asleep.”
“so this was an elaborate scheme, huh?” peter laughs at you as his teeth graze your cheek. his chaste kiss makes you warm.
“i learned from the best.”
peter chuckles against you, and the two of you sit like that for a moment. calculating each others breathing like there’s something you might miss, however brief.
and then you smile at him, and he smiles back. “bed?” he asks you, softly, fingertip running against the skin of your jaw. you nod.
his arms wrap around you as he picks you up, your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his waist.
“i’m leaving you on the couch next time,” he threatens as he walks, “just so you know.”
“then we’ll both wake up with sore backs. not just you.”
peter snorts. “i didn’t say i would be there.”
“like you can sleep without me.”
he doesn’t say anything to that, but you feel him murmur in your hair suspiciously.
peter sets you down on the bed softly, pushing your legs so you’ll lay down, then covering you with the comforter. he tucks you in like any average middle aged dad.
when you grin he nods, very satisfied with himself.
“i’m just gonna change,” he says, taking a step back.
“hurry. i’m tired.”
“now, look who’s talking,” he shakes his head, but moves swiftly to the bathroom. you hear it as he runs the sink, as he bangs his foot on something and curses, and when he pads back into the bedroom, looking like a young child sneaking out of bed in his pajamas.
you laugh. “where did you get those?”
peter looks down to himself. to the many cartoon styled spider-man’s dancing across his cotton pajama set. “what? this old thing.”
“i don’t think i can be seen in public with you if you’re wearing that.”
“we are in the privacy of our bedroom,” he points out.
“i don’t think i can be in the same room with you if you’re wearing that.”
peter shakes his head, pouting like he’s disappointed, but he slips the shirt off, a concession he’s apparently willing to make.
though you don’t doubt that there are ulterior motives to this move.
“c’mon,” you whine to him, “i’m cold.”
“you’re so needy.”
you roll your eyes, but sink into him as he shuffles from beside you, laying his head near yours. “you’re not coddling me.”
“i’m so very sorry, my dear,” he whispers, and wraps his arms around you.
“shh,” you nuzzle your nose into his neck, and murmur against his hot skin. “i want to go back to the dream i was having.”
peter must be laughing at you, you can tell, even slightly asleep, because something jostles you.
“what was it about?”
you smile against him, listening to his heart like a hymn you’re devoted to. “i’ll tell you in the morning.”
he whispers something, brief, a whisper in the quiet of the room. but you feel the words as he settles into the bed, his calloused hands running over your skin.
and you fall asleep; hands clutching the others heart.
*
#tasm peter x reader#andrew!spiderman#the amazing spider-man#peter parker#peter parker x reader#andrew garfield!peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker#spider-man#the amazing spider man#tasm#tasmania#tasm 2#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter x you#tasm spiderman#tasm!peter imagine#tasm fanfiction#tasm!peter fluff#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter parker#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter smut#tasm!peter fanfiction#tasm!spiderman x you#andrew garfield#andrew!peter parker#andrew!peter x reader#andrew!peter imagine#marvel fanfic#marvel
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the other woman * mv1
everything falls into place in your mind when max fails to show up for you at the one event you desperately wanted him to be at
pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader
warnings: cheating, jake gyllenhaal type behaviour
notes: hi i know i promised this on xmas eve and then i failed to deliver mY BAD BABY GIRLS! i am trying my best but then again i did get a fever and all but its ok lfg and NO I WILL NOT BE WRITING A PART TWOOOOO
(f1 masterlist)
your eyes watch your front door, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try to hold yourself back from crying. there's a sob bubbling from the deepest part of your gut as you glance at the clock one more time.
he's late.
but one can also say that he's simply not coming. did he lie when he told you that he would make sure he showed up for you this time? or did he just simply forget about you again?
your eyes have been staring at that door for the better part of the last hour or so since guests started arriving for the party you'd thrown.
a party you'd thrown, admittedly, just to get his attention. you were never one to make a big deal of your birthday anyway, but he made you think otherwise. because he promised you that he would be here no matter what happened. it's stupider that he was the one that encouraged you to throw a party today.
only for him not to show up?
this is the one time you needed him to so desperately show up for you. but here you are, looking like a fool waiting for somebody who wouldn't come; for somebody who didn't even make you a first choice.
because you know that when if push comes to shove, he would still pick her. max would always pick kelly and penelope over you, no matter how much he tells you that he loves you. no matter how many times you endured him telling you that he no longer wants to be with her.
you know better than to be his little secret. your parents had not raised you to be a potential homewrecker, but are you really being one if he's the one that keeps coming back to you?
you've tried staying away, and you've attempted to cut all sorts of contact with him, but he eventually crawls right back to you a couple of weeks later claiming that he will break up with kelly soon.
you've even bought a new dress for the occasion; in max's favourite colour and a cut that you knew he would say you look amazing in.
only for him to bail on you. you'd even taken the effort to sit for an hour to do your makeup and hair. for nothing, essentially.
fast forward a couple of hours of holding back tears and forcing smiles, you're hunched over the couch, picking up empty beer cans and tears streaming down your face. at the end of the day, you're left alone in your apartment with a heavy heart and the eerie silence the room can only offer you.
you watch the last car from your guests drive away. you sigh and throw yourself on the couch, finally letting the tears fall from your eyes. you had no idea it was so difficult to pretend like you're okay until today.
it's totally different when it's got something to do with the heart, it seems. you were totally banking on the fact that he would be here today, at least today. just today. because it's your birthday.
it's your day.
a knock on the door sits you right up, hands darting up to wipe the tears that smudged your makeup. "give me a second!"
"it's just me."
the anger suddenly hits you. so he is available to travel out to come and see you. just not a couple of hours prior when everybody else was here? just not at the time when you actually wanted him to be here?
you stomp your way over to the door and swing the door open and a string of apologies quickly spill from his mouth. you immediately notice the wrapped present in his hand and the bouquet of flowers.
"i'm sorry, i got held up at home," max apologises with a frown. "p had a fever and she wouldn't go to bed unless i tucked her in. i'm sorry, i know i'm late."
you sigh, rolling your eyes. "you're not just late," you scowl, "you missed the party entirely, max."
"oh," he slumps his shoulders, "i was wondering why it was so quiet when i was walking up."
you shake your head and walk further into your apartment. "max, just go home. you don't have a reason to be here."
"what do you mean? it's your birthday," he says gently, following you in. he closes the door behind him and follows you into your living room. "is there still cake? maybe you can blow the candles with me before the day ends? i even got you a present."
"no, i let people take home pieces of the cake," you say softly, returning to your agenda of cleaning your home from the traces of the party your friends left. "what am i going to do with cake that i don't even eat?"
"you bought chocolate cake on your birthday? you don't even like chocolate," he points out softly. "nevermind that, i got you a present!"
"i don't give a fuck about your stupid present, max!" you burst, standing up and turning to finally face him. "i didn't ask for a fucking present! i asked you for one thing and you couldn't even do that!"
he stares at you, dumbfounded with his lips parted in shock at your outburst. you're not typically one to have outbursts, which is the one thing he claims he finds very refreshing about you. you're calm and collected most of the time, and you assess the situation before picking fights. "p was sick. what did you want me to do?"
"you're telling me you're a sole parent to this little girl?" you ask. "kelly couldn't have tucked her in so you could show up to the party that you asked me to throw? on my birthday? max, you had one job and it was to show up for me tonight! i waited for you all night!"
he seems to have lost all ability to speak because he just pulls out a chair from your dining table and takes a seat. "i'm sorry. you're right, i should have been here."
"seriously, max! are you actually ever going to leave them or do you just lie straight through your teeth whenever you tell me that?" she scolds him, throwing her arms in the air. "i'm not stupid, max! this has gone on long enough!"
"i am, and i will!" he answers you, running his hands through his hair. "i just need more time. there's a child involved, i really hope you understand. i can't just leave."
"you say that every single time! it's been seven months!" you cry. "you've made me the other woman for seven long months! am i supposed to just sit here and take that? just because i love you?"
"i do love you! but it's complicated, okay? i can't just leave p like this!"
you clench your jaw. how many times have you heard that excuse in the past year? and how many more times will you be fooled by the sweetness in his voice and his glistening blue eyes? "max, i think you should go. lose my number, and forget that i ever existed. i can't do this anymore."
his head snaps up to you. he quickly walks over to you, throwing his arms around you from behind. "wait, don't say that. please, i promise. i'll leave in the next month. don't leave me. i really don't love her anymore."
"i'm so tired of the lies, max," you sigh, desperately tearing his arms away from your body. you take a step back and turn to him. "you will always choose them over me. it doesn't matter how much you love me, max. you're too attached to them to leave."
"listen to me, okay? i will leave them. and then we can be happy together like we talked about all those nights we spent together," max coos, putting his hands on your shoulder. he bends down slightly to look into your eyes. "please, just give me one last chance - more time. i just need time. i will let p down easily and i'll leave kelly. please."
"i don't know how many more times you think you can fool me with that lie, max!" you frown, shoving him back. "just leave! leave me alone! i refuse to let you make me look like an idiot! i'm better than this."
"i thought you said you understood my predicament. with p in the picture..."
"yeah, for seven long months. do you know how many days that is? how many hours i'd spend with you wondering when you'd finally take me off the backseat and make me your own officially?" you throw your head back and a dry laugh passes your lips. "max, just leave. don't call me again."
"you don't really mean that."
"i do this time," you say firmly, turning around to face him.
you circle around him and walk over to your front door, pulling it open and gesturing towards the hallway. "i'm done. take your flowers and your stupid present and leave."
he does what you say, hesitantly. he keeps his eyes on you, hoping that you will immediately change your mind. he travelled this far to get to you, hoping that you would somehow forgive him for missing your birthday party.
but you're right, now that he's had a couple of seconds to think about it. in the past seven months, he's told you that he'd up and leave kelly and penelope so he can finally be with you openly. it's much harder to keep you in the shadows when everyone's got eyes on him all the time.
perhaps it's the attachment to penelope that he can't get himself to pack his things and call it a day. he genuinely does love that kid. and his girlfriend has her good days - not all make him want to pull at his hair in frustration anymore.
but he also really does love you. if there hadn't been a loveable child in the picture, one that's grown very attached to him, he would have been able to walk away months ago. it could've been that easy.
"just hear me out," max says, stopping right by the door and giving you one last pleading look. "don't leave. not like this. we haven't even had a real fighting chance."
"that's because of you. not me," you answer dryly, looking up at him. "just go. i can't keep having this conversation with you."
"please."
"i gave you too many chances to make this right," you sigh, putting a gentle hand on his back to guide him out the door. you press your lips together as a lump forms in your throat. you're more shocked that you hadn't fully started bawling moments ago. "i should have done this a long time ago."
"i'm sorry."
"i'm sure you are. too little too late." then you close the door on him and whatever could have been with max.
#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#formula 1 x reader#formula 1#formula 1 fanfiction#f1 fanfiction#disneyprincemuke#disneyprincemuke imagine#disneyprincemuke imagines#disneyprincemuke f1
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would Élan!Harry ever get jealous with (Y/N)? Seeing as to how they don't make their relationship public (yet!), people would still definitely hit on her, so how would he deal with that?
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"One more?"
Harry's lips grew into a lopsided smile at (Y/N)'s request. It would never lose its shine, would it?
"One more, but I don't want to be the one in trouble for your lipstick this time," he conditioned with a raised brow.
"Okay, fine," (Y/N) answered right away, waving his terms off with a fluttering hand, "Just one more before we have to go inside."
Pressing his lips to her own perfectly painted pair, Harry was determined to keep it light and fleeting, knowing that there were cameras lurking just up ahead. It wouldn't be a good look for either of them to emerge from the back of this SUV with (Y/N)'s lipstick smeared and the remnants on Harry's own mouth.
Of course, his determination hinged on just how well behaved (Y/N) was going to be. Which, as he'd learned through the course of their tabloid facade, wasn't something that happened often. It was her that deepened the kiss with a tip of her head, fitting his bottom lip between her two.
How was he supposed to say no to that?
She knew he'd given in as soon as he felt the faint curl of her lips against his, a smug victory smile.
Though, her victory didn't last much longer than that.
The ever patient—and discreet—man he was, Sully knocked on the partition as a warning that they were quickly approaching the venue of the night's party. It was Harry who had to have the power to pull away first, leaving (Y/N) with a puffed pout and only slightly smudged lipstick. He didn't even want to think about how much of the red was now painted over his own mouth.
"Don’t give me that look," he told her, swiping a thumb over a smudge just under her bottom lip.
His command only garnered him a set of narrowed eyes to go along with her pout. "I don't even want to be here tonight, why can't we go home?"
"Because," he said, canting his head as she did the same, "Y'told Francesca you'd be here tonight, and I know y'wouldn't leave her by herself."
"She'll make friends," she huffed, though Harry knew he'd won her over as soon as she turned away in search of the compact in her purse.
"It's gonna be alright, darling," he told her, slinging an arm around her shoulders as she clicked open her mirrors and touched up her lipstick, "We'll go home early if y'really want."
"I do really want," she petulantly mumbled, cleaning up the slight smudging outside of the line of her mouth. "H, you messed up my lipstick."
That was enough to have him throwing his head back with a laugh.
By the time Sully had pulled up to the entrance of the high-rise the party was taking place at, (Y/N) had primed her appearance and put on her socialite facade. Harry had sat at her side, being her anchor as she centered herself and let the side of her personality that loved cameras and attention take over.
"Ready?" he'd murmured once they pulled up to the entrance of the building.
She chirped out and Mh-hm a small smile on her lips. "Ready to be my bodyguard?"
"If y'can behave," he countered, sliding his arm off of her shoulders once he saw the first flashes of the camera aimed at the SUV.
"We'll see," she smiled just before sliding down the leather seats and pushing the door open.
Harry had no choice but to follow after her, shaking his head just before stepping out into the flashing lights with her. Schooling his features, he slipped on his own facade. Despite what the tabloids wrote and the blurry photos supposedly circulating online, when they stepped in public, Harry was her bodyguard. Especially when it comes to parties like this.
He'd be her lover later, he had to make sure she was safe first.
The entrance wasn't packed with photographers, but there were still enough people for Harry to hover just behind her. He'd learned his lesson well while in Paris that summer—it didn't matter just how few paparazzi were following her, it only took one to push the limits.
She kept her head down when the few waiting outside the event started talking to her, speaking over one another with calls of her name. None of them acted particularly invasive, speaking rudely to her or invading her space, especially seeing as there wasn't anything particularly scandalous circulating about her at the moment. Nonetheless, while (Y/N) politely smiled and kept her space, Harry was the intimidating presence behind her that reminded others just how important it was for them to keep their distance.
Following as her quiet shadow, Harry kept his hands to himself as they were escorted to the penthouse floor for the party. If not for the attendant in the lift, he may have attempted to get one more touch of her skin against his, though he instead settled for a sidelong glance that had her lips tipping into a small smile.
When the doors opened directly to the penthouse space, Harry tipped his head, gesturing for (Y/N) to go first. She thanked the attendant with a quiet thank you before she stepped into the fluttering party.
It was a decidedly more low-key event compared to the many that (Y/N) frequented, most of the attendants having spilled out towards the open air patio. The rest of the space was full of modern, minimalist decor. Walls were made of glass panelling, everything coming in different shades of cream and nude, manicured greenery being placed throughout the space in an attempt to make it look more lived in than it most likely was. Staff traipsed through the space with trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of bubbly alcohol.
"Do you see Fran anywhere?" (Y/N) murmured, her fingers joining into a fumbling bundle at her middle.
Continuing his scan over the crowd, Harry stuffed his own hands into his pockets to keep from plucking (Y/N)'s up in an attempt to soothe her. "Not yet. Do y'know if she's here yet?"
"I don't know, she hasn't texted me since before we left." At that, (Y/N) pulled out her phone, most likely pulling up Francesca's shared location. Her expression fell at whatever she saw on her screen. "She hasn't even left her apartment yet."
"That's alright," he told her, keeping his voice low, "She'll be here soon. Do y'want a drink?"
Just as she opened her mouth to give an answer, (Y/N) was interrupted by a voice Harry didn’t recognize. Though plenty of strangers approached her while they were out and about, especially at events such as this, it still put him on edge. Peering around the perfect style of (Y/N)'s hair, he found a man with dark hair and grown in facial hair approaching her. He was inches shorter than Harry, but with the way the group he'd drifted away from admired him, he could have been seven feet tall.
"Hi," (Y/N) politely answered. Harry didn't have to see her expression to be able to picture the neutral set to her mouth and the practiced light in her eyes.
"Sorry," the man said, voice accented with lilting vowels and an undulating melody. His eyes never strayed from (Y/N). "I don't mean to interrupt, I was just hoping I'd run into you while I was in the city. I'm Luca."
"Oh, no worries," she answered, just as perfectly pleasant as always, "Nice to meet you."
Harry watched on as she reached out a manicured hand for him to shake, only for Luca to bring her hand to his lips and press a kiss to her knuckle.
His hands in his pockets clenched.
This was the downside to keeping their relationship on the down low—everyone loved to assume she was available for the taking.
"Nice to meet you as well," Luca drawled, looking at (Y/N) through a fan of dark lashes. It was with a sudden glance in his direction that Luca seemed to realize she hadn't been standing off by herself. "Excuse me, I didn't mean to be rude. I'm Luca."
With a clenched jaw, Harry offered his own greeting, reciprocating Luca's outstretched hand for no other reason than to ensure he wouldn't let it wander back towards (Y/N).
"Nice to meet you," Harry said, voice a bit stifled as he assessed the man before him.
"Are you—uh—a friend of (Y/N)'s?" Luca asked, taking a step back with his hand giving a slight flex before settling it into his pocket. The action had Harry's lips quirking into a small smile; it was entirely intentional just how tight his handshake was, but he would never admit that.
"I'm her bodyguard."
It was always with that statement that Harry had assessing eyes tracing over his form, taking stock of who he was as if his merits for his profession were painted on his clothing or tattooed on his arms.
"I bet she keeps you busy then, this one," Luca attempted to tease as if he knew anything at all about he or (Y/N).
Before Harry could manage to snip out his own reply, (Y/N) took over. "Luca, have we met before? Sorry, if I've forgotten—I have the worst memory," she laughed, "You look familiar."
That seemed to be just the question Luca had been waiting for, a dazzling smile settling on his features. "Ah, well," he started, suddenly—deceptively—bashful with his eyes dropping to his feet, "I am an F1 driver—for Ferrari, actually. You may have seen one of my races."
Harry had to make a point to keep from rolling his eyes.
"Oh wow," (Y/N) bubbled, perfect persona in place, "That's really cool! I have a friend who really enjoys that kind of thing, so maybe I've seen you on T.V."
"Yeah?" he chirped, decidedly more willing to talk about his profession now that (Y/N) may be familiar with him, "I was just in Las Vegas for a race a couple of weeks ago. Have you ever been before?"
Harry had to tune him out then, instead opting to look for Francesca through the new faces that had entered since being huddled in the corner with Luca The F1 Driver. Slipping into bodyguard mode, he only heard the polite mumblings of the conversation at his side, attempting to provide (Y/N) with as much privacy he could manage.
"Right, H?" (Y/N) asked, suddenly pulling him back into the moment from where he'd zoned out pretending to look for Francesca.
"Hm?" he hummed, blinking back into reality to find (Y/N) looking at him with Luca seemingly unimpressed with his inclusion. The thought had a lopsided smile touching at the corner of his lips.
"We're going to be in Milan next month, right?"
"Yes, from the ninth to the seventeenth. Why?" His question was aimed at Luca, forcing him to pay attention to him.
His smile looked especially pasted on this time when he matched Harry's attention. "I was just telling (Y/N) that I'll be racing again in Monza next month. Perhaps, you can catch the race while you're out there?"
"Maybe," (Y/N) answered noncommittally, "I'd have to check in and see what we have planned, and Harry usually has to—"
"No need to worry about that," Luca interjected, "I have a box you could spend the time in—I doubt you'll need any security up there."
A tick appeared in Harry's jaw, hinging it tighter. To be fair, it wasn't the most blatant attempt to get him out of the way he'd ever heard before, but it was certainly an attempt.
It was (Y/N) that had shrugged her shoulders, piping up first before Harry had a chance. "Oh, no," she waved Luca off with a polite smile, "Harry would be coming with me anyway."
At that, Harry could spot a small crack forming in Luca's facade. (Y/N) wasn't quite playing into whatever he had been hoping for when he meandered over to her.
"You just let me know, then," Luca settled on, features schooled into perfection though he did stray a glance towards Harry. "Sorry, I'm being so rude—can I get you a drink, (Y/N)?"
It took (Y/N) only a split second thought before she was jumping on the opportunity. "Yes, please, actually! Anything sweet works for me."
When (Y/N) made a move to pull out her phone, her own quiet way of dismissing Luca to the bar, Harry had to keep his features from showing his amusement. She had casually turned to face Harry, giving her back to the bar Luca had disappeared to.
With her eyes still low, she murmured, "Is he far enough away?"
"Mhm."
Looking up at him with wide eyes, she whispered, "Oh my god, is he being annoying or am I just in a bad mood?"
The exasperation in her tone was enough to have Harry letting out a chime of laughter. "No, he's definitely being annoying. Did y'really recognize him, or were y'jus' saying that?"
"Kind of," she waved off, whatever app on her phone taking a backseat for the moment, "I half-watched a race one time with Toriana but that's it. I just wanted him to stop talking to you."
"Of course, Fran had to be late today, right?" Harry joked, sharing a small smile with her before noticing Luca on his way back with bubbling drinks in hand.
"Seriously," (Y/N) sighed before spinning on her heel to face Luca once more. "Thank you so much!"
Now knowing how (Y/N) truly felt about her companion, Harry had to make a point to keep his amusement from touching his face when listening to the way she forced herself to pep up for him. It was interesting to him now, just how different it had been in the beginning, how difficult it had been for him to spot those differences in her personas—the split between who she truly was and who she hid behind. Now, all he needed to hear was the inflection of her voice, the arch of her spine, the gesticulating of her hands, and he could tell just where her comfort was sitting.
Luca's voice became a mumbling of monotone syllables to him, nothing to pay attention to as Harry observed the party and the patrons. He kept an ear out for (Y/N), ensuring she wasn't in need of him, though he had to make a point to keep from laughing at the sound of her faux-giggles between sips of sugary alcohol.
Though he wasn't a fan of hearing others hit on his girlfriend, it was rather funny to hear just how clueless they were to her disinterest when it was so clear to his own ears.
Of course, until Luca put his hands on her.
It was slow, the way he'd grown closer to her after noticing Harry had averted his attention some. He took small steps, shifting his weight and leaning in as if he couldn't hear her over the low music playing. Once he deemed himself close enough, Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, his hand landing on the small of her back, sliding around to settle on the curve of her waist as if he wasn't clearly flinching away.
A too loud laugh filtered from her mouth then, enough to have Harry's attention sharpening and pinning on the interaction.
As casually as possible, (Y/N) attempted to step out of Luca's grip. Though it didn't appear that he caught the hint with the way he shifted towards her once more, closing the gap she'd opened.
There was a moment, with the sight of his hand on her waist, fingertips dipping into the folds of her dress as they curled to the line of her body, that Harry wondered just how many grainy videos and opinionated essays would be posted if he stepped in and pushed Luca away.
He'd bet it would be more than either he or (Y/N) would care to see.
It was when (Y/N) looked at him over her shoulder, a fleeting glance, one that could have easily been mistaken for a flip of her hair, that Harry stepped in. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, greedily pulling her away from Luca's grip.
"Francesca's here," he murmured, voice just loud enough for Luca to clue into the fact that his time with (Y/N) was over.
Spinning to face him, (Y/N) looked to him with relief in her eyes. "Really?" she bubbled, glancing back at Luca for a moment though she was already heading into Harry's arms, "It was nice talking to you, Luca!"
Harry almost wanted to gloat when he saw how Luca stuttered over himself, absently reaching out as (Y/N) slipped through his fingers.
"Oh—Um—Let me know about Monza, yeah? I'd love to see you again before I leave the city, maybe tom—"
"I'm really busy this week, but maybe! I'll see about Monza and have Harry reach out!"
It was with that final remark, that (Y/N) began leading the charge away from Luca and the corner he'd huddled her into. Harry followed after her, shifting his arm until he had his palm on her bicep.
"Thank god," (Y/N) sighed once they were far enough away, "Did you hear him?"
"I tried not to," Harry murmured, guiding her through the throngs of people, slowing when unfamiliar faces said greetings in passing, "What did he say?"
(Y/N) shook her head. "I know more about his racing stats than I think I know about myself."
Typical, Harry figured. Of course, once the veil was lifted, would Luca leave the shy act behind to boast about his job in hopes of impressing (Y/N).
"'M not surprised," he said, just before (Y/N) changed their course.
Instead of following the line of the bar and those gathered in the living area, she turned them towards a hallway branching off the main room. It was decidedly quieter than where the party was.
"Do you think there's a bathroom down here?" (Y/N) muttered, scanning her eyes down the few doors lining the hall, "I want to hide for a second."
It was (Y/N)'s request—that she wanted to hide away after speaking to Luca—that had him trying his hand at his own exploration. Even if he didn't hide a restroom, he would find somewhere quiet for his girl to decompress.
On a whim, he reached towards the handle of a passing door. Pushing it open, a pristine bathroom sat inside. Convenient.
Gently pulling her over the threshold first, Harry made a point to take a look around, intending to catch if anyone had wandering eyes that had landed on them. Though he couldn't be sure no one had caught them stealing away together, at least no one was watching as they went into the bathroom together.
Setting her drink on the counter, (Y/N) sat on the edge of an elaborate tub with a heaving sigh. Her shoulders settled down, sloping downwards as she looked up at the ceiling for a second.
"I don't know if I've been that annoyed since Paris," she muttered, rolling her neck.
A small smile settled on Harry's lips then. Leaning against the marbled countertop, he crossed his arms over his chest as he gazed at her. "Maybe we should've stayed home, hm?"
"I told you so," she countered, looking to him with amusement in her eyes. "How much do you wanna bet that Fran hasn't even left the house yet?"
He watched as she pulled out her phone from her purse, checking through whatever tabs she had open before he unfurled from where he was leaning against the counter. Crossing the pristine tiles under his feet, he crouched in front of where (Y/N) was huddled on the edge of the tub.
Placing a hand carefully on the bone of her ankle, he whispered to her despite already being alone in the space. "Y'alright?"
"Yeah," she sighed, slowing her tapping on her phone before she dropped her phone to rest on her lap, "He was just annoying—he wasn't, like... scaring me or anything."
"Good, good," he murmured, stroking his thumb over the curve of her leg.
"Are you okay?" she prodded, settling her hand on his cheek.
Leaning into her touch without a second thought, he shuttered his eyes in a lingering blink. "'M okay. I don't know why, but it was hard to watch him—or listen to him."
She tossed him a shrewd glance. "Yeah? You didn't like watching him ask me out?"
He shook his head, cheeks stretching around his growing grin. "I didn't, actually. It actually made me a little angry. I wanted to punch him when he touched you."
"Really?!" she bubbled, a plume of laughter falling from her lips, "I didn't think you could get jealous! You're always so calm!"
"Was I jealous?" he prodded, tugging on her leg in a teasing pull, "Is that what happened?"
"It sounds like it! You wanted to hit him?" she asked again, leaning towards him with a conspiratorial gleam to her eyes.
"Maybe," he mused, "If he'd done anything to upset you, I might have. He was already annoying enough."
There had to have been something in his answer that she enjoyed seeing as she pressed forward and sealed her mouth to his. He smiled into the contact for a moment, dimples in his cheeks before melting into her touch. Slotting his lips to hers, it was (Y/N) that deepened the kiss with a trace of her tongue over the pillows of his lips.
The sounds of their lips parting and coming together filtered through the bathroom as Harry reached towards her hand on his face, wrapping his fingers around the fine bones of her wrist. It was when he scraped his teeth over the full of her bottom lip, a small nip, that she parted her crossed legs and drew him between her thighs.
He was hyper aware of the party going on outside the door, and the fact that this was the apartment of someone he'd never met before, but at the same time Harry didn't care.
If she liked seeing him jealous this much, he wasn't going to stop her.
At the movement of her legs, her phone was tossed to the floor, landing on a bathmat at her feet. Neither had acknowledged the thump, until it started vibrating with a call.
(Y/N) reluctantly pulled away with a sigh, resting her forehead on his. "It's Fran, isn't it?"
"Probably," he muttered, blindly reaching for her phone before handing it off.
Harry only had to see the way she pulled in a long breath, an affectionate roll of her eyes, before she pressed the device to her ear that told him their suspicions were right.
"Hello?" she answered, drifting her hand from his cheek to card through her hair.
Getting only one side of the conversation, Harry had to put the pieces together while watching the expressions that crossed her face. As far as he could tell, Francesca was especially amusing today.
"Yes, we're here," (Y/N) continued, nodding along to whatever Fran was bubbling about. "Yes, me and Harry... No, she's not here—as far as I've seen anyway... When are you going to get here?.. We'll still be here; we're just in the bathroom right now." She paused just before a peal of laughter rang through the room, her nails grazing over his scalp. (The touch had a certain shiver streaking down his spine). "No! We're hiding from some F1 guy that keeps inviting us to some race next month... If you want, you can go instead. I don't know if he has a yacht, but I'm sure you could convince him."
Gazing up at her from where he sat before her, Harry felt his own lips curving into a lopsided smile. He loved seeing her stripped down like this; she'd told him more than once that he was one of the only people he was able to vulnerable and herself around, but he'd seen just how young she was around Francesca. He could see glimpses of who she was before he'd met her, the girl who'd been around before cameras were documenting her every move.
It had his heart rattling against his ribs.
With his wandering head, Harry hadn't realized she'd ended her call until she hung up the phone and placed both of her hands on his cheeks.
"Do you know how many times I've wished I could be in your head?" she told him, a small smile to her lips, "I just want to know what you're thinking—you're so hard to read."
"'S you," he said, sincerity rivaling the lighthearted tone to her voice,"'S always you."
She looked at him with amusement in her eyes, the same way she always did when he said something adoring: as if she didn't believe him, instead waiting for the joke to land.
He could do nothing other than surge forward and press his lips to hers. He'd always been better at showing than telling her how he felt.
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thank u sm to whoever requested and for everyone who read to this point! so sorry for any mistakes, and please let me know if you have any fun ideas of your own:)
#anon#writing#harry#harry styles#harry one shot#harry imagine#harry blurb#harry fluff#bodyguard harry#harry x reader#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#bodyguard harry styles#harry styles x reader#love on tour#harrys house#as it was#pleasing
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Remember when I said Nanami is super against PDA?
He gets so angry at you for teasing him during dinner with friends. The way you glide your palm along his inner thigh, flirting dangerously close to the bulge in his slacks. How you spread your legs beneath the table in that slutty dress he likes so much, brushing your knee with his, letting the hem ride up. He knows you’re not wearing any panties tonight because you fucking told him on the way to the restaurant, as casual as if you were talking about the weather. You knew it would rile him up as soon as he heard it, knew how it would be the only thing on his mind the rest of the night. At the table, he’s quieter than usual, jaw clenched, fists tight by his sides, doing everything he can not to rip that dress off and fuck you right there in front of everyone.
So, when they suggest karaoke afterwards, he’s inclined to reject the invitation, hoping to bring you home as soon as possible to fuck you senseless. But no; you just have to torment him a little bit longer. You agree to meet them there, and on the way to the car, as if you haven’t teased him enough, you flaunt your ass at him, completely aware of the erection strained in his pants, begging for release.
He's had enough of your antics. He hauls you into the backseat, sitting you right on his lap, you facing forward. He unzips his pants, pulling his hard cock out, hoisting the hem of your dress past your waist, erection pressed between your ass cheeks. “You think it’s funny, teasing me like this?” he huffs in your ear. He spits loudly on his hand, reaching between your legs, wet fingers flicking your clit rapidly. “My naughty little slut, seducing me in front of all our friends. You’re going to pay for this. Going to fucking regret it.” His voice is low, sinister, and so fucking sexy.
His fingers work overtime on your bud, squelching lewdly with arousal as his other hand grips your knee, keeping you spread open for him. He kisses the nape of your neck, sucking hard on your skin to mark you. The tinted windows begin to fog up from the heat emitting from your bodies, and soon, your skin is dewy from sweat. A few more strokes and you’re coming for him, pussy fluttering around nothing, begging to be filled.
He chuckles, unrelenting as his fingers continue to rub circles on your swollen clit. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart? To be punished.”
You nod, tongue lolling out of your mouth, still electrified from your orgasm.
“You’re going to take this cock like the greedy slut you are, got it?”
You nod more erratically, whining, “Yes, fuck me Kento, fuck me!”
So he does, guiding his cock inside you slowly, stretching out your tight pussy until he bottoms out. His hands are firm on your hips, rocking you back and forth on his lap as he thrusts up into you, growling, “Touch yourself while I fuck you. Make a fucking mess on my cock.”
You lean back against him, eyes closed, drool leaking from the sides of your mouth as your fingers caress your clit while he pounds you from behind. He kisses you sloppily, swirling his tongue around yours, lapping at your saliva. You orgasm for him once more before he pumps his cum deep inside you, moaning your name, replacing your hand with his to massage your puffy clit between his fingers. “You’re going to keep my load inside you the rest of the night. Got it?” he whispers, kissing you passionately, catching his breath. “This is your punishment for being a bad girl.”
~~~
“What took you two so long?” Gojo asks with a brow raised, eyeing you and Nanami suspiciously when you enter the private room at the karaoke bar. “You’re thirty minutes late.”
Nanami’s hair is matted to his forehead, sticky from perspiration. His pants are wrinkled after riding him, tie crooked from when he loosened it during your fuck fest, trying to find relief in the sweltering heat in the backseat. You’re no better, makeup smudged on your face, legs squeezed tightly together, clenching your pussy to prevent his cream pie from leaking down your legs.
Nanami fixes his collar, blushing from the neck up, muttering, “Sorry, got a little lost along the way.”
#mdni banner by @/cafekitsune#oops I did it again#part 2 of my PDA headcanon#nanami smut#nanami kento#kento nanami#nanami kento smut#kento nanami smut#nanami kento x reader#kento nanami x reader#nanami x reader#nanami kento x you#kento nanami x you#nanami x you#nanami drabbles#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#barely edited or proofread sorry!!
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Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+
[6K] friends with benefits, but oh no! there's feelings. canon adjacent, kind of? smut, summer, car sex.
You heard the rev of the engine just before the headlights flashed over your bedroom window, casting shadows over your sheets, your own silhouette on the wallpaper. You didn’t need to look to know who it was, the sound of the car idling across your street, waiting.
You did anyway, fingers parting the slats of the blinds as you turned off your television, grabbing a sweater to shove on, feet stuffed into sneakers as the knit fell to just above the hem of your skirt. A few months ago you would’ve rushed to check your reflection in a mirror, sprayed some perfume, dabbed on some gloss, maybe a cherry flavoured balm on your lips. Now, you just grabbed a set of keys from the dish in the hallway before you closed the front door as quietly as you could. You should’ve told your parents, you knew that. Hawkins wasn’t as safe as it used to be, teenagers getting murdered in broad daylight, an Indiana summer scape being used as the scene for some ripped off horror movie plotline.
But sneaking off into the night with a pretty boy was all part and parcel of being young, wasn’t it?
The BMW was parked under a street lamp opposite your driveway and when he saw you making your way down, the boy got out of his car, greeting you at the passenger side with a kiss that he ducked down to give you eagerly before opening the door.
It wasn’t always like that. The terms and conditions of this… situation, used to be a lot more strict. There were rules that came with hooking up with the guy from the video store next door. A casual fuck at a party became accidentally more and long gone were the days that you’d been pressed against a wall by someone who was more man than boy now, stubble scratching across your chin and jaw as you kissed him, tongues tasting like tequila, like cherry vodka and cheap beer.
And you’d had enough sense left in you that night to pull away, gasping, panting, your hands in his hair as his snuck up your shirt, just barely, thumbs pushing nicely into your waist. You’d let your half lidded eyes drag across his pretty features and recognition managed to take over drunken hormones, over want.
“Hey, you’re the guy that works in Family Video, right?”
And he’d nodded, smiling a little lopsided as his gaze stayed on your lips a second too long, loving the way they were glossy and bitten red by him. “Mhmm,” the boy had said. “Steve. You’re the ice cream girl.”
Not much else was said that night, not when the girl from the ice cream shop liked the way the boy from the video store tasted. You liked the way Steve held you, how he pressed you into a dark corner of someone’s house party, his eyes only on you even when there were so many other girls trying to get his attention. He’d walked you home when the sun was coming up, his sports jacket draped over your shoulders, your shoes in your hands. You’d written your number on his hand with an eyeliner pencil, smudged but there.
He’d kissed you again when your neighbours sprinklers turned on, when the birds started singing from the cherry trees out back. It was a soft thing, too soft and too gentle not to mean much but when he pulled back, he squinted at you, looking regretful.
“I, uh, I’m not looking for anything serious right now,” he confessed. Steve looked sad about it. “I don’t wanna lead you on— I just, there’s a lot going on right now, you know?”
You didn’t know, but you understood. So you nodded and shrugged, the boy's jacket moving against your shoulders and you could smell his cologne, the smoke from the party, your own perfume where it now lingered on the collar.
So you said, “that’s okay. Doesn’t have to be serious, if we don’t want it to be. We can just… I don’t know. Hang out.”
Steve grinned that night, pleased, cheeks a little pink, ‘cause you both knew what hanging out meant. So he nodded too, told you to keep his jacket and that he’d get it back later, told you he’d see you soon and maybe he could take you for a drive or something.
Casual, no labels, no expectations. No feelings.
You were pretty certain that was the night you started falling for Steve Harrington.
—————
You took Steve’s offered kiss with your chin tilted up, trying hard not to smile, failing when he held out a hand for you to hold as you ducked into the car. He shut the door for you, crossed the front of the beemer, lit up by the headlights, his white t-shirt hanging loose around his collarbones, threadbare and worn. His hair wasn’t done like he usually didn’t it, the messy strands falling across his forehead instead of pushed back. It made him look softer, like the Steve you’d grown to know past midnight.
It had been months since that party. Months of hooking up on lunch breaks, using the staff room of the ice cream parlour to make out in instead of sharing food, rushing to Steve’s parked car to fool around in the back, letting the windows steam up, a sight too salacious for daylight. You didn’t date, Steve didn’t take you out to dinner, or the movies. You didn’t ask him too. Neither of you had met the other's parents, or friends. You knew a lot about Steve’s life, but you weren’t exactly enveloped in it.
That’s how it was supposed to be. Just sex. Fun.
But then Hawkins fell to scandal, a murderer on the loose, a boy you once knew from school. Weird goings on, strange sounds from the forest, news crews parked on streets, hoping for the latest story. Steve wasn’t around as much and when you did see him, he was with people you didn’t know as well. Nancy Wheeler, a kid called Dustin, Max Mayfield and another boy from the school basketball team.
You’d watch across the street as Steve closed up the video store hours too early with Robin Buckley, rushing to his car with his friends in tow like there was some sort of emergency. So lunch hour sex sessions turned into late night drives, when the rest of the town was asleep and every house you passed was lit up by the street lights, by the aquamarine glow of backyard pools.
Subtle changes happened first. There were still no dates, no talk of feelings. In fact, whatever was stressing Steve seemed to only be fixed by fucking you. He wasn’t rough about it, not mean, nor careless. But there was a different kind of urgency when he parked up somewhere dark and hidden, pushing his lips to yours and sighing hard like he’d been waiting all day to taste you. Eyes closed, forehead pressed to yours as he let you pant into his parted lips, quiet, soft noises mixing with the slap of his hips against yours. And when you were both fully dressed again and he was ready to take you home, he pressed extra kisses to your cheeks, your hand.
He’d stare at you, longer than he used to, eyes filled with something you weren’t able to place yet and the boy would tell you to promise him you’d be safe.
Steve would watch you until you made it inside, he’d do that all the time. But now he was in the habit of only pulling away when he saw your bedroom light flick on, your silhouette waving to him from behind the glass.
After that, Steve took to kissing you more and more, sex not required. A kiss hello, sweet and chaste, a kiss goodbye, longing, meaningful - even if you didn’t know what it was yet. He was touchy, more open, talking to you and opening up when you’d get into his car and see the boy’s tired eyes. He’d tell you it was fine, that it was nothing for you to worry about. But you spotted a bat in the back seat footwell once, an old looking thing with fucking nails poking out the top.
Steve had turned a little ashen when you stared at him, promising you earnestly that it was only for protection. You know, because of everything that was going on. You weren’t sure what made you believe him so easily, but you did. Night time drives turned into make outs broken up with Steve burrowing his face into your neck as you raked your hands through his hair. You’d watch him grow sluggish, words drowsy as he spoke about how the bad guys aren’t always bad, are they? And should we really believe what the cops on TV are telling us? And wouldn’t all of this just be so much easier if people had superpowers?
You weren’t sure what any of it was supposed to mean, but you’d nodded and dotted your lips over his hairline, letting him lean heavy against you until he scrubbed a hand over his face and coaxed you into his lap, telling you softly that he’d feel a lot fucking better if he got to make you fall apart with his fingers.
You let him. And you returned the favour too.
—————
You knew tonight was different by the way Steve was white knuckling the stick shift, antsy as he brought his touch to your bare thigh instead. He rubbed his thumb there, exhaled heavily when you covered his hand with your own.
“Are you okay?” You asked him quietly. You didn’t dare break the quiet, the one that only came with driving out of town when the sky was inky, when the wheat fields whispered in the breeze and the bus stops stood empty. Hawkins was asleep, but there was something that Summer that made the town feel less than peaceful. Maybe it was the ‘wanted’ posters on every street light. Eddie Munson’s face staring back at you. “Steve?”
“Yeah, yeah, m’fine.” He glanced at you, taking his eyes off the road for a second or two. He looked heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Atlas, the man with the earth on his back, cast in marble, ready to crumble. “Just a little stressed ‘bout stuff, that’s all.”
It was the same answer he always gave. You assumed it was his parents - his dad and his relentless tenacity about his job, his future. Maybe it was Keith, giving him a hard time about shifts. Maybe he had a friend in trouble. You were ready to ask, to pry a little deeper when the boy said:
“You’re not, uh— you don’t get headaches, do you? Like bad ones.”
You squinted at him, confused. You watched the streetlights run over his features, casting the boy in a white-yellow glow before they stopped completely, signalling you’d reached the edge of town. The water tower passed you both by, only fields, the road and stars for company now.
“Um, no more than anyone else who works with sugar loaded ice cream and six year old customers all day,” you joked. “Why?”
Steve didn’t laugh, shit, he didn’t even smile. He looked as serious as before and he ignored your question in favour of asking his own. His hand squeezed at your knee, affectionate, his thumb running circles into the inside of your leg before he had to let go to shift gears. “You don’t have nightmares, do you?”
You were really confused now. You leaned back against the door, watching as empty farm pastures blurred past Steve’s face. His lips were pressed right, concern in every part of his face, drawn in there like it was permanent. He looked tired, scared. Your throat drew tight. “Steve, is something wrong?”
“You’d tell me, right?” Steve was slowing the car down, pulling into an empty gas station lot that sat on an desolate road a few miles out of town. The place hasn’t been used in years, the pumps empty, the shutters on the windows covered in graffiti. But the neon sign above the roof still flickered, bathing you both in red and purple lights. “You’d tell me if something was bothering you? If you felt like…” Steve swallowed harshly searching for the right words. “If you didn’t feel safe?”
You unclipped your belt to lean forward, your hand resting on Steve’s thigh. Your brow was furrowed in concern, a worry knotting in your chest because you’d never seen the boy this serious. “Steve, what?” You watched as the boy exhaled again, a heavy, shaking thing and he looked at you with the most tender eyes. “Hey, hey, Steve, what’s going on? Talk to me.”
Steve swallowed, throat bobbing hardly and his face crumpled, frustration and worry easily read. He was scarlet lights and inky shadows, neon purple bathing the dashboard as rain started to fall on the windscreen. Light drops of it, dotting here and there until it got heavier and heavier, a dull roar against the car roof. Water droplets slid down the windows, racing each other and Steve tried to find the words.
He couldn’t.
“I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t really explain. Not right now,” Steve dragged a hand through his already messy and he truly did look apologetic. He looked so tired. “Just, please, you’d tell me if something was wrong, right? If you needed help with something, or, or, someone to talk to? You’d come to me, wouldn’t you? You know you can talk to me? About anything? This— this isn’t all sex, I know, fuck, I know it was supposed to be but, shit, we care about each other right? I, I care about you— ”
You nodded, eyes wide, moving as close as could over the middle console, the parking brake digging into your tummy so you could clasp his cheeks between your hands. You soothed your thumbs over the slight stubble there, eyes searching his, wondering if you’d find any answers there. You didn’t. So instead you kept nodding, hoping the boy would believe you.
“I’d tell you, Steve. I’d come to you, it’s okay. I’m fine, yeah? There’s nothing to worry about, not with me, okay?” Your voice was urgent, hushed, a frantic whisper almost drowned out by the rain.
But your words seemed to soothe the boy and he visibly relaxed, face leaning into your touch. “So, no nightmares?” He asked again.
“No nightmares,” you promised him and he turned his face into your palm, kissing the skin there, the way a boyfriend would. It made your stomach flip, an undeniably tender gesture. “Are you okay?”
Steve nodded, eyes closing briefly to gather himself and the lights made the shadows under his lashes turn a deep ruby red. The rain splashed the hood of the car, puddles in the forecourt, purple lights reflecting back like an oil spill. “Yeah. I’m sorry, fuck, it’s just— I wish I could tell you.” Steve let his head fall back onto the seat when you moved your hands. “You must think I’m insane, right?”
You smiled wryly, bringing your feet up to rest on the dash, a move he would’ve told you off - semi jokingly - a few weeks ago for. “No more than I did when I first met you.” Your skirt gathered at your thighs with the move, pooling in the cradle there, cheap silk, lilac and more suited for a trip to the mall rather than a rainy night. But Steve tracked the movement, gaze dropping to the bare skin it uncovered before his eyes found your own again. “And for the record, Harrington, I care about you too.”
It seemed to break something in the boy, those earnest words, real enough to shatter, to make someone crumble in the best way. He punched out the breath he’d been holding and he leant his cheek against the headrest, eyes on you, amazingly soft. “I just wanna keep you safe,” he whispered and the statement made your heart ache.
This wasn’t part of the agreement. This wasn’t even in the rule book.
“I am safe,” you whispered back, brow still wrinkled in confusion. “Is this about Eddie Munson? The police are looking for him, Steve, they’ll find him soon—”
“Somethin’ like that,” Steve tried to smile but it was thin and tight lipped. “I didn’t mean to worry you, m’sorry.”
You smiled, still confused but eager to bring the boy out of his strange mood. You wanted to help, you wanted to comfort. “It’s okay,” you told him, soothing a hand over his thigh again. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout little, old me.”
Something in Steve’s expression told you maybe all he really did was worry about you. But he didn’t say anything more about it, not then. He just slid his hand over your own, let his fingers wrap around your wrist and climb up your forearm, tugging gently. “Hey, c’mere,” he whispered and you knew that look, you knew that tone of voice.
Wanting, needy. Desperation coloured it this time, something new.
He’d normally meet you in the backseat, lips crashing in the middle, a faux argument about who was on top that time. But instead, Steve just coaxed you onto his lap, sliding his chair back from the wheel to make room for you, your legs spread in either side of his hips. He seemed greedy for you, wide palms sneaking under your sweater immediately, the stitch between his brows softening once he got his hands on you.
“Wanna touch you,” the boy sighed and he sounded far away, voice dreamlike now you were closer, like his worries had been eased. “Can I? Wanna make you feel good, think ‘bout it all the time,” he confessed, leaning in until his forehead was pressed to yours, his chin tilted up to meet you, noses bumping.
You nodded, eyes falling shut because all you wanted to do was feel. It was easy with Steve, easy to close off the rest of the world and put all your trust in him. The cocoon of his car felt safe, warm and smelling like leather and his cologne, the hazy light filtering through the rain on the windshield, a kaleidoscope of crimson and violet.
“Yeah, please,” you nodded and your voice sounded so much softer and smaller than before, like you were giving into it, like you were begging him.
Maybe you were.
His hands found the hem of your sweater at the same time yours found his, but you tugged at his cotton shirt with more insistence. You watched his face falter, like he was remembering something. You frowned, fingertips searching under the material for the familiar feel of his warm skin, the trail of hair that led down his navel and into the band of his underwear. Your brow wrinkled deeper when you found something scratchy, a crinkled band that seemed to wrap around him. He flinched when you pressed your palm to it.
“Steve— what—?”
“Babe,” Steve tried to placate you with sweetness, his eyes worried, his hands holding your waist and pulling you closer. “Jus’ leave it on, yeah? It’s—”
“Are you hurt?”
You couldn’t help it, worry and panic taking over and you hated that you didn’t listen to the boy but you were tugging up the hem of his top before he could protest. A bandage was wound around his torso, crisscrossing at his stomach, climbing up to the bottom of his ribs. There was a dark shadow under the right side, like there was a bruise hiding there, or worse.
Suddenly, all the talk of keeping you safe seemed laughable. Your eyes watered at the sight of him, the skin that peeked out from the edges of the wrap a little mottled, an angry red mixing with green and yellow. “What happened?” You sounded distraught and the watery concern Steve that could hear was thick in your throat and it made him fucking ache.
“Nothing,” he tried to lie, but he sounded tired, like all he did was avoid the truth. “I’m okay, I swear. I promise you. I just, I just took a bad fall. Bruised my ribs, caught myself on somethin’ sharp, or whatever, but I’m good.”
You didn’t believe him. Your heart was telling you not to. But Steve Harrington was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and he was too exhausted to argue. You stared at him, saw how he pleaded with you, silent, hopeless.
Your hands found his jaw, thumbs smoothing over the apples of his cheeks and held him like he was precious. He was. So much more than some guy you found in the dark corners of a stranger’s house party. Who would’ve thought?
“Are you in trouble?” Your voice wobbled. You felt helpless. You were trying to tamp down the ugly thoughts in your head, wondering about all the worst case scenarios, thinking about the kinds of people who could do this to someone. You wondered if your dad could help, if he’d give you some cash if that’s what Steve needed, the spare room, a way out— “can I help? What can I do to help?”
“No, no,” Steve answered with a new sense of urgency, eyes wide. “No, listen, you’re staying far away from it all, okay?”
The fact Steve didn’t deny that there was something to fear, that there was something he was caught up in - something he wasn’t telling you - made your worry spike even more. “Steve, what the fuck is go—”
You were cut off by a kiss. A crushing thing, all consuming and it swallowed your words, your worries, your tears. Steve was warm all over, his lips just as hot, soft and plush and always tasting like mint chapstick. He chased your mouth as you went to pull away, an argument still on your tongue but he kissed you until you turned pliant, hands falling from where they’d been planted on his chest to winding around his neck. You made a soft noise of defeat when his tongue licked over the seam of your lips, your mouth opening for him, the kiss turning deeper. You took in the sound of Steve’s shaky gasps, the way his hands mapped out the curve of your back, the dip of your waist.
Steve kissed you until you both couldn’t breathe.
You pulled away panting, eyes heavier and half lidded than before and Steve’s were no better. He was trying to coax you back, his fingers on your chin but you were reminded about what lay under his shirt and your features were crumpling with concern again.
“M’gonna hurt you, I’m too heavy,” you whispered, aghast, shifting onto your knees awkwardly as if you suddenly just realised you were sitting on his lap. “Steve.”
“No, hey,” Steve protested, squeezing at your waist until you sat back on his lap. He whispered your name, serious. “You’re not hurting— Jesus, stay please? I’m fine, okay? Please. Babe, please, just…” he looked up at you, words trailing off and lingering in the small space that was between you both, floating in the red-purple light.
It was still raining.
“What do you need?” You asked him and you tried not to let your eyes turn glassy but the boy underneath you was gazing at you like you were the first one to ask him such a question in years. “What can I do to help, Steve, huh? I’ll do it, okay?”
“Need you,” Steve managed to choke out and he looked lost, he looked desperate but his eyes were hungry and falling to your lips and god, god, his hands were trailing up the sides of your ribs and he was groaning softly when he found you’d left your bra at home. “I swear to god, I promise, I just need you.”
It made it easy to fall into him, lips pressed to his as you tried to hold yourself off of the boy, just slightly, enough to hopefully not cause the boy any pain. But Steve was having none of it, sighing against your mouth and tugging you forward, his hands gripping your hips, sliding underneath your sweater and along the waistband of your skirt. He groaned, a sound you knew well, his lips chasing yours as he kept you pressed down in his lap, the cotton of your underwear pushed to the denim of his jeans. You kissed him back, pliant before turning eager, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you resisted the urge to roll your hips over him.
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” you whispered again and you sounded scared, worried. “Steve.”
“Shhh,” Steve soothed you with a hand on your jaw, tugging you back, keeping you grounded against his. His thumb was pushing to your cheek, trailing down to catch over your lip, his mouth ghosting over yours. Your noses knocked, breaths mixing. “S’okay, m’fine, yeah? You’re fine, babe.”
Steve watched through hooded eyes as he coaxed you into moving, a gentle back and forth of your hips over his and he smiled, nodding when you let out a soft noise, forehead falling to rest against his own. “There you go, there she is,” Steve whispered and it felt fond, it felt familiar, the way he spoke, the way he held you.
It didn’t feel like something friends did, not even friends with certain benefits. Not anymore. Not with the way he was looking at you.
“I just need to, fuck,” Steve let his head fall back onto the chair, chin tilted up to watch your face, the scrunch of your nose when something made you feel good. He was blue in the shadows, navy, inky. Scarlet skin, red cheeks, purple lights making him ultraviolet. “I just need to feel you, I’ve not stopped thinkin’ about it all day, I swear. Is that crazy?”
You shook your head, lips parting as you let out a heavy breath, the kick up of Steve’s cock in his jeans hitting your clit just right. You kept rolling your hips, slow, even strokes over him. “No, s’not crazy,” you let out a quiet whine, chasing Steve’s touch as he gripped your hips a little tighter. “Think ‘bout you too.”
“Just wanna— wanna switch off sometimes, you know?” Steve groaned when you reached for the button of his jeans, wrapping an around your waist as he lifted his hips and helped you tug the denim down one handed. “Bein’ with you, it helps. It helps so much. I just wanna get lost in you— baby—”
Steve cut himself off with a groan, eyes clenched shut and the term of endearment falling from his lips too easily. You’d ached as he spoke, staring at his soft eyes, the tiredness around them, busying yourself with freeing his cock from from his boxers until you knelt up a little and pulled your own underwear to the side.
You were already wet from his kisses, the way he’d helped your rock your hips over his, but god. God, Steve was a stretch. The boy would normally work at you before hand, legs spread for him in the backseat so he could fit two fingers inside, his tongue and mouth helping ease you, melt you. Then he’d give you inch by inch, jaw unhinged and eyes dark as he talked you through it, telling you how good you were at taking his cock.
Desperation won over this time, though. It took a little squirming, a wriggle of your hips and a sharp gasp until he was fully seated inside of you and there was always a dull burn as you did. It was worth it though, to feel so suddenly full, to watch the way Steve’s brain seemed to glitch at the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. He moaned, brows scrunched together as he pressed his fingertips into your hips so hard you were sure he’d leave a lavender coloured map of touches behind.
“Shit, shit,” the boy gasped out and he clung to you as you did him, pulling you into his chest so he could wrap both arms around you, big hands spanning across you back. “Baby, fuck, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”
You felt breathless at the sensation, stuffed full, your nose pressed to Steve’s neck as he surrounded you, as he held you. You shifted, just slightly, adjusting as he throbbed inside of your cunt and Steve hissed sharply through his teeth.
“You’re gonna make me fuckin’ come, ohmygod.”
You laughed, softly, not at all mean and pressed a kiss to his cheek, nuzzling closer as you stayed still, just for a minute. “Easy, cowboy,” you murmured. Steve’s hands moved to your ass cheeks, grabbing them, kneading them. “You okay?”
He nodded and you pulled back enough to see the way his cheeks flushed pink, lips parted and eyes flutter closed. The boy sucked in a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you just feel so fucking good. You’re so warm,” he marvelled.
It was getting harder and harder to stay still, your cunt clenching around Steve’s cock, making you both gasp, soft noises falling from each of your mouths and it was anyone other than Steve, you would’ve seen embarrassed at the wetness gathering at the base of his cock, coating the insides of your thighs. “Can I move?” You asked him, whispering.
Steve nodded, too blissed out already, his pretty brown eyes getting that far away look to them. Hazy, fuzzy, dreamlike. He seemed less tired now, less stressed, less tense. So you lifted yourself up gently before settling back down on him, the tip of his cock nudging deep inside of you and it made you cry out, a strangled sound that Steve stole with a kiss. He kissed you through it all, hands everywhere at once, roaming over you, sneaking under skirts and sweaters to slide over your bare skin, like he was making sure you were real.
There was a neediness to it all that surpassed hormones and urges.
So you let him, kissed him back with just as much fervour as you rode him, hips moving slow and gentle, the pressure building between you both, filling the air in the car, filling the cracks between your ribs and it made you spin, it made you dizzy. You kissed Steve until he didn’t look so blue anymore, and when you pulled back, letting him mourn at your neck, your jaw, your chin, the rain had stopped and the purple light above the gas station was flickering.
“Steve,” you sighed, your voice cracking, watery.
“I know,” the boy mumbled back and he sounded the same.
You were staring into his eyes when you came. One hand pressed between your sticky thighs as you pushed mean fingers to your clit, the other in Steve’s hair, holding him to you, anchoring yourself. Steve swore as he felt you tighten around him, pussy fluttering as you came, movements turning a little messy and unbalanced but the boy gripped you under the ass and helped you move through it all, fingernails leaving crescent moon marks on your skin.
“M’close,” Steve groaned, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and you could feel the heat from his cheeks, the softness of his hair against your throat. “Fuck, babe, I’m so goddamn close, where—?”
You doubled down on your efforts despite your shaky thighs, despite how sensitive you were. You rocked over him, pace quickening, wanting nothing more than to make Steve fall apart. You heard him gasp, lips parting against your neck, heavy breaths falling over your skin. You held him to you, let him bury himself there, helped him hide until he could piece himself back together again.
“Inside,” you told him and your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore. You sounded wrecked, wild, desperate. It’s not something you and Steve did often, in fact, you’d only done it once before and you’d both been too tipsy to really remember it. But you were on the pill and Steve trusted you as much as you trusted him. “Wanna feel it, Steve, please, inside—”
“Oh, fuck!” Steve gasped as he came, hips bucking up into you with a little less rhythm than before and he abandoned his grip on your ass to wrap his arms around you again, pulling you in, crushing you to his chest. He held you, pumping you full, cock twitching as he cried out, the sound muffled against your cheek. He whispered your name, a prayer. “Fuck, fuck. Baby.”
You could feel how hard his heart was beating, your cheek pressed to his chest as the rain started back up, heavy drops on the car roof, more lines trailing down the steamed up windows. You could hear Steve’s soft pants in between, his breath huffing over your hairline. You felt the boy skin his lips over the same spot, his nose pressed to your forehead.
“You okay?” He whispered and you nodded, pulling back enough to look at him.
He looked so much softer than before, the harsh lines gone, tension released. Steve ran a hand over your cheek and you leaned into it, kissing his palm. “I should be asking you that.” You brushed a gentle hand over his side, where you knew his bruise lay under his shirt. “Did I hurt you?”
“Quite the opposite,” Steve laughed, soft, quiet. The rain was growing louder, heavier. He was still inside you, heavy, warm, big. It was a comfort you didn’t want to read too much into. “Feel cured,” he joked.
You huffed out a breath of a laugh, smiling, cheeks warm and you winced as you shifted up on your knees and Steve made a soft noise, cooing at you as he held your waist and helped you move. You bit your lip as you moved your stretched out underwear back into place, your body burned at the feel of Steve’s come slipping from between your folds, warm, wet.
“I don’t even have anything to help clean you up,” Steve murmured apologetically, but he would’ve been lying if the idea of you going home full of him didn’t make his dick twitch again.
“S’okay,” you told him and when you made to move off Steve’s lap, the boy gripped your thighs.
You looked at him, brows raised, because this was normally the part of the night where you fell back into the passenger seat, satisfied and a little numb, laughing over a stupid joke Steve cracked before he drove you home and kissed you goodnight. “Stay,” he asked, whispering. You watched him swallow roughly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Can you just—? Stay here for a bit, yeah?”
You softened, eyebrows scrunching as you took on the emotion on Steve’s face, the shyness there, the hope. You nodded, settling gently back onto Steve’s lap and you reached out, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, using the gesture as an excuse to let your fingers trail over his cheekbone. Steve turned, catching your knuckles with his lips, a fleeting kiss.
Then he sucked in a breath and seemed to ready himself, his hands on your hips again, sneaking under the fabric of your sweater so he could rub circles into your skin with his thumbs.
“So, it all started with this girl…”
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader smut#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington oneshot
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aussies do it better | op81, dr3
heeeeey (louder than anyone else) im serving today the koala bear and the honeybadger duo and im hoping y'all will like it!
at the beggining i was hoping for making this a smut but it turned out so wholesome, even though im thinking about still making it smutty, maybe in second part?? idk lmk if you like this one and if you would like to have more of them in a maybe spicy way
anyway pls enjoy and have wonderful day x
summary: sometimes we forget that the best things are often at our fingertips, danny ric being the best wingman possible, pastry boy being pure babygirl
warnings: cheating on a reader (but not them they could never)
pairing: bff!fem!reader x oscar piastri x daniel ricciardo
"Guys, quick break," Oscar announced, stepping aside and setting down his paddle.
"In the next set, we play together, we'll show them how it's done properly. In a Aussie style," Daniel said, grabbing some water and taking a few sips, to which Oscar chuckled, wiping his hair with a towel. It was a pleasant, warm evening. Oscar, Daniel, and a few friends decided to take advantage of the last free day before the frenzy of the home Grand Prix and relax in the company of friends. But Oscar's thoughts were far from relaxed. When he picked up his phone and saw a few missed calls from Y/N, his friend, his smile instantly faded, not escaping Daniel's notice.
"Something wrong?" he asked, glancing at him attentively. Piastri, still focused on his phone, just shook his head.
"I have no idea, but I hope not," he replied, quickly typing a message to his friend.
"Sorry for not answering. Is everything okay? Should I call back?"
He didn't have to wait long for a reply, as it came seconds later.
"No, nothing happened. I just wanted to talk for a moment."
Seeing him nervously tapping on the keyboard, Daniel approached him and glanced over his shoulder.
"Translating to our language, something definitely happened. She just decided not to bother you," he said, scanning through their recent messages from a while ago. "Girlfriend?"
"No, a friend. A close friend."
"Then you should call her back even more so," he remarked, looking meaningfully into Oscar's eyes as he raised his head to meet his gaze. Oscar returned his gaze to the phone in his hand and after a moment's hesitation nodded.
"I'll be right back; start without me if you need to," he informed, then quickly clicked the camera. As he left the court and stepped outside, the girl picked up. She was hastily wiping her cheeks, but it was futile, as Oscar easily noticed her distressed state. It was evident she had been crying.
"Hey, what happened? Why are you crying?" he asked, concerned, gazing attentively at his friend. After his question, she just shook her head and buried her face in her hands. A sob escaped from his phone.
"Y/N, please tell me why you're in such a state," he calmly requested, though his heart was pounding like crazy. He had no idea what had caused his friend to be in such a state, and the fact that he was on the other side of the globe and couldn't just come over to check on her only amplified his worry.
"Mattias," she managed to squeeze out just one word, but it was enough for Oscar to know what had brought her to tears.
"What happened? Where are you?"
It was clear that the girl was outside. It was dark, and she was walking briskly, her face illuminated only by the glow of her phone held in her hand. Her hair were messy and her mascara was smudged on her cheeks.
"I'm waiting for an Uber. I'm coming back from Natalie's birthday party, the one I told you I didn't want to go to."
"You ended up going?"
"Yes, and it was a mistake," she replied, sniffing. "Mattias was there too. I didn't even know he got an invitation. Turns out he did, and on top of that, he was having such a great time he forgot he had a girlfriend."
Oscar didn't even realize when he started nervously pacing, waiting for his friend to continue.
"I went there," Y/N continued, her voice trembling "after all, it would be stupid if I ignored my friend on her birthday. Then suddenly someone comes up to me and asks if I'm Mattias' girlfriend, and I answer yes. And he says I guess not, since on the balcony he's been kissing someone else. And he was actually making out with some girl! When he saw me, he looked as if he had seen a ghost. It didn't occur to him that I might be at my friend's fucking birthday party!"
"Did he react in any way?"
"Of course," the girl snorted, "baby, it's not what you think, we were just talking, I didn't have my hand in her panties at all! Fuck, of course not!"
"Hey, calm down," Oscar said, knowing his friend's emotions well. "How long until your Uber arrives?"
Y/N calmed down for a moment and glanced at her phone, swiping through her notifications.
"3 minutes."
"Alright, the most important thing is for you to get out of there and be home soon. Don't hang up until you're inside, okay?"
"Why me, Oscar? What's wrong with me?" she asked, looking back at her phone. Despite the thousands of kilometers between them, as Oscar looked at the screen of his phone and saw his friend's sad eyes, he felt as if she were standing right in front of him. The downside was that he couldn't hug her and provide the physical support she needed right now.
"It's not your fault, Y/N. It's not your fault at all."
Despite his words of support, Oscar knew that his reassurances were just empty words. He talked to his friend until she got home and let him know she was safe. He offered to continue talking until he noticed her condition had slightly improved, but it was clear she was exhausted.
"I think it's best if I go to bed," she said softly. He heard the sound of keys turning in the lock and the rustle of things being put away. "Although I doubt I'll be able to sleep."
"You should rest," Piastri agreed, nodding. "Text me as soon as you wake up, okay?"
"Sure, but then you'll be sleeping, it's 9 hours' difference," she replied, returning her gaze to the screen of her phone. "Besides, you have more important things to deal with tomorrow."
"Nothing is more important than you," he said, but she just scoffed and shook her head. "Nothing, you hear me? I'll keep the sound on while I sleep, call if anything happens in the meantime. Okay?"
Y/N sighed and nodded.
"Thank you, Osc. It's good to have you here."
Piastri smiled warmly at her.
"Of course I am."
When the call ended, Oscar sighed deeply and rubbed his face with his hand. When he returned to the court, the match was already underway. So, he sat on the bench and clenched his phone in his hand, trying to gather his thoughts somehow. His heart ached at the thought of his friend and what she had gone through. He had known Y/N since their school days when they shared a desk. A friendship had easily developed between them, and they had become practically inseparable. Despite Oscar's busy lifestyle and constant travels, they had managed to maintain constant contact, meeting as often as possible. In such situations, however, their friendship, separated by kilometers, could not cope.
"It's everything alright?" Daniel interrupted Oscar's thoughts, approaching him after the set ended.
"Long story," Piastri sighed.
"I'll gladly listen, considering I'm out and Blake is subbing for me in this set," he replied, sitting next to him and wiping his face with a towel.
For some reason, Oscar began to tell him about what he had just learned over the phone. He and Daniel weren't exceptionally close, sure, they were buddies on the paddock, sometimes playing padel together, but Oscar had never thought of confiding in him about anything. But perhaps this situation overwhelmed him a bit, and he needed advice on how he could help his friend.
"How long have you known her?" Ricciardo asked, when a moment of silence fell between them.
"Over six years, we met back in school."
"For your age, that's almost a quarter of your life," he joked, but after a moment, he looked at him with a slightly more serious expression. "Do you like her?"
"She's my friend, of course, I do."
Ricciardo snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, I figured, but I mean, do you like her?"
Oscar blinked several times, and it wasn't until Ricciardo emphasized the penultimate word he said that Oscar understood what he meant.
"We're friends, I never, uh—," he stumbled a bit, not knowing how to respond.
"So I guess that means yes," Daniel grinned widely, seeing his reaction. "You should invite her here. It would be good for her to occupy her mind with something else now. And she'll appreciate being able to talk to you face to face, not just over the phone."
"I don't know if she'd want to fly all this way just to see me," he replied, causing Daniel to look at him indulgently. "She's never made me feel like I'm anything more than a friend to her."
"Maybe this is the moment to show her that she's had the right guy in front of her all this time," he said, getting up as the set ended. "Cause Aussies always do it better, right?"
Oscar pondered Daniel's suggestion for a long time, but when he went to bed, he decided to offer his friend a visit to Melbourne. Before he went to sleep, he sent her a message with an invitation, honestly not knowing what reaction to expect from her. Of course, he assured her that he would cover all the costs of her transportation, but he still wasn't sure if she would agree to travel such a distance just to see him.
When he woke up in the morning and picked up his phone, he had to rub his eyes in amazement several times. She agreed immediately. She even asked if she could fly to him on the fastest plane, to which he naturally agreed. As a result, she was already at the airport the next evening. Unfortunately, Oscar couldn't pick her up personally, but someone was willing to offer their help on-site.
"Hi, you must be Y/N," Daniel's wide smile and his Australian accent were the first things to greet the girl on the new continent. "I'm Daniel, and it's a pleasure to meet you."
She nodded, returning his smile and shaking his outstretched hand.
"It's very nice to meet you too, and I'm sorry Oscar roped you into this," she replied as he silently took her suitcase. "I could have taken a taxi."
"Absolutely no need to apologize, I'm just glad I could personally welcome you to our beautiful country," he said with a smile. It was past midnight, and Y/N wondered where her newfound companion got so much energy from. "First time in Australia, am I right?"
"Yes, I've never been here before. Actually, it's only the second time in my life I've flown on a plane."
"Really?" Daniel looked at her in shock, and she just shyly nodded. "And Oscar managed to convince you to take such a trip?"
"Actually, I was very excited about the invitation," she admitted, but at one point, she bit her tongue. However, when she glanced at Daniel again, she got the impression that he wouldn't be too concerned about some stranger girl occupying him with trivialities. "A lot has been going on with me lately, and I'm glad to have a reset here."
"I'll gladly join as your local guide and mood lifter," he offered, opening the car door for her. "Of course, if you're up for it and if Oscar is willing to share his best friend."
The girl chuckled, genuinely for the first time in a few days. She eagerly nodded at his proposal.
"I'd love to. And I don't think Oscar will mind."
The journey passed in lightning speed with a conversation that looked like they had known each other for ages, not just a few dozen minutes. When Daniel parked in the driveway, Oscar was already standing in front of the house, waiting for his friends.
"Everything you've learned from me, you haven't actually learned from me," Daniel said, throwing a quick glance at Oscar, which brought a smile back to the girl's face and her hasty nod. Both got out of the car, and Daniel, without taking no for an answer, took her bags. The girl smiled even wider at the sight of her friend, who started walking towards her. She hugged him tightly without a word, and he closed her in a tight embrace.
Daniel smiled at the sight and just raised his thumb. Oscar returned the gesture.
The trio entered the house, and Daniel left the girl's things in the living room doorway before stretching.
"I'll be off," he announced, looking around at them. "It was very nice to meet you, and I hope we'll see each other again soon."
"You can stay if you want," Oscar offered. "We probably won't go to bed soon anyway, and I owe you a beer for today."
"I definitely won't be able to sleep anytime soon, despite the hour," the girl added, checking the time on her phone before shifting her gaze to Daniel and Oscar. "But I have the least to say because it's not me facing the home Grand Prix in a few days."
"Well, why not, gladly," Ricciardo replied, agreeing to the suggestion with a smile.
Shortly after, the three of them were sitting on the terrace. The evening was pleasant, so they decided not to disturb Oscar's family and spend time outside. The conversation was already flowing smoothly, and with each subsequent beer, any inhibitions and barriers disappeared more and more. At some point, it looked like a meeting of three close friends after years.
"He acted like a complete dick," Daniel summed up Y/N's story, taking a sip from the can he held. "Look at it from a different angle, you could have skipped this party and not confronted him. He would probably cheat on you behind your back if he wasn't already."
Oscar looked at him meaningfully, not wanting him to further distress her. However, she seemed to come to terms with the whole situation. She certainly looked better than she did a few days ago when she tearfully talked to Oscar on the phone.
"Possible," the girl sighed, holding her own can. Her head was a bit fuzzy, but she liked this state better than feeling sadness. "Oh God, how could I be so stupid."
"It happens to the best of us," Daniel smiled reassuringly at her.
"The worst thing is, you told me many times that he's not the right guy for me, that he's not a good person at all," she continued, now looking at Oscar, who was sitting next to her. Daniel, sitting in the chair opposite, looked at him meaningfully, but he had his gaze fixed on the girl. "And I still thought I knew better. I'll never question your instincts again, Osc. Never."
She said, then hugged him tightly. Oscar returned the hug, rubbing her back. "It doesn't matter now. It happened, and that's it."
"You said he's not the right guy for you," Daniel began, and Oscar looked at him at the moment when he released his friend from the hug. He shook his head slightly, knowing where he was going with this. But this train couldn't be stopped. "Is there any guy you think would be right for you?"
The girl thought for a moment, turning the can in her hands. However, alcohol placed a certain thought in her head, which made her smile. She just nodded in response, raising her gaze to the man sitting opposite her.
"Oh, you're flattering me," Daniel laughed, taking another sip of beer.
"For the past few minutes, I've been noticing that I kind of like Aussies," she added, glancing at Oscar. He was so shocked when she subtly announced that she liked Daniel in an unexpected way that he didn't even notice when her gaze lingered on his lips. However, Daniel noticed it perfectly.
"And you, Oscar?" Ricciardo asked, stretching his legs out in front of him, a moment after he took another sip of his beer. "Do you have anyone in mind?"
Piastri almost choked on his beer when he finished it. His cheeks were instantly flushed, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol he had just consumed. Y/N raised her gaze to her friend's face, curious herself about his answer to the question, as Oscar had never shared his romantic affairs with her, even when she repeatedly asked about them.
When he, embarrassed, couldn't utter a word, Y/N's gaze returned to Daniel, and she decided to answer for her friend. "Oscar probably hasn't met the right person yet," she said, taking a sip of beer. "He's never told me that he likes any girl, even when I asked hundreds of times. Recently, I even started asking if it's not a girl, then maybe a boy? After all, there's nothing wrong with a relationship with two boys or two girls. And Lando," she looked at her friend again, "he's quite charming. And it seems to me that you two have a good relationship."
"Landoscar? Oh definitely, I've been thinking about it many times myself," Daniel interjected, pointing his finger and agreeing with her words.
Oscar, seeing how they were encouraging each other, knew he had to act. And since words got stuck in his throat, and he didn't know how to defend himself, he silently touched his friend's cheek and turned her head towards him, kissing her. Despite her shock, she returned the kiss. Daniel smiled. He felt like giving himself a high-five.
After a moment, Oscar pulled away from his friend. His heart was pounding like crazy, and her questioning gaze wandering over his face didn't make it any easier for him to gather his thoughts.
"You, Y/N, I like you," he finally said. "I've liked you since you invited me over to work on a biology project in eleventh grade. We were just starting to be friends, and I already felt something more for you. Nothing has changed since then."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked, looking at him, but he lowered his gaze.
"I always felt like I was more of a brother to you than potential boyfriend material,"
"Oscar…," the girl sighed, looking at him indulgently. "Do you know how many broken hearts you would have saved me if you had told me earlier?"
Oscar looked up at her. And just as he felt like an idiot when he decided to make his bold move, now he was wondering if there was a chance she felt the same way about him.
"I thought I was just your friend. And that you didn't want someone who couldn't keep up with your pace of life. After all, why would you need a girlfriend you couldn't have by your side?"
"I would spend all my money to have my girlfriend by my side,"
After these words, silence fell. Oscar and Y/N looked at each other in silence, and Daniel, sitting next to them, pressed the cool edge of the can to his lips and watched the whole scene with bated breath.
"Do you want us to be together?" the girl asked after a moment. She decided to put everything on the line.
"Yes, Y/N, I want us to be together," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier and spared you so many broken hearts. But I assumed that a long-distance relationship would break your heart even more."
Oscar lowered his head. He wasn't lying. The truth was that one of the reasons he didn't confess his feelings to the girl was that he already found it hard with a long-distance friendship, let alone having the possibility to see his girlfriend once a month or less. Oscar had countless layers of love within him. However, he was afraid that if he turned on the tap, he would cause a flood, injuring not only her but also himself.
"Come here," she whispered softly, pulling herself closer to him and hugging him tightly. He closed his eyes and embraced her just as tightly, burying his face in her hair.
"Surely you'll be happy with such a guy," Daniel spoke up after a while, smiling. "If not, you know where to find me. However, Aussies always do it better."
#f1 imagines#f1#f1 one shot#formula 1#f1 oneshots#f1 imagine#op81#dr3#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri x reader#daniel ricciardo x you#daniel ricciardo x reader
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im a mess (but im the mess that you wanted)
s.: you've been with nanami for few months, but he never stays the night. could he be lying to you? (or: the one where you find out about nanami's secret) (nanami kento x f!reader
w.c.: 5.6k (i got carried away srry)
t.: suggestive at the beginning, developing relationship, hurt/comfort, smut at the end! see spoiler tags on ao3
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
His lips trace your neck in gentle kisses, body still glued to yours, sweat glistening on his skin. The sheets on your bed are soaked, but you don’t mind as his body is on top of yours and he looks down at you with his beautiful brown eyes and smiles softly.
“You okay?” he asks, stroking his thumb on your cheek, looking into your eyes. You lean in and kiss him, the dizziness from your pleasure fading away.
“Yes,” you answer, smiling, “that was amazing, as always.”
Nanami laughs softly, a light shade of pink painting his cheekbones.
“Come on, let's clean up.”
It's been five months since you've been seeing your coworker, Kento Nanami.
It's easy to be with Nanami, you found out. He doesn't mind your unorganized self. He doesn't care if your makeup is smudged or if your hair is tangled. He even told you he liked it. Although you have to pretend nothing is happening between you and him at work, he often gives you rides back home at the end of the day. He invites you out often, and takes you to the fanciest restaurants in the city, usually at night.
“Will you stay the night?” You ask as he pulls you up by the wrists.
He looks at you and seems to think for a moment.
“I can't. Sorry.”
You can see his shoulders sag a little as your heart sinks.
“Okay.” You whisper and stand up, walking towards your bathroom. Then, he calls your name, making you turn around to face him. His brown eyes meet yours, almost taking your breath away.
Nanami opens his mouth, then closes it. It's clear that he's nervous, that he wants to say something, but he just sighs quietly.
“Are you okay?” He asks again.
A smile spreads across your lips, even though you want to cry. “Of course.”
You watch as he nods and then enters the bathroom.
He never stays the night. He never invites you to his apartment either. He never asks you out during the week, or on your days off.
I wouldn't be surprised if he had a wife.
The thought makes you gasp out loud, the sound covered by the water of the shower. But what if he had a wife and you're just his mistress? What if he had a family, someone waiting for him every night while he fucks you into oblivion in your bed?
You suddenly feel sick. You have to ask him, you have to know. It makes too much sense. It would explain why he never takes you to a picnic, or invites you to lunch.
When you leave the bathroom, hair up in a bun and a soft towel wrapped around you, you see that he changed the sheets and made your bed while you were in the shower. He's dressing his clothes in a hurry, phone in hand.
“You're not gonna shower?” you ask, watching as he hastily buttons his shirt.
“No, sorry. Something came up.” He says, looking up at you.
You look at the clock on your nightstand. It's two in the morning. What does he mean something came up? Your heart only sinks further. No words are exchanged while he finishes dressing and gives you a kiss, before leaving.
“I'll call you tomorrow, alright?” he says at your doorstep. Tomorrow is Saturday.
You nod, “Take care.”
After he leaves, you put on the massive t-shirt you call pajamas and hop into your bed.
It's only when you rest your head on the pillow, that the tears come.
…
He doesn't call you all weekend. And doesn't show up at work on Monday.
You resist the urge to text him. Part of you doesn't want him to be in trouble with his hypothetical wife, even though he's the one who's allegedly cheating. The thoughts drown you and you can’t focus on your work.
On Tuesday, he shows up looking like death. Dark, deep, bags are under his eyes and an exhausted look on his face. He doesn’t meet your eyes, not right away. It doesn’t soothe your anxieties when a coworker teases you about wearing mismatched shoes to work – your head was so jumbled in the morning that you didn’t realize you grabbed two similar shoes that belonged to different pairs – and he interrupts the interaction, telling them to go back to work.
Later, near your usual smoke break, you get a text message from him.
You okay?
Swallowing, you take a deep breath, trying to push away all doubts and questions, you type an answer:
Yeah. Meet me at the roof in 10?
Of course.
When you push the door to the roof open, he’s already there. The sunlight momentarily blinds you, a contrast to the artificial lights of the office. You walk towards him, hands shaking. He looks at you, once you’re near enough, and smiles, letting out a relieved breath. His hands reach for you, pulling into a tight embrace. It’s like he’s relieved to finally get a moment alone with you. It warms your heart and it makes you forget about your worries for a second.
“You didn’t call,” you say, wrapping your arm around his neck.
“I’m sorry.” He buries his face on your neck, inhaling your scent. The scent of your deodorant and something he can’t describe, but it smells like you , “Had a family emergency. This weekend was crazy.”
“Oh.”
A family emergency.
That could mean anything. Maybe his brother was in an accident, or his grandmother tripped and fell, or his cousin got sick, or… Or he has a family, and you’re just a secret. Just a way for Nanami to release his stress from work and then go back to the family waiting for him, lie in bed with the woman he actually loves.
Your eyes sting with unshed tears and you hear your own voice asking,
“Are you married?”
Nanami’s body tenses before he releases you, searching your eyes.
“What?”
“Are you married?” You repeat, vision going blurry now. When he doesn't respond, you continue, “I mean, you– you never stay the night,” great, now you’re sobbing, “and you never invite me to come over, and– and–” your eyes are like an open faucet, “and you didn’t call me on Sunday and didn’t come yesterday, so, please, if I’m just your mistress, please tell me.” You sob, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan, “Please.”
Kento cups your cheek and wipes your tears, looking into your eyes.
“I’m not married,” he responds and then pulls you in a hug, kissing your hair and tucking your head under his chin, “I’m sorry my actions made you believe I was.”
You sniffle, feeling stupid now, “Okay.”
After a brief pause, he speaks again, “Would you like to come over tonight? For dinner?”
You look at him, pulling away from his embrace, “Kento, I didn’t mean–”
“I know.” He interrupts you, “I still want you to come.”
Nanami’s eyes are warm and he doesn’t care that you’re a snotty mess right now. So you nod, looking away from his perfect face. He pinches your chin gently, bringing your gaze back to him and then presses his lips against yours. Your heart leaps.
He’s never kissed you in the office before. Well, technically, you’re outside, but he never showed a sign of affection like this out of fear someone would catch the both of you. Somehow, you’re not worried about that.
“Meet me at the garage floor when you clock out.”
…
“I’d like you to meet someone,” Nanami says, as you click your seatbelt off.
The ride to his apartment was filled with soft conversation, but when you entered the apartment complex garage, he spoke with a careful voice, as if he was afraid of your reaction.
“Oh?” You wonder what's this about, since he said he wasn't married.
He leads you to the elevator and presses the button to the second to last floor, placing a hand on your lower back. Your heart is hammering inside your chest, as you get closer to his apartment. Then he guides you to the door, inserting a key and opening it.
“Papa!” a flash of pink hair runs towards Kento and hugs his legs.
“You're home early– oh.” A second voice makes you look up from the little boy attached to Nanami.
A teenage boy with dark hair stares at you. Then, Nanami calls your name.
“This is Yuuji, my son,” he says, “and that's Choso, his brother.”
You don't know where to look. To the little boy in Kento’s arms, or to the grumpy teenager that's staring with suspicious eyes at you. Nanami then introduces you to the boys. Yuuji smiles politely, but you can tell he's a bit shy.
“Um… hi,” you say, looking at them.
Choso scoffs, “That explains a lot.”
“Choso–” Nanami starts but the boy just waves a hand at him.
“Yeah, I know. I have to go, though. Got too much homework to do and this little devil kept me busy.” He ruffles his brother's hair who giggles. Then he looks at you, “Nice to meet you. Your shoes are mismatched.”
You look down at your feet, even though you know you have different shoes.
“Choso.” Nanami sighs, “Be nice to your mother.”
The boy just waves a hand at him. You look back at Nanami and Yuuji.
“Do you want to come in?” He asks, smiling. Yuuji looks at you curiously, but still apprehensive, clinging to his dad's shirt and tilting his head until it rests on Nanami’s shoulder.
Oh, fuck.
You feel so stupid right now. He clearly has a family, but he doesn't have… a wife? Choso has a mother, so he’s only Nanami’s? Then why is he leaving?
Sensing your confusion, Nanami touches your arm. “I'll explain everything. Come inside.”
For some reason, you oblige. His apartment is big as you enter the foyer and observe the living room.
“You have to take your shoes off.” Yuuji’s voice stops you from taking another step into the apartment. You look at him, surprised.
“Of course,” you answer, toeing off your – mismatched – heels, revealing the chipped black nail polish on your toenails.
Should you have dressed better for this? Maybe if he told you beforehand…
No, this isn't fair on him. You're the one who cornered him and asked about his personal life.
“Are you feeling better?” Nanami's voice is soft as he talks to his son, walking inside the apartment. It hardly seems like the man who talks obscenities to you in bed.
Suddenly, you feel like an intruder. His home is clean, neat, save from a few toys on the living room floor. The open kitchen is pristine, it seems like the counters and stove were cleaned with one of those expensive products your mom used to use at home. The massive TV is turned on, on some children's program.
Panic sets in your throat. He has a son, a family. And you’ve… you've never wanted kids. You're not good with them, they don't smile at you when you talk to them, always hiding behind their parents. You're too serious, too stiff, for them.
Kento calls your name and you look up at him, blurry vision. He's got a concerned look on his face.
“Yuuji, why don't you go get your new shoes to show our guest?” He sets the kid down, who nods and runs to another room – his bedroom, you suppose. Kento approaches you, gently taking your hand and maintaining eye contact with you.
“I'm sorry,” he says, “I should've told you.”
“No, no!” You're quick to say, “I– I shouldn't have…”
“Asked?” he finishes the sentence for you, “Sweet girl, it’s perfectly understandable why you asked.”
Your heart skips a beat at the endearing name. He cups your cheek, pressing his lips on your forehead.
“Kento… I’m not good with kids…”
He smiles at you, “Don’t worry. You’ll find out that Yuuji is easy to impress.”
As if on cue, Yuuji runs back to the living room and ends up tripping on his own feet, falling to the ground. You gasp, expecting tears, but he just stands up and resumes his run to you.
“Look!” He stomps on the floor and his shoes light up, colorful lights blinking.
You raise your brows, actually impressed by them.
“Oh, wow. That's… actually kinda cool.”
Nanami smiles softly at you, even though you're not looking. You didn't force a baby voice, or crouched down to meet Yuuji's eyes, but the sincerity in your voice is real.
“What do you want to eat?” Kento asks you, carefully.
“Ramen!” Yuuji says, giving you a toothy grin.
Nanami snorts, scooping him up quickly. “I didn't ask you !”
Yuuji giggles loudly as his father holds him upside down, Nanami smiling at the sound. You've never seen him smile like that.
“Ramen is fine, actually,” you say and they stop, looking at you for a second before Kento puts Yuuji down.
“Go put your toys away, Yuuji.” He commands, voice soft and calm. Looking back at you, the man approaches, hesitantly takes your hands, and pulls you further inside the apartment, “He got sick on the weekend. I had Choso take care of him, but he got worse on Saturday night and we had to rush him to urgent care.”
You feel your eyes widening, eyeing the kid gathering his toys in the living room.
“His fever broke yesterday morning, but I decided to take the day off just to be sure.” Nanami continued.
“Oh.” If you felt stupid before, now you feel like an idiot. The guilt blooms inside your chest, making you swallow hard and look away. And, with a tiny voice, one you don’t expect him to hear, you say, “I’m such an idiot.”
To your surprise, he laughs softly, cupping your cheeks and kissing your eyebrow.
“You aren’t.” He pulls you in an embrace, “You couldn’t have known.”
“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, though.” Your voice is muffled against the fabric of his suit. Nanami’s fingers intertwine in your hair, so, so gently. So different from what you’ve experienced with him. The action makes a soft, fuzzy feeling jump inside you.
“It’s alright.” He then pulls away from you and smiles. “I would’ve too.”
You blink at him as he turns around and enters the open kitchen, leaving you to think about his words. If the situation was reversed, if you had a kid that the man you were hooking up with didn’t know about it, you’d be sure he wouldn’t bat an eyelash about it.
But you’re talking about Kento Nanami here.
The stoic, cold faced, man that is your coworker. The man who always focuses on the tasks that need to be done. The man that’s showing you he cares, that he’s soft, a totally different side of him, and, little by little, tearing down the walls around your heart, making you feel… special.
A little hand pulling on yours interrupts your train of thought and you look down to see Yuuji pulling you to the living room.
“Do you want to see my new toys?” He asks, already urging you to sit down in front of the coffee table.
“S-sure.” You look back at Nanami, but his back is turned to the living room.
There are a bunch of plastic toys scattered on the table: little trucks and cars, plastic bugs and dinosaurs and a few superhero figurines. He looks very proud of his collection, smiling and looking at your reaction as he shows you the things his dad and big brother gave to him.
Then, he hands you a toy phone. You reluctantly pick it up.
“Nanamis’ office, how can I help you?” You say into the fake phone, making Yuuji laugh, “oh, he’s not available right now, his schedule is pretty tight– Sir, please calm down, no need to yell.” Yuuji laughs more, but your face is so serious that Kento wonders how you do it, “Alright, sir, I’ll ask, just a moment.” You place a hand on the ‘receiver’ and look back at Yuuji, “Sorry, Yuuji, but Mark from sales wants to speak with you, do you have time?” he has a toothy grin plastered on his face. You resume your fake conversation, “Uh, he’s really busy, doing important things, you’ll have to call later. Would you like to leave a message?”
A deep laugh interrupts your play and you look up to see Kento smiling at you. Your cheeks burn as you put the fake phone down.
“You’re funny.” Yuuji says, leaning on your side. You look back at him.
“Thank you.”
Kento, then, places a sousplat on the coffee table, following with a bowl of ramen in front of you. He does the same for him and Yuuji, warning the boy about the temperature. The little boy sits between you and Kento, happily grabbing the spoon and scooping the warm liquid. You watch as he brings the spoon to Kento and waits for him to blow on the food.
Your heart does that funny thing again.
Deciding to ignore it, you take the spoon and bring the soup from the ramen to your lips. The high temperature burns your mouth, making you drop the spoon, clattering on the ceramic bowl.
“Shit” You mumble, bringing your hand to your lips.
“Shit!” Yuuji exclaims, with a toothy grin.
Widening your eyes and looking at him, then at Nanami, you feel your heart drop. You did not just teach a little kid to curse, did you?
“Shit!” The boy repeats. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”
“Oh, no.” As your heart beats faster, Nanami smiles at you, laughing softly.
“Choso taught him how to curse last week.” He explains, reaching to the jar of water on the center of the table and pouring you a glass.
“Shit, fuck!” Yuuji continues.
Surprised, you let out a nervous laugh.
“Yuuji.” Nanami scolds, gently. “We have a guest tonight. Be polite.”
Yuuji giggles and takes a bite of his food, like nothing had happened. Nanami is still smiling softly at you, lingering his stare. His brown eyes are soft, as if he holds a certain admiration for you.
The rest of the night goes with conversations with a kid, helping Kento to tie up the kitchen and putting Yuuji to bed.
Nanami sighs as he closes his son's bedroom door and walks over to you, back in the living room. You stare at each other with soft smiles for a moment, prolonging the time; you avoid saying that you have to leave, wanting to stay longer in his company, in his home.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” He asks, and your heart warms.
“It's a weekday,” you argue.
“I know.”
Then you nod, feeling the heat creep on your cheekbones. Nanami pours you a glass of red wine and guides you back to the couch. He crosses his leg, supporting an ankle on a knee, and stretching his arm on the top of the couch. He turns to face you, taking a sip of his red wine. Accepting his invitation, you approach him and snuggle on his body, his warmth radiates to you.
“How old is he?” You ask, after a moment of silence.
“Four,” he answers, rubbing circles with his thumb on your shoulder. When you don't say anything, he continues, “his… his mother is not in the picture.”
“Oh.” Your heart breaks a little to think of him and Yuuji abandoned by a faceless woman.
You feel him swallow hard and pull away to look into his eyes, “You don't have to tell me if you don't want…”
Nanami smiles softly, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face.
“It's alright.” He whispers. “I want to.”
You sit with your legs crossed on the couch as he tells you all about it. He tells you how he met Yuuji's mother at a bar and had a one night stand that resulted in her getting pregnant. He tells you how she wanted to get rid of it, and how he even drove her to the clinic, but felt an urge to convince her to keep it.
“I told her it was her choice, and hers only,” he says, “but if she wanted to, I'd support her in any way possible. She already had Choso and being a single mother is very hard. In the end, we decided I'd get the baby and she'd pay for child support. I told her it wasn't necessary, but she insisted.”
A valid reason, you think. Maybe this woman was so hurt in the past that another kid wouldn't do well for her.
“It's been Yuuji and I, ever since. At least until Choso found us last month.”
A smile creeps on your face, “He seems… nice.”
Nanami almost barks a laugh, holding himself to not wake Yuuji up.
“He’s a teenager. But he's very protective of Yuuji. I guess he's always wanted a brother, that's why he looked for us.”
You nod, reflecting on what he said. You can't help but feel compassion for Nanami, imagining it must have been hard for him in the first moments. Taking care of a newborn, on his own, and still going to work… you feel your heart squeeze.
“I know it's a bit overwhelming,” he says, interrupting your thoughts, “I-I… I won't blame you if you don't want this anymore…”
There. The insecurity is clear in his eyes, that avoid yours, in his stuttered words – have you ever heard him stutter before? –, in the way he leans his elbows on his knees. You can't help but feel sorry for him, but a deeper feeling takes over you.
Something strange, unfamiliar, but comforting. You don't know what it is yet, but you'll soon find out.
But it's something that drives you to uncross your legs and lean forward, against him. Gently, you take his chin and guide him to look at you. Without saying a word, you bring your lips to his, in a soft kiss.
“I don’t know how to deal with children,” you say, touching your forehead with his and closing your eyes, “but you can teach me. I know I’m clumsy and I have problems paying attention to what I wear to work, but if you… if you both give me a chance to let me in, I’ll do my best.”
Nanami cups your cheeks and leans forward to kiss you, before murmuring on your lips,
“You’re already in, sweet girl.”
Tears pool in your eyes as you kiss him back, not paying attention to the half empty glass of wine in your hands, only when it spills all over your blouse and on the couch.
“Fuck,” you whisper, quickly catching the – now empty – glass and standing up, “I’m so sorry!”
He stands up as well, never minding the stain on the couch, “I think that’s on me this time, darling.” Looking at your blouse, wet and stained, he inhales deeply. “You uh… That’s gonna stain if you don’t wash it soon.”
You look at him, knowing damn well the blouse is gone, the white fabric forever stained red. There’s a blush on Nanami’s cheekbones that makes you snicker.
“Should I take it off, then?” You ask, feigning innocence.
“Yes.” He answers too fast and you know what’s to come.
Untucking the blouse from your skirt, you cross your arms at your front and pull it over your head. Nanami’s breath hitches and he closes his hands in fists when he sees your black bra. It’s simple, not even lacy or anything, but the sight of your breasts in them makes him want to lose control.
You hand him the blouse with a smirk on your face. He says something under his breath that you can’t understand and takes it from you, “This will probably take all night.”
“I can stay as long as it takes,” you reply, “if that’s okay–”
“It’s okay.” Again with the quick answers, “There’s a shirt in my bedroom. It’s at the end of the hallway. I’ll throw this in the washing machine and be right there.”
You can tell he’s holding himself by the strain on his voice, but you put that aside, because now you’re excited to see his room. Walking through the corridor, you pass Yuuji’s bedroom and what looks to be Nanami’s office. His bedroom is neat, organized, which reflects on the kind of person he is. It’s bigger than yours, with floor to ceiling windows, and a king sized bed – that looks so soft you’re afraid to sit on it–, a walk-in closet, and a big mirror leaned on the wall.
The windows are what catches your attention. You’ve never seen a city like that, lit up in the dark, you can only see the lights of other buildings and the cars down there. It’s beautiful.
Two hands snake on your waist, making you jump. Nanami’s lips brush on your shoulders from behind as he pulls you closer, your back against his chest. Relaxing your muscles, you lean back on him, touching his arms.
“The view is beautiful.” You tell him as he peppers wet kisses from your shoulders to your neck.
“Hmm, this one too.” he says softly and you smile.
He starts to run his hands on your body, squeezing the flesh of your hips, cupping your breasts and hiking your skirt up to caress your inner thighs. Nanami moans in your ear.
“These damn lacy thigh highs.”
“Kento…” You sigh, leaning your head on his shoulder, “What about Yuuji…”
“I guess you’ll have to be quiet tonight.” He caresses your back and your neck until his hands are in your hair, giving it a tug that makes you whine quietly, desire coursing in your veins.
His mouth finds yours in a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongue, and it’s like he doesn’t kiss you in years . Nanami unzips your skirt from behind and pulls it down, turning your head, making you look at your reflection on the window.
“Do you know how hot you are?” He whispers, a feral look on his face. You don’t have to look into his eyes to know his pupils are dilated with lust.
“No…” You sigh. “Tell me… Show me.”
A hand dips between your thighs, pulling your underwear to the side, and wasting no time in coating his fingers with your wetness. You hear him groan and say something, but your mind goes blank when he messily rubs your clit. A moan escapes your lips and he lets go of your hair to cover them.
“Shh…” Nanami says, “Be a good girl and I’ll let you come tonight.”
Oh, god. You love when he takes control like this. It’s how you know he’s going to fuck you good.
Without warning, Nanami sinks two fingers inside you. You’re so wet that they glide in easily, making him chuckle.
“Kento…” you mumble, voice muffled by his hand. “Please…”
He moves his hand from your lip to your neck, “What’s that, sweet girl?”
“Please…” you repeat.
“Please what? Use your words, princess.”
Your breath hitches at the endearing name, “Please, fuck me.”
Nanami smiles and it takes a second until he guides you to bed.
“Take these off,” he says while unbuttoning his shirt, “keep the thighs on.”
You know he loves when you wear high thighs, especially the lacy ones. Reaching behind you, and unclasping your bra, a smile graces your features when he takes his shirt and pants off.
It never gets boring.
Nanami grows impatient and helps you pull down your underwear, spreading your legs after. The anticipation and excitement make you lose your breath, as he softly runs the back of his fingers on your inner thighs, tracing the lace and the soft skin of your upper thigh, getting closer and closer to where you want him to touch you the most.
“Kento…” your breath hitches when one of his fingers barely touches your center, “don’t tease.”
He laughs, smiling at you. “Now you want to tell me what to do?”
“No!” You shake your head, closing your eyes, “I just… Need you.”
Without warning, he kneels between your legs and latches at you. You whine, falling on the mattress and tangling your fingers on his soft hair. Nanami eats you like a starved man, like if you're someone he’s been missing for a long time. Your breath gets heavier by the second and, particularly, when he inserts two fingers inside you again, using his thumb to circle the most sensitive part of you.
“Love the way you taste,” he says, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed. You don’t answer as you feel your orgasm building up slowly on your lower stomach.
“Hmm, don’t stop.” You manage to say.
“Anything for my good girl.” He mumbles, putting his mouth on you one more time.
The compliment is what makes you come, your hand over your lips to muffle your moans and whimpers. Eye rolling to the back of your head, you try to close your legs but Nanami doesn’t stop, riding out your orgasm like he does so many times.
When he’s done, he leaves a trail of kisses up on your stomach until he reaches your face, hoovering above you.
“You look so pretty when you come.”
Laughing, you try to hide your face, but when Nanami pries your fingers apart, he kisses you softly. Your moans, muffled by his lips, are quiet when he sinks in you, starting a slow pace; he buries his face on your shoulder and you wrap your legs around his hips, hugging him closer – as if it was possible – to you.
It’s not enough.
“Kento,” you whisper in his ear, “fuck me harder.”
Nanami grunts and pulls away from you, slipping out and roughly flipping you on your stomach.
“Ass up.” His voice is commanding and you oblige, moving to stay on all fours, “you asked for this, sweet girl,” he thrusts into you hard, “now take it like the good girl you are.”
He hits a spot inside you that makes you see stars; you can’t help to think how full you are, how complete you feel with him inside.
“ Shit .” Nanami’s voice is a hoarse, breathy, mumble. His fingers dig on the skin of your hips. You can feel the pressure of his blunt nails and it only makes you shudder. Your eyes rolling back, a strangled moan leaves your lips.
“I-” you try to speak, but Nanami grabs your hair by the roots, pulling you up so your sweaty back meets his hard chest. “Fuck, Kento!”
His mouth finds your ear, breathing hard as his hips meet your behind, “You like it when I pull your hair like this?”
Words escape you when he hits that spot inside you again, taking your breath away. It only makes Nanami pull harder on your hair, your scalp stinging pleasantly. The all too familiar sensation on your lower stomach starts to emerge.
“Do you?” he insists, his pace becoming slower, teasing you.
“Yes, fuck-” you gasp.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Mr. Nanami ! I love it when you pull my hair!”
He hums satisfied, “Good girl.”
Nanami lets go of your hair too soon, pushing your face against the mattress, but you don't have time to whine as he starts thrusting faster and harder inside you. Your knees almost give in and your legs shake. Trying to warn him, mumbling as he pistols his hips with no mercy. It’s only when the pad of his thumb presses against the tight ring of muscles behind you that you let out a raspy moan, letting it all out.
“Fuck, you little slut ,” he groans, coming together with you, releasing his spill inside you, “look at the fucking mess you’d made.”
Your senses are out of control, you’re seeing double and you barely register the soaked sheets as Nanami rides your and his orgasms out. When he finally stops his pace, you let out a shaky breath. You feel him pull out of you with a groan, leaning against your back once more, planting kisses on your face. The sigh that leaves your lips in relief is replaced by a yelp when he turns you on your back, pressing his lips on yours.
“Make up your mind, am I a good girl or am I a slut?” you smile on his lips.
He lets out a laugh, his smile making his eyes wrinkle at the corners.
“You’re wonderful,” he replies, out of breath, “You okay?”
“Yes.” you nod. “Sorry about the mess.”
Nanami shakes his head, “I love your mess.”
Lips parted, you pause at his words and absorb its meaning.
“Do you want to shower?” He asks, as if nothing has happened.
“Yes, please.”
Nanami guides you to the bathroom and gives you toiletries, kissing you one last time before you enter the shower. You use his soap, so uniquely him , and the extra toothbrush he gave you to brush your teeth. Then, when you leave the bathroom, he’s wearing his previous boxers and has already changed the sheets. As usual.
When he looks up at you, he smiles, “Will you stay the night?”
Warmth blooms in your heart. You nod quickly, not saying a word, afraid you’ll tear up.
Then he hands you a pair of pajamas. “Sorry, I only have men’s pajamas.”
“It’s okay.” You whisper. “Thank you.”
Nanami presses his lips against yours in a short sweet kiss, “You go ahead and lie down. I’ll take a quick shower.”
Nodding again, you smile to yourself as you dress the blue pajama he gave you and get on bed. Everything about this night was perfect. Meeting Yuuji and having dinner with both of them. Learning more about Nanami’s life, him showing an important part of him.
And you can’t wait to wake up next to him tomorrow.
#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#kento nanami x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#nanami smut#nanami kento smut#jjk smut#gabiwrites.txt
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WHITE XMAS | mattheo riddle
summary; mattheo comes to spend christmas with you and your family.
word count; 15,245
notes; I have never played chess in my life, chess girlies don't come for me. pic was made by @finalgirllx!
“So, Matty, what are your Christmas plans?” You murmur, head bopping lightly to the beat of the tacky Christmas CD that was playing over the Common Room speakers. “Will Tom be coming home for Christmas?”
“Are you kidding?” Mattheo muttered, cursing as he readjusted his grip on the dwindling charcoal in his fingers once again, peeking another glance over the edge of his tatty sketchpad to you. “Why would he?”
“Because it’s nice! It’s Christmas, it’s a time for family to come together.”
“Not mine.” He blew a curl from his eyes, pausing. Tilting his head, he narrowed his eyes as his gaze flickered between the page, and a very specific spot on your shoulder. “Tom has escaped, he doesn’t have to come home for the annual Riddle-family Christmas Horror Show.”
That brought a frown to your lips, and he tutted. “Keep smiling.”
“You’re not even drawing my face right now.” You snipped back, and the edges of his lips tipped up in a smirk, focusing as he dragged the tool in his hand over the paper, back and forth. Soft scraping filled the room, along with the general chatter of the few other students dotted throughout the room, background noise with their undecipherable muttering and the music. “You don’t like Christmas?”
“Why would I? Christmas magic never existed for me. The very day I first asked about Santa, Tom pulled me aside and told me he wasn’t real. Warned me not to ask about him.” With a sigh, he dropped the notepad to sit flat in his lap, resting the charcoal on the side table, and shrugging. When he wiped his forehead, he unknowingly left a smear of grey over his skin. “I was stupid, and four. I asked my father, and he laughed at me and told me not to be pathetic. Everything I got in this world was hard-earned, and came by his generosity, and his alone.”
“Matty…”
“Don’t pity me. Can’t love what I never had.” Despite his brave words, there was an underlying emptiness to his voice, the kind that formed over years of hurt finally losing its bite. The way scarred flesh didn’t hurt, but they never stitched up quite right.
You whisper, standing up and making your way over to him. He looked up at you now as you stood before him, hand raising to wipe the smudge away with your thumb. “It’s that bad?”
He only hummed. “I get to parade around, playing the ‘seen but not heard’ son as my father cashes in on a big business day. It’s such a great time to ‘make connections’. Normally I’d have Tom with me, and we’d spend the days counting down until my birthday, and his. On the 30th, we’d sneak out and get two cupcakes, right between. He’ll be back for New Year's, my father is making him, but I can’t begrudge him staying away for Christmas.”
“You make me so sad sometimes.”
“Can’t have that, can we?” He murmured, leaning up to pinch at your waist lightly, a spot he knew was ticklish. You jerked away from him with a gasp of a laugh, smacking his hand as you went. “Don’t worry. I’ll be at the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball. I’ll see you all then, I can look forward to it.”
“No.”
“No?” He echoed, a smile forming on his face, and he tugged you in closer, arms wrapping around your thighs. “The fuck do you mean no?”
“I mean, that won’t do. Your Christmas plans make me want to commit a festive crime. Hit your dad with a sleigh, or something.” That brought real laughter from him, a loud burst, his eyes closing a little as he rested his forehead on your stomach, his shoulders shaking. “I have a big family Christmas. All my aunts and uncles and cousins and their kids. There’s going to be at least twenty of us.”
“Now you’re just rubbing it in.” He muttered, shaking his head, frowning up at you falsely.
“No, I’m inviting you, if you’d let me finish.”
His expression shifted then, from teasing and humour to vulnerability and disbelief. Pretty brown eyes shone with shock as he stared up at you. Cupping his jaw, you smoothed your thumb along his cheek. “You’re what?”
“Come with me for Christmas Day, Matty. I cannot, in good conscience, enjoy my day, knowing how you’re spending yours.”
“You really want that? Your family wouldn't mind?” Hope raised in his voice, not a hint of denial in sight, and he smiled shakily when you nodded.
“What are friends for, huh? I promise it’ll be okay. My parents are a ‘the more, the merrier’, type.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, thoughts spinning in his gaze, before he pulled you even closer. Pressing his face against your stomach, your hands slipped to his hair instead, running through the curls. It was the same way you did whenever you stumbled across him smoking after a nightmare, or sulking after a letter from home. “We have a floo. You can step right in. I promise, you’d be welcome. Please spend Christmas with me, Mattheo.”
“Okay.” He mumbled, breath hot against your navel through your shirt as he breathed the word against you.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He finally turned his head again, resting his cheek there instead, looking away toward the fireplace, throat bobbing. With a final squeeze, he loosened his hold. “I’d really like that.”
“I’ll write down my address for you, and give you all the details.” Leaning down, you pressed a kiss to his messy hair, and he was smiling faintly as you pulled away. “It’ll be great, I promise.”
“I don’t doubt.” Finally, he let go of you fully, and took a bracing breath. Resetting himself, he schooled his features, picking up his sketchpad again and diverting his gaze to it. “Alright, go sit back down. Try and remember your pose, I want to finish this before dinner.”
Rubbing at your eyes tiredly, you were never awake this early, even the children were still snoozing, only one or two other members of your family had woken. Your father had always been an early bird, forcing your mother to be the same, and the two were tinkering in the kitchen, quietly chatting.
One of your grandmas had woken, made her way downstairs, and promptly fallen asleep in the rocking chair next to the fireplace after lighting it with a flick of her wrist. You were sure one of your uncles— maybe a cousin, too— had been wandering upstairs, but perhaps, they’d gone back to bed.
Suppressing a yawn, you jumped when the soft pop of the fireplace sounded, flames changing momentarily from amber and orange to a truly festive shade of green. Stumbling through it was Mattheo.
He didn’t look nearly as tired as you did. More so, he looked alert, in every sense of the word. His eyes were wide, one hand clenched into a tight fist around a bouquet of poor flowers, the other tugging nervously at his collar. He was wearing a red Christmas jumper, a set of tasteful white snowflakes sewn in a band across the chest. His usual black jeans, the best pair he had, seeing as they had no tears or frays, and white sneakers that had been polished to a shine. Possibly, never even worn outside.
“Matty.” You mumbled, and he stepped down from the warmth of the fireplace as the flames flickered back to normal, your grandma merely offering a soft snore beside you both. Mattheo flinched again, like one of Theo’s pranks when he jumped out from behind doorways to scare you all in the dark, and you raised a brow. “You’re up early. Therefore, you naturally called me and woke me up early too.”
“Sorry. I had… restless sleep. I was anxious.”
“Aw,” You smiled, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “You’re all excited like… oh. Well, like a kid on Christmas Day. Huh.” The joke washed over you in waves, still not quite awake enough to be aware of your own words, and he gave you a flat look. “Cute sweater.”
“I just bought it.”
“Why?” You smiled, and his lips twisted like you’d asked a stupid question. He followed you as you guided him from the lounge to the hall, shuffling behind you quickly. “Because you said you would be wearing one!”
“You didn’t have to buy a—” Your words shuttered as his lips smoothed back out, face neutral, but a flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes. Mattheo didn’t own a Christmas jumper. It made sense, he’d never had reason to, but it didn’t stop your heart from breaking a little. “Come on. Take off your shoes, and let’s go get something to drink. Maybe a really strong coffee, hm?”
He toed off his shoes, neatly stacking them onto the rack beside the various others, some left in a pile. It wasn’t like him, Mattheo left his things everywhere; the group was always picking up after him, but it was clear that he was doing the most to be on his very best behaviour.
Taking his free hand in both of your own, you squeezed it, bringing his attention to you. “Mattheo?”
He hummed, tugging at his collar as he stared beyond you to his reflection in the hallway mirror. Smoothing your hands over his shirt, you patted it down, his eyes dropping to you as you pushed his hand away.
“Mattheo. You’re worrying. You’re supposed to be here to have fun, not be the picture-perfect son like you would at home.” His lips pressed together, like he didn’t believe you, as he sighed through his nose. “You’re perfect just as you are, okay? You don’t need to worry. Everyone knows you’re coming, and they know who you are. I’ve been writing about you all in my letters home for years. Your name isn’t a surprise, and you’re welcome here. Okay?”
“You’re sure?”
“Mattheo Riddle, have I ever lied to you?” Your teasing finally brought a smile to his face. “Have I ever given you a reason not to believe me?”
“No.” He finally conceded.
“Then trust me, hm?”
He rolled his eyes, but his shoulders dropped. With one final glance at his reflection, he turned away, closing the page on those fears and ready to proceed with the day. After only a second of hesitation, he took your hand, squeezing for comfort as you guided him back through the house.
His fingers flexed around your own as you approached the kitchen, your mother laughing gently at some joke your father had told. Both of them turned to face you as you stepped in, tugging Mattheo behind you.
“Mama, Dad, my friend is here. This is Mattheo.”
Shaking his hand free from your own, he smoothed his palm over his jeans before shakily stepping forward and offering his hand. Your mother only smiled as your father shook it firmly. “Good to meet you, our daughter writes about you in her letters a lot.”
“Dad.”
“Oh, it’s true! More than almost anyone else.” Your mother cooed, your exasperated sigh doing nothing to dull their teasing as your mother only pinched his cheek instead of taking his offered hand. “Oh, you’re so tall! She never mentioned that.”
“Mama, stop teasing him!”
“I’m doing no such thing!” She scolded you, tutting as she peered over his shoulder. “It’s good to find a tall man. Like your father, they can reach the fresh stuff on the storage shelves that they don’t want you to get at when you go to the store.”
“Oh, is that all?” You muttered, crossing your arms as she went back to fussing over Mattheo. Your father rolled his eyes, sipping from his ‘World’s Best Daddy’ mug that you’d made when you were five. He saved it for every Christmas Day, like tradition.
“These are for you, Mrs—”
“Oh!” Your mother took the bouquet, admiring them, and not even seeming to notice the slightly crumpled stems that had been his substitute stress-ball. “They’re beautiful, look at them.”
She presented them to your father, who nodded approvingly, and Mattheo turned just long enough to glance over his shoulder. He was bewildered, and red-cheeked.
“Alright, have I sufficiently embarrassed you dear, or should I keep going? I haven’t even told you what a handsome young man he is yet—”
“Oh, I think you’ve done plenty.” Your droll tone made your parents snicker to one another, and she turned away to put the flowers in a vase. Reaching forward and grabbing a fistful of Mattheo’s jumper, you tugged him back to your side. “Is anyone else awake yet?”
“Only your grandma.”
You made a noise of agreement, grateful for the early rise if it meant being able to ease Mattheo into the crazy rush. Leaving his side for just a moment, you took two mugs from the cupboard, your early call also meaning you got the first pick, choosing the best ones and setting them out. Claimed, for the day.
Your mother arranged her gift, showing them off proudly before disappearing to the dining room to find a spot for them on the table. Your father followed, and only a moment later, Mattheo was sidling up close to your side as you worked.
“How’re you holding up so far?” You smirked, and he shook his head, a chuckle tumbling quietly from his lips.
“I think if all your family react like that to me, I have nothing to worry about.”
“Why wouldn't they?” You didn’t give him a chance to disagree, stirring the hot drinks before you and tapping the spoon on the rim. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Mattheo.”
“Some people would disagree.”
“Some people also like pickles.” Your nose scrunched up, and you sought out the pot beside the biscuits, popping the lid and sprinkling some marshmallows onto the steaming surface of each one. “Clearly, their decisions can’t be trusted.”
Turning to him and pushing a mug over the counter, he scoffed. Leaning down until your noses were almost brushing, he smirked. “I like pickles.”
“You’re gross. I’ve seen you drink from a random cup the morning after a party.” Taking your mug, you turned away from him, leaving him spluttering behind you as he grabbed his own and followed.
“First of all, that was one time. Secondly, I knew it was my drink! I’m the one who left it there!”
“Uh-huh.” He pinched at your hip in response falling back into step beside you, and allowing himself to be led into the snug. Smaller, cosier, with only one couch and two worn armchairs, it was one of your favourite rooms in the house. A wobbly bookshelf stood in the corner, and a chessboard sat out before you on the coffee table, a freshly reset game. The rest of the board games were stacked on a shelf. “Wanna’ talk about how the day will go? Put any last fears to rest.”
He glanced up, running his finger over the Queen on the board as he sat down, nodding, thankfully. “I’d like that.”
Settling onto a cushion on the floor instead, on the other side, you turned the board around. Picking up a pawn, you made your first move, and a spark went off in his eyes. “We’ll start with breakfast, when everyone wakes up. Mum loves making a big breakfast, she’s a breakfast foods kind of person. There’s a lot of stuff, a lot in the fridge. It’ll remind you of Hogwarts, but better.”
He smiled at that, picking up a pawn himself and shifting it across, playing the board as he waited to see what moves you’d make. Mattheo was surprisingly patient, and good at playing the long game. He never made a real move until there was more going on across the board.
“Then, we’ll open gifts. The kids will be desperate by then, so we’ll all cram into the sitting room. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to pinch a proper seat.” You shrugged, fingers brushing over your pieces, before plucking one up and making your next move. “After that, we do some baking. We’ll make things for dessert, as well as treats to have throughout the day. My mum has a big flow chart of all the cooking for the meal, most stuff we prepared over the last few days, but it all gets heated up and cooked after that.”
“Lot of kitchen work.”
“Oh, yes. Traditionally, all the ladies will do the cooking, and we leave all the washing up and cleaning for the men.” You gave him a wink, watching him play the board while grinning.
“Christmas Day chores, what a treat.”
“While food cooks, they’ll be… something. Maybe movies, I think one of my uncles put a quiz together, so maybe that. Something fun. Then we’ll eat.” You found yourself stuck already, watching as he already managed to be pinning you down across the checkerboard. You considered your play for a while, and he sipped at his hot chocolate, a pleased noise on his lips as he licked foam from his top lip. “Then…”
“Then?” He said, and finally, you decided what to do, shifting to knock down one of his pieces and snatch it up with a smirk. That smirk didn’t last long, not as you saw his expression. Like you’d fallen right into his trap. He moved quickly, striking like a viper as he swiped up without consideration, and you swore as he took a piece in return.
“Then… I don’t know. The rest of the day is mostly lazing around, letting the food settle, eating more food…”
“Can’t wait.” He whispered, and the moment you made your next play, he was grinning over the rim of his mug. He crossed the board, knocking down your Queen, and beaming as you scowled. “Checkmate.”
“Fuck you.”
“You lasted longer this time. That was, what, twelve moves? I’m impressed.”
“Bite me.” You scoffed, and he flashed his teeth, snapping them in a bite playfully, and you stuck out your tongue.
“Don’t be a sore loser.” Mattheo taunted.
“Didn’t you once punch MacLaggen after a Quidditch match because—”
“You be quiet or I’ll come over there and make you be quiet.” As his eyes shone with mirth, you flipped him off, gulping at your hot chocolate and letting the half-melted, gooey marshmallows sit on your tongue. “Much better.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Oh, now, don’t believe a word she says.” You jumped, turning to the doorway as your cousin poked her head through, and Mattheo stiffened instantly. “She told me she wished I fell off my broom last year, just because I won the little toy inside the last Christmas cracker.”
“Jess!” You beam, lighting up a little as she stepped into the room, her youngest following her inside. The girl who came behind her was only two, still dressed in her striped pyjamas, eyes half open and curls pressed from the side she’s slept on. “Mattheo, meet my least favourite cousin.”
“Now, now. That’s just rude.” She beamed, letting go of her daughter's hand as the youngest began to toddle over towards you on shaky little stomps, letting you scoop her up and place a big kiss on her cheek. As you fawned over her child, Jess reached out, shaking Mattheo’s hand as he sat nervously. “Nice to meet you, Mattheo. I’ve heard a lot about you. Better than the Italian one, that’s for sure.”
“You’ve met Theo?” His shock was evident. Jess scoffed while you just laughed and tickled your baby cousin’s stomach.
“Once, at family week. He happened to bump into us at Hogsmeade. Terrible flirt, isn’t he?”
“You were knocked up at the time, too.” You snickered, and she looked fondly at her daughter.
“Oh, that didn’t stop him.”
“Sounds like our Notty-boy,” Mattheo whispered, turning to look at you. When the girl on your knee looked up at him curiously, he wiggled his fingers, “Hello there.”
She only giggled, turning away to hide her face in your neck.
“You two coming out for breakfast?” Jess sighed, calling her daughter back to her side as you put her down, and she scooped the girl up onto her hip. She turned to Mattheo, mischief written onto her features, “There are some people who want to meet you.”
Standing up and brushing off dirt from the floor, he followed suit, your cousin leaving ahead of you both. Taking your mug in one hand, Mattheo ruffled his hair in the other, patting down the untamed stands.
“What are you— stop doing that.” Grabbing his arm, you didn’t fail to notice the light tremors from his nerves. “You’re squashing all your curls.”
“I should’ve styled my hair this morning. Your family will think I’m a mess.”
“It’s Christmas Day, and you woke me up before I could even wash my face. Trust me, you’re fine.” He only frowned, reaching his hand up towards his hair again, and you pulled it down. Running your hands down his arm, you clasped his hands, reassuringly. His fingers folded around your palm in return. “Ruining your pretty hair won’t make them like you any more, but it’ll make me like you less!”
“You think my curls are pretty?”
Heat flushed your cheeks as he stared at you, curious. He’d always been so pretty, and it never failed to astonish you how all your favourite parts of him were the parts he disliked the most. “Shut up.”
His lips twitched, but he refrained from replying, glancing at the door instead. In a bold move, he took a step toward it, evidently deciding he was ready, as he guided you both out of the room and toward the growing bustle of voices.
Only moments after you emerged, he was swept into the craziness; aunties and uncles and cousins descending on him, all asking a thousand questions a minute. They wanted to know about classes, and where his jumper was from, and if he preferred roast beef or roast turkey. He was taken from you, leaving you to hold both mugs and chuckle at the flustered look on his face.
By the time you’d refilled them both and returned to the pandemonium, he sagged with relief upon seeing you. Kids were already mithering about opening presents, raving madly about Santa, and he was able to slip away from the hustle and back to you.
“Before you chastise me for leaving you,” You pressed the mug into his hands the moment his jaw dropped, pre-empting his words, “I refilled your hot chocolate. I stood no chance, they’re animals, and you were the newest squeaky toy. Luckily, the young have saved you, by nagging about the presents.”
“I’ll let you out of it this time.” He shook his head, serious like he was really mad, even as he leaned in to kiss your temple. His mouth moved to your ear, “Your family are very friendly.”
“They were excited to meet you. You’re fresh meat. How are you at pub quizzes? Because they’ll be all over you.”
He chuckled, and before he could say anything else, your mother was making the call to start cooking breakfast. Just like that, the room seemed to clear of men, all of them slipping away at the word ‘cooking’, taking the kids with them. Only the grandparents were left in the living room, excused from all chores, naturally.
“You can go with the other men if you’d like.”
“I’d rather stay and cook with you… is that okay?” He glanced towards the kitchen, and smiled when you nodded.
“Course you can. Come on.” Leading him to the kitchen, your aunts and cousins were already bustling around, working wherever your mother assigned them to. Your mother snapped her fingers to you, pointing towards the griddle that was heating up, all the ingredients for fluffy pancakes laid out alongside.
Guiding Mattheo over to it after washing your hands, his cheeks went red as he stood before the bowl. “I, uh, maybe didn’t think this through. I don’t know how to cook.” He whispered, embarrassment tinging his voice as everyone around you both seemed to be getting on at speeds.
“That’s okay, why don’t you mix the batter while I add the ingredients, hm?”
That brought his sweet expression back, letting out the breath he was clinging to, and pulling the bowl towards himself. You added each ingredient, weighing them up and measuring them out as he stirred the bowl continuously, switching between arms as he tired. On and on you went, until you had enough butter to make pancakes for an army, and he was eating leftover chocolate chips from the bag while you greased the griddle pan.
He was watching eagerly as your cousin Ki grilled bacon, stacking up a pile that had his entire attention.
“Mattheo, dear, do you want a piece of bacon?” Your mother snapped him from his dazed watch, and his jaw dropped open, the tips of his ears going red.
You snickered, nudging him where he stood beside you, still clutching the bowlful of batter. With a shy nod, his mother picked up a piece handing it to him with a wink, and he beamed upon receiving it.
Tearing off a chunk with his teeth and chewing, he turned to face you, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I think your mother likes me.”
“I told you she would.” You said, a happy sound leaving him at the confirmation. Once the tray was ready, you grabbed for a ladle, and he held the bowl securely, the two of you working to set off the first batch of pancakes to cook. He shuffled every step with you, and while they cooked, you began to work on the second batter batch. “You want to try this time? I can help you.”
“Alright.” He nodded, setting the bowl back on the scale like he’d seen you start with. Scanning his hands over the ingredients, he reached for the flour first, holding it up in question. Sieving it through until you told him to stop, he smiled to himself as he watched the dust fall perfectly. A sprinkle of sugar, and a dash of vanilla essence, and then he circled in the centre with a spoon to create a well.
“Alright, make sure you tap it lightly on the edge. You don’t want bits of shells in the food.”
He was so focused it was almost adorable, your heart skipping a beat as you watched him go, tapping the egg on the bowl so delicately your heart ached. “Like that?”
“Maybe a little harder.”
And then, he cracked it down with another force that the rim of the bowl went halfway through the egg, mangling the whites and the yolks, with splinters of shells going into the food. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“S’okay, we can just pick the shell out and try again. Don’t worry.”
Dipping your fingers into the flour to pick out the pieces of shell, you discarded the broken egg to the side, and he helped fish out all the pieces, meticulously checking there was none left. Handing him a new egg, he eyed his cautiously now.
“C’mere, let me show you.”
Guiding your hand down his arm to cup over his, you guided his hand down with the right amount of pressure, cracking the egg enough to slip your nails in and pull it apart. Taking his other hand too, you huddled in close, your hands over his by the bowl as the pair of you pressed to one another, pulling the egg apart and letting it fall into the well.
“Perfect, see. You’re a natural.”
He turned to look down at you, eyes scanning over your face, a silent moment you didn’t know how to read, before he was turning back to it. You helped him with the second one, and then he did the third and fourth alone, cheering with so much enthusiasm about it that several of your relatives celebrated with him.
He whisked the batter up, flipping the ones already cooking, and stacking them up on a plate before ladling out the batter he’d made. By the time they were finished, he was so eager to try the first thing he’d ever cooked that he almost burned his fingers as he snatched one up. Blowing on it hastily, he took a large bite, huffing some further breaths to cool it down.
“So good.” He groaned, taking another large bite. Following as you took the plate to the dining table, lots of food was already laid out, your grandparents beginning to pile up their plates, and parents dishing up for their kids.
“Sit down, get some of your pancakes while they’re still hot and there’s still some there.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, sinking into a seat and grabbing for a plate. You sat with him, and soon, the whole family was gathered around, filling plates and chatting happily as the sleepiness wore away and the festive excitement settled in.
Chatter went on around you both as Mattheo gave it his best go to eat his body weight in bacon and pancakes, only pausing when you reminded him that there was still plenty of food left to go over the course of the day. He was happy to sit and listen to the conversation going on around him, but when the attention turned to him, he stuttered over his words.
He was nervous to answer any questions that came to him, your hand sliding into his under the table and pulling it onto his lap. It took him several questions to realise that they weren’t bothered by his family name. In fact, nobody asked him about his father, or his mother. He had one question about Tom, but only with respect to him being a brother, not a Riddle.
When this realisation washed over him, the way he lit up was obvious. Nervous responses became animated ramblings, talking with excitement and purpose as he responded to every attempt anyone made to get to know him.
He admitted to your Uncle Jamie that, no, he’d never been fishing. Your father asked him about his grades at school, and your mother berated him, before asking Mattheo about his favourite classes instead. Your Auntie Sally told him all about how she had been sorted in Gryffindor while her brother Steven had been Slytherin. They had epic battles on the Quidditch pitch, no pulled punches, and wondered if that rivalry still lasted. Your Uncle Steven asked him what his hobbies were, and he shyly admitted how much he loved art, which led to your grandad waking back up from his dozing just in time to start telling the same old story about the two-month spell he’d spent as a police sketch artist in the fifties.
He seemed more than happy to talk, settling into the dynamic of the room, and you took your plate to the kitchen, tidying it away. With a kiss on his cheek, you let Mattheo know you were finally going to change.
By the time you stepped back into the room fifteen minutes later, the children were frantically tugging at their adult’s arms to go back through for gifts, the sugar rush starting to kick in. Mattheo was helping to gather dishes away, arms out as your Auntie Sally piled plates and bowls into his arms, his eyes wide as she spoke to him about something.
You followed them through to the kitchen, not failing to miss the occasional drop of your name in the conversation, clearing your throat dramatically and stealing the spotlight. Your Aunt only grinned over her shoulder conspiratorially, unstacking the dirty dishes from Mattheo’s arms into the soapy water of the sink. Mattheo, however, sagged with relief as you appeared. The moment his arms were clear, he was sweeping back over to you, taking a handful of your Christmas jumper and tugging you to his side.
You stumbled along after him out of the room. “The second you left the room, they were all over me. What are my intentions, what are my feelings, when will I ask you out—” His voice hit a shrill note, and you chuckled, unclenching his hand from the material of your sweater.
“I made it very clear to them before today that we weren’t dating. You don’t need to worry about that, they’re just messing with you.”
“I wasn’t— I wasn’t worried, so much as intimidated! They’re scary people.”
“Are you trying to imply I’m not scary?” You tease, taking the edge off of his nerves as he rolled his eyes, focusing on that instead of the conversation you’d just freed him from.
“Oh, I’ve seen you in action. You’re terrifying when you want to be.” He muttered, leaning down to rest his forehead on your own, voice dropping low. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way Draco screamed when you filled his bed with grass snakes.”
“Yes, well, perhaps that’ll teach him not to steal my skin products just because his own ran out.”
“Come on, you two. Presents time.” Sally emerged from the kitchen, clapping her hands and smirking, and you groaned. Taking Mattheo’s hand and guiding him through to the living room, you snatched up a seat on one of the sofas quickly, Mattheo squeezing in beside you.
Children were already tearing into their presents, ribbons and bows and paper were already scattered around the room in a messy storm. Your mother pottered through with a tray of mugs, your father following, and you smiled gratefully as she passed you a mug of herbal tea.
As the mayhem went on, Mattheo settled back into the sofa, tugging your wrist closer to himself and sniffling the contents of your mug before taking a sip. He was perfectly happy to sit back and watch gifts be opened, to gather wrapping paper from your presents onto his lap and scrunch them up into balls.
Until one of the toddlers, Elliot, pulled out a gift from under the tree and flipped the label over. He struggled over it for a while, sounding out the sounds he could see written down. “Math..ee. Matt-ee-oo.” He mouthed around the word as Mattheo stiffened beside you. “Matthew.”
His head snapped up, looking straight to Mattheo as his mother corrected him softly, lowering her camera from filming him and pointing. Elliot carried the gift over, placing it into Mattheo’s hands, before dashing back to the tree to search for more gifts of his own.
Mattheo smoothed his fingers over the paper and ribbon, flipping the tag over to be sure, as if he didn’t quite believe it. Your handwriting neatly scrawled his name on the paper, and his eyes flickered up to you. “You did this?”
“Mhm. Open it.”
You pulled up your legs, tucking them underneath yourself and watching excitedly as he ran he tugged at the bow. Undoing the ribbon, he curled it up carefully, setting it aside next to his leg and flipping it over. Running his fingers over the edges, on the left side, they bumped along, and a smile cracked on his face. He repeated the motion, feeling more firmly through the wrapping. “Is this was I think it is?”
“Open it and find out.” You poked him with your toes, and he pushed his fingers under the folds of the paper, opening the seals and tearing it away from what was inside. He stared at it once it was free, fingers dusting across the ornate cover, flipping it open to look through the blank pages, to admire the paper quality.
“You got me a new sketchbook?”
“Hm. Not just any sketchbook, though. It’s an enchanted one. It’ll never run out of blank pages.” His jaw dropped, turning back to look at it.
“I’ve never— I didn’t even know such a thing existed. Where did you get it?”
“An art store, at Diagon Alley. I was just going to get you a regular one, but then I found this.” You shrugged, and his eyes were glistening when he looked up again.
“I love it. Thank you.” He clutched it to his chest, never looking away, not hiding his emotions this time even as his nose scrunched up a little and he sniffed. The busy noise and action went on around you both, but as he stretched on hand out to squeeze yours, it was like the two of you were all alone. Emotion clogged in your throat, your chest ached for him, such a visceral reaction to such a small gift. Tipping your head toward the tree, you laughed lightly. “There’s a couple more over there for you.”
“What?” His voice was shaky, glancing at the Christmas tree as some of the others gathered around it now, the children done and satisfied as they began to pay with all their new toys amongst the mess.
“Go on, go and get involved.” When he hesitated, a smile breaking free on his face, you encouraged him again, and he took a seat beside your mother by the tree, one more look back at you before beginning to search for the ones with his name on in the pile.
You opened and smiled at the gifts you were handed, grateful for them all as your family passed presents around, but you were distracted.
Distracted, watching the joy on Mattheo’s face as he opened another present, looking up at you as he opened a new set of colourful quills and chalks, the blush on his face when he unwrapped an ornament with ‘Baby Boy’s First Christmas’ written on. He glared at you with red cheeks, but held it carefully, and searched for a spot to hang it on the tree at your mother’s insistence. Distracted as you pulled out your phone, taking covert pictures of Mattheo with one of the biggest smiles you’d ever seen him wear.
He found another, settling it on his lap, his attention diverted as Jess’ son Aiden tugged at Mattheo’s sleeve, shoving a toy racecar into his face. Mattheo was polite, asking all kinds of questions, letting the boy run the car up and down his arm, and over his face, even as the small tyres went in his eye. When he finally grew bored of tangling the model Ferrari in Mattheo’s hair, he pointed at the gift still sitting in his lap.
Mattheo lifted it, showing it to him as Aiden slumped down across Mattheo’s shoulders lay across his back and tugging at the ribbon. He helped to open it, and while Mattheo’s face lit up, Aiden’s scrunched up, turning to glare at you on his new friend’s behalf.
“Ew, Auntie (Y/N), why did you get him a colouring book? Colouring books suck.”
Your laughter was hidden by Mattheo’s even as Jess scolded her son, and he stood, bringing it back over to you as his amusement died down. It was no ordinary book, it was a stress therapy colouring book, and by the way he was already flicking through the drawings inside, you could tell he liked it.
Stacking it on top of the sketchpad with his new quills and chalks. He reached for your mug, taking it from your hands and putting it down on the table by the sofa before tugging you up. Your body flew into his with the force of it, his arms wrapping around you tightly, and his face buried in your neck.
“Thank you.”
“Just a couple of gifts.” You smile, rubbing his back gently as he sank further into your touch, leaning his weight onto you. Your friendship group had already exchanged presents before leaving for the holidays, you’d done a Secret Santa exchange, and you’d given Blaise a new phone case and a basket full of chocolates.
“It’s so much more than that, stop playing it casual.” He muttered, words vibrating along your skin. With one final squeeze, he pulled back, the two of you dropping down onto the sofa, and you kicked your legs out across his lap comfortably. He reached for his new sketchpad, cracking open one of the new quills, a green one, and adjusting you. He propped your legs up on his lap to lean his book on, his head falling to your shoulder as his side pressed to your torso, and that oh-so-serious look took over his face once again as he began to sketch.
Sketching the Christmas tree.
Weaving your hand into his hair, you found yourself slipping back into that place where only you and he existed for a while, scratching lightly at his scalp and sitting still as he drew.
He stayed like that for a long while.
Long enough for the sun to start properly rising across the sky, and the Church bells on the horizon to start ringing. The children had rushed off to start a new game, and the group had dispersed through the house to keep up with their own activities. He’d long since finished his drawing, and was now lying quietly on your shoulder, your hand still in his hair, his eyes closed as he rested, mumbling responses to the conversation the two of you were barely carrying.
“I hate to disturb you two,” Your mother said, in a tone that suggested she very clearly did not hate to do such a thing, a grin on her face as she poked her head around the doorway, “But we’re about to start the baking. Did either of you wish to join us?”
Mattheo lifted his head, looking at you eagerly, and your hand slipped down to his shoulder as you pushed him upright again. “Go, make cookies.”
He stood, stretching out stiffened limbs. “Will you come too?”
You hadn't planned on it, much preferring to sit back and maybe take a nap. But, Mattheo was excited, and you’d long since decided that today was all about him. You could spare one Christmas to make him happy in ways he’d never forget. “Of course I will.”
He took on a happy look, and the two of you made your way to the kitchen side by side. Your mum left the doorway from where she ‘was not watching’, walking ahead. “So, what are we making?” Matt asked as the three of you joined the other few who had volunteered in the kitchen.
“We have brownies over here, cookies on the island, and apple pie being made on the table over there. Take your pick, sweetie.”
“Uh… cookies?”
“Perfect. You’ll work with me.” She took his arm by the elbow, pulling him towards the island in the centre of the room. You took over at the brownie station, washing your hands before joining in.
He put all of that polite, well-trained behaviour to good use as he chatted up a storm with your female relatives. They all loved him, laughing at his jokes and listening intently to his stories as he worked, barely aware of the attention that was on him as he stirred the bowl. Meanwhile, you spent the majority of the time trying to fight off all the little hands trying to reach up and snatch chunks of chocolate from the chopping boards, and stealing the bowls to lick.
You did, at least, manage to snap a picture of Mattheo with his cookie cutter before he spotted you.
The children were clamouring for the dishes by the end. You were elbow-deep in soapy water and washing, a tray of hot brownies and out, cookies cooling, and more batches already in the oven as several pies sat out waiting for later. Mattheo was talking to one of your older Aunts, charming her with boyish tales of him and Theo and Draco, when she took the brownie batter bowl out of a sprinting Aiden’s hands from where he had grabbed it and run.
He wailed loudly as his plot was foiled and she tutted at him. “Thieves don’t get treats, Aiden. You should’ve asked nicely. Only the nice boys get to lick the spoon.”
He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, and knowing better than to fight back. She then turned back to the conversation, and held it out to Mattheo. “Matt, dear, would you like it?”
“Me?” He was as astonished as Aiden, taking the bowl and the spoon slowly and bringing them close to himself. You’d told your family a little more than you let on to Matt. You’d told them just enough to know that he didn’t typically have a good Christmas, that one of your favourite times of the year was one of his worst, and you wanted to make that better for him today.
He picked up the spoon, licking the batter off happily, and crouching down with the bowl in his hands, holding it to Aiden. Swiping his finger through it, your nephew was pleased once again, and soon enough, Mattheo had a swarm of children hanging from him as he made the mistake of sharing something sugary.
When he finally emerged, notably sans bowl, he wandered over to you, dropping the spoon in the sink. His jaw dropped to speak to you, attention stolen by the tugging of a small hand on his sleeve. Mabel was peering up at him, holding his colour therapy book in her other hand, and lifting it up.
“Can I colour in’y’book w’you?” She mumbled quietly, and your heart burst in your chest as he slipped his hand down to take hers carefully.
“Of course.” He let himself be guided away, back to the living room with Mabel, and your head dropped, hiding the smile as you continued to wash up.
Jess leaned on the counter beside you, a cloth in her hands from where she’d helped with the rest of the cleanup, and you turned to look up at her.
“I like him. He’s sweet.”
“You should see the pranks he pulls at school, he’s a menace.” Your joke amused her, a low sound leaving her as she wiped at the counters around you both for excess flour.
“Yeah, but, I still think he’s a sweetheart. And he’s into you, that much is clear.”
“Don’t start with this,” You groan, drying off your hands as the last of the monumental amount of washing up was completed. “I told you, we’re friends.”
“Yeah, just friends.” She shrugged, “But just because that's all you are right now, doesn’t mean that’s all you’ll ever be, or all you want to be. I see the way you look at him. You like him.”
“He’s pretty. Every girl looks at him like that.”
“No,” She shook her head, and you couldn't bear to look at her as she read you like a book. Instead, you began prepping a new mug of hot chocolate. “You look a him like you think his soul is pretty, not just him.”
“Shut up.” Her poetic words made you blush, and she closed in on you, ready to make the final strike. “Don’t you dare—”
“You looove him. You got a big, fat crush on him.”
“I will push you off your broom myself.” Your scowl didn’t ward her away, she was only torn from smirking at you as your mother began to unload the next set of food to start being prepared for dinner. The turkey was already in, had been for hours, but she began to unstack pigs and blankets as trays of sausage meat stuffing onto the surface.
Swiping up the mug, you followed the rumbling of Mattheo’s deep voice through the house. Sat on the floor of the snug, Mabel was lying on her stomach by his side as she coloured as neatly as possible onto the first page of his colouring therapy books with her crayons. Aiden was under his arm, holding up the instruction manual of a new Lego set, as a half-built model sat in front of them.
Elliot was playing with some of Aiden’s toy cars, and eight-year-old Jessop was lying on the sofa, reading a book. Knocking two knuckles on the door, five heads all snapped up to look at you. Mattheo smiled as you stepped into the room, and Aiden grumbled at his distraction, going back to the Lego even as Mattheo pulled away.
You offered him the new cup of hot chocolate, and he smiled as he accepted it, taking a sip.
“You know the men are all gathered in the living room watching some movie about cars. They have a lot of beer, and an empty seat, if you want to join them.” You sang the words enticingly, hands on his hips as you swayed him to the beat of your melody.
“What will you be doing?” He stepped a little closer, free hand going to your waist, too.
“I’ll help my mum with the cooking.”
“Can’t I help you cook, instead?” His whisper brushed your cheek as he leaned into place a kiss there, and your heart stuttered in your chest, taking you a moment to recompose yourself as he pulled back with a smile.
“Of course you can… if that’s what you want, but you don’t have to. You’re here to have fun.”
“What makes you think I’m not having fun?” He mused, peering at you over the rim of the mug as he took a sip. “I’m having a ton of fun. Best Christmas ever, all thanks to you. I just want to be wherever you are today.”
“Well, then I guess we’ll be in the kitchen,” Your words are hardly audible as you say them, swallowing back the emotion in your throat as he held eye contact.
“I guess we will, sweetheart.”
You turn to walk away, Mattheo following behind you as you lead him back to the kitchen.
He was more than welcome once again, immersed straight into girl talk as your relatives grumbled and complained over their husbands. Mattheo put his suspiciously good rolling habits to use, wrapping sausages tightly in strips of bacon, and almost choking when your mother complimented his skills.
He tried to hug you with raw hands, chasing you around the kitchen until your mother scolded him playfully, calling him back and having him lift the meats from the oven to be re-basted.
He was chopping and peeling potatoes, nudging back and forth with his hip as you worked beside him, when your already-exhausted-looking Uncle Jeremy peered into the kitchen, Elliot dangling upside down from his shoulder.
“The film ended. We’re going to take the kids out for a walk and burn off some of this energy. Anyone want to join?”
He looked like he was desperately waiting for them to tire out so the drinking could start, Elliot climbing all over him like a playground frame and your mother shooed you both away. “You can go, c’mon. Go for a walk, let your grandparents and I have some time.”
The kitchen cleared out, shoes and coats and scarves were put on, and then you were all trudging out into the snow as your father shut the door, hands in his pockets as he followed you down the frozen garden path. Mattheo wore an old coat he’d borrowed from your father, zipped right up as he kept his chin tucked down inside it, hands buried in his pockets.
“Oh, don’t pout, Matty. You’ve had colder than this.”
“How did we end up out here? I was cosy inside five minutes ago.” He pressed his hands even tighter into the coat as you linked an arm through his, snuggling up to his side as you followed the others along toward the fields you’d roam across for a while.
“My mum does this every year. We always host, but she kicks everyone out so she can check on my grandparents, and take a break for herself. She’ll have a large glass of wine, sit down in front of the fire, and watch an episode of whatever her latest reality TV show is, before we all come back.” The grass crunched under your feet as you stepped out onto the frozen fields, glittering and icy as far as you could see. “It’ll help you work up an appetite for the meal, though.”
“Your mother nearly gave me a heart attack when she asked me where I learned to roll pigs in blankets like that for someone who’s ‘never cooked a day in his little life’.” He produced his hands to make air quotes around his words, and only tucked one back into his pocket. The other, he took yours with, lacing your fingers together, and rubbing his thumb over your own.
“I know. Your face was priceless. I actually got a picture of it.”
“If anyone ever sees that picture, I’ll hex you.”
“You mean it wasn’t okay for me to send it straight to the group chat? Oops.” He stuck out his tongue, but sighed, taking in the countryside around him as you walked through it.
“You grew up here?”
“Nice, isn’t it? You murmur, looking around and letting the nostalgia wash over you as your thumb wrestled with his absentmindedly. “There’s a river nearby. We used to go down there as kids, this big group of us who lived here. We’d have picnics, and wade in the water and play on the rope swing.”
“Sounds fun.” He sighed, and you squeezed his hand, no words to comfort him coming to mind. He’d had no such freedom in his childhood, you knew as much from the snippets he or Tom would accidentally drop before they could stop themselves. “Sometimes I would walk around the grounds of the estate, but we were only allowed out if it was dry so we wouldn't get dirty.”
Resting your chin on his shoulder, you hugged his arm, snuggling into him as much as you could while still ambling on behind your chatting family. “Oh, Matty…”
“Normally, I hate hearing that. The sad, pitying voices.” He murmured, before twisting to face you, the tips of your noses brushing. “But when it’s you, I kinda’ like it. You don’t feel condescending, you just feel caring.”
“That’s because I do care.”
“I know.” He smiled, turning to face forward once again, and you rested your cheek on his shoulder instead, making it easier to walk along, huddled into his side.
You remained in silence for a while, letting him soak it all in, pausing occasionally to take a picture or two of him looking at things. Even when he walked away, to pick up fallen pinecones, or to look at initials carved into a tree, he still came back every time, to where you patiently waisted, his hand finding yours or tucking you back under his arm each time.
You were in the middle of taking several photos of him petting a walker’s dog when your father stopped, hands on his hips as he stared up at the greying sky overhead.
“It’s going to start snowing.”
Mattheo’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he let the dog go, running to catch its owner. “How can you tell?”
The excitement was clear in his voice, standing up and brushing his gloveless hands off on his jeans. You snorted, he’d really done it now. “Dad has a sixth sense about these things.”
“You see, my boy, those clouds up there are called nimbostratus clouds.” He pointed upwards, hands on his hips as Mattheo adopted a similar stance, copying him and staring up at the sky. “They’ve been settling in all day, and now the sky is full. Not to mention, it just dropped a degree or two a minute ago. Now, it’s not that perceptible when it’s already this cold, but I’m good with temperatures, you know. And it always drops a degree or two right before it precipitates.”
“And, how do you know it’s snow, not just rain? Or do those kinds of clouds only make snow?”
You laughed again, linking your arm through Mattheo’s, and he twisted his head to press a kiss to your temple. He stiffened a moment later, just as you did, and you wondered if he realised what he’d done at all until after. He didn’t take it back, though. Instead, he relaxed a second later, still listening to your dad talk about how he just knows, can feel it in his bones when the snow comes.
“So, how many different types of clouds are there?” Mattheo asked after listening to the whole explanation.
That was how you spent the entire walk back getting to hear about all the different types of cloud formations. To his credit, Mattheo seemed to be genuinely soaking up every word your father said. He had questions, and opinions, which span off into a new chat about the water cycle and glaciers.
It was only when you were ten minutes out from home that your father’s prophecy came true, and snow began to fall in heavy flakes from the sky. The children squealed excitedly, and Mattheo caught the flakes in the palms of his hands, watching each one melt against his skin with a small smile on his lips.
Finally, as everyone stepped back into the warmth to shake off the snow, and stomp mud off of their boots, it was like a stampede to get to the fireplace and warm up. Shaking out his hands and flexing his fingers, you took your time unwinding your scarf, hanging it up with your coat and peeling off your gloves.
His cheeks, nose and hands were pink, and he was rubbing at his arms to warm up now that he’d taken off his coat.
“My hands are cold.”
“I can tell.” You took them in your own, rubbing his frozen skin lightly. His fingers trembled a little in your hold, chilled to the bone, and you lifted your cupped hands together to your face. Softly parting your hands, you blew warm air between them onto his skin, your cheeks flaring with warmth at the gasp he made.
Rubbing again, you repeated the actions until the shaking of his hands stopped, and you finally chanced a look up at him. He was staring down at you, eyes practically glittering and lips parted. He seemed lost for words for a moment, toying with the thoughts in his mind before finally settling. “I like it when you fuss over me.”
He took his hands back, tucking them faster than you could stop him under the back of your jumper, cold fingers splaying across your back as he tugged you into his body. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, cold nose dragging along your skin. No matter how much you groaned and wriggled, his grip was tight, chilling you with him as he stole your body heat.
Eventually, you just gave in, sighing as you stroked his back, letting him snuggle in for warmth rather than fight for a space next to the fire. Amongst the woodsy smell of his cologne, and the gingery pine scent of the Christmas candles your mum burned every year, something else lingered in the air.
Berries, citrus fruit, and spices.
“I think mum made mulled wine.” Your words were right beside his ear, and at that, he raised his head, scrunching his nose sweetly a couple of times before sniffling the air. “Want some?”
“I’ve never had any. Is it good?”
“Seriously? Matt!” Grabbing behind yourself for one of his hands, you hurried him through the house. Just as you’d suspected the morning’s tanker of hot chocolate had been swapped out, and now, a steaming vat of mulled wine replaced it.
Grabbing two glass mugs, you set them out, pouring some from the little tap, and passing it to him by the handle. The cinnamon and orange smell so much stronger in the air now, and you moaned under your breath as you breathed in the steam.
He held the mug in his hands, not even seeming to feel the heat seeping through as he blew on the surface, several times, before taking a tentative sip. You waited for his reaction, practically on the edge of your seat, if you’d had one.
“It’s…”
“It’s..?” You burst, waiting for his reply, and he dragged it out just to tease you.
“It’s really good.” He eventually caved, taking another sip, and another, as you cheered. “Don’t ever tell my boy Theo I said that. He’d skin me alive. He hates the idea of mulled wine and refuses to touch it. It’s an insult to his Italian heritage, he says.”
“So is cream in carbonara, breadsticks, and chicken mince lasagne.” You scoffed, and he grinned at that.
He drank some more, the two of you sipping quietly on your glasses, before hearing the opening tunes of a movie on the TV. Refilling your glasses, you headed through. The room was only half full, some sat about chatting in the dining room, others upstairs, and some likely in the snug or their bedrooms. It left you plenty of space to lie out across one of the couches, stretching happily, and your toes didn’t even reach the other end.
The kids were all gathered around on the carpet, and Mattheo paced slowly behind you, with no attention on his movements but all his attention fixed on the animations taking place on the screen. He sat next to your legs nudging them up into the cushions before twisting and leaning back, settling himself against you with his head on your shoulder, back to your chest, as he continued to watch.
He didn’t see your flushed cheeks or your shy surprise, not as you hid your face behind him from the watchful eyes of the few members of your family that were in here, too. Reaching for one of the rolled-up blankets along the back of the couch, you shook it out, spreading it over his body for an extra layer of warmth. He made a happy sound, shuffling back further into you, and letting the hand not holding his cup fall to clasp your calf by his hip, stroking slowly.
Your arms crossed over his chest, giving up on what little pretence you had. This day would already be one of your favourite memories that you made, you might as well give into the full depth of what you wanted, and really make it the best it could be. Whether anything came from it or not, you’d still have this moment, cuddling with him on the sofa as he watched The Snowman for the first time.
Your fingers ran through his hair, tugging out wind-tangled knots loosely, and playing with the curls around your fingers. You were oh-so-fond of Mattheo’s natural hair, dipping down to bury your nose in the strands, and kiss to top of his head. He squeezed your leg again, tipping his head back enough to leave a kiss brushed on your chin, before quickly looking back to the screen, and finishing off his mulled wine.
Your cheek rested where your lips had once been, glancing around the room. Most of your relatives only gave you a small smile, while your mother winked at you, and your dad offered a thumbs up. You merely rolled your eyes, thankful for the dark of the room and that they couldn't see your blush.
By the end of the movie, Mattheo was turning to you, abject horror evident on his face, as everyone else seemed to get on like normal. “He melted?”
“He’ll be back next year, don’t worry.” You smile, and Mattheo shook his head, brows furrowed, a deep ridge between them that showed just how bothered he was by the ending.
“But he melted! How is that— I thought this was a child’s movie!”
“It is!”
“That’s like killing the dog in a Christmas movie.” He stuttered, trying to keep his voice low despite his growing concern. You left a kiss on his forehead in an attempt to hide your amusement from him.
“Then you’re gonna’ hate The Snowman and The Snowdog.”
“Say sike. You say sike right now, or I’m getting in that floo and going home.” He pointed in the direction of the fireplace, and your laughter broke out, spilling into uncontrollable giggles. He was not pleased with your laughing, even if he did wrap you up into his arms, smothering your face into his bicep and grunting unhappily. “You cruel, cruel woman. Finding joy in my misery.”
That only made you laugh more.
The day was going by too quickly for your liking, it felt like all you did was blink, and you found yourself instead sitting at the dining room table, Mattheo on one side, your Uncle James, Grandma Alice and Grandpa William teamed up with you as you tried to count through the Premier League teams before the other teams.
Someone else hit the buzzer first, and you cursed in a very unladylike manner that made your Grandpa chuckle.
Mattheo wasn’t much help with general knowledge, but he was enthusiastic. He tried as much as he could to participate in the rounds, and whenever he did happen to get something right, the look that took over his features was enough to light the night sky. He’d cheer, and kiss your cheek, and scribble the answers down on the big answers sheet you’d been assigned.
It went on and on, only ending when the timer went off for the turkey, and raucous shouting took over from every adult as the quiz was cut short. Mattheo was laughing, loud, his arm looped around your waist as he nestled you into his side, immersed in the noise and hubbub. One of your cousins was adding up the scores, and you already knew you hadn't won, but hearing all of the scores being read, you cringed at just how badly your team had done.
Mattheo laughed into your hair, the other arm hooking around your shoulders to pull you into him more fully.
“That was more insane than a Common Room party.” He grinned, spoken close to your ear, and you laughed.
“Why do you think I’m so good at handling you lot when you’re drunk and rowdy, hm?”
“I have never seen anyone corral drunk Italians like you.” He pulled back enough to peer down at you, and you smiled.
The moment was snapped away from you both by the clearing of the quiz sheets away. The pens and markers were being gathered by Aiden, while Mabel followed him around with a basket for him to drop them into. Once the seats were clear, the settings all started to come back, and you watched as the room was transformed once again from a disaster zone and back into an elegant eating space. Cutlery went down after the plates, napkins and glasses and a cracker at each space.
Mattheo was called away to help carry in bottles of wine, filling each glass around the table while the parents began to get the children settled in at their small table in the corner. Meals had already been prepared for them, a small chicken carved up between them all, a couple of roasties and just enough veggies that there would be no tears on Christmas Day.
Then, the adult table was filling up, you carried bowls of food back and forth; several different kinds of vegetables, potatoes, meats and gravies, sides and stuffings up and down until the table was full from one end to the other.
When you finally sat down and tucked your napkin down to cover your lap, Mattheo settled in beside you. He was checking out every bowl, the dish of roast potatoes you’d mentioned being most excited for seemed to have conveniently found itself placed right in front of you both, and he smirked into his wine as you mentioned as much.
Your father stood at the head of the table by the turkey, ready to carve, and the room fell quiet as all attention moved to him. Save for the ecstatic chatter of the children, that is. Your father held the meat-fork in one hand and the knife in the other, pausing just over the top of the turkey. Looking back up, he pulled back.
“Mattheo,” The man beside you still as he placed his glass down, and all attention fell to him. “Come and carve for us.”
Mattheo’s stumbled response was adorable, and he untucked his chair when your father repeated himself. He walked slowly toward the head of the table, taking the instruments from your father’s hands. He paused, splotches of read coming back to his face, but before he could admit to being lost, your dad was guiding him on where to poke and how to slice.
As soon as the first slice fell out and he lifted it off, clapping and cheering sounded around the room, and you made sure you were the loudest, his proud smile directed at you as he looked right at you. “First slice for you, sweetheart?”
You passed your plate along, all the way to get the meat from where he stood, before it was passed back to you.
He kept going, slicing again and again until his wrist hurt, and he put down the knife and fork carefully. Stepping back for your father to take over, he clapped Mattheo on the shoulder. “Good job, son.”
It was spoken mindlessly, casually, as your father got back to work carving the meats, but it meant the world to Mattheo. His jaw dropped, and for a second he was frozen. You were almost worried he’d bolt, before he was speeding back over to the chair and took his seat beside you once again. He didn’t mention it, but he did let out a shaky breath, and took a heavy gulp of wine as his hands shook.
Your hand landed on his thigh, stroking lightly as he reached for the bowl of potatoes. “You okay, honey?”
“Never been better.” His tone sounded flat but you believed his words, watching as he dished up some potatoes onto your plate and his, picking out the ones that looked the best to give to you. “I carved a turkey.”
“And did a mighty fine job of it too.”
“You think?”
“Mhm. I’m very impressed.” You served up carrots and parsnips and Mattheo did mashed potatoes, dishes swapping about across the table, up and down until everyone had what they wanted.
In a blur of good talk and food, you set into polishing off the plate before you, watching Mattheo try each and every item.
“What’s normally on your Christmas Dinner?”
“Uh… well, father goes hunting with his business partners in the week leading up to Christmas, and normally he makes me and Tom go too. He’ll choose the best pheasant from the day, and that’s served. Along with a turkey, gammon, beef, lamb, and some kind of vegetarian wellington or roast.”
You watched him slice off a piece of his turkey, eyes rolling a little as he hummed happily, combining it with a piece of stuffing.
“All the usual trimmings, too, to put on a show. But we weren’t allowed to eat them. Mother only let us have things that could be considered elegant.”
A snort left you, and he smirked. “What exactly is considered an elegant Christmas dinner food?”
“Things that can be eaten with a fork. Meat, roast potatoes,” He chopped smoothly down the centre of a crispy roast potato, stabbing it in one smooth move and putting it neatly into his mouth. “Stuffing and sprouts. That’s about it.”
“That’s awful! What about the pigs in blankets?”
“Roll around too much when you try to chop them.” He shrugged, and you scoffed.
“So do sprouts?”
“Ah, but sprouts are a classic Christmas dish, and mother is nothing, if not traditionally elegant.” He made a show of chopping into a pig in a blanket now, savouring it as he ate it. “First time I ever had a Yorkshire pudding was second year, Tom took me to a pub in Hogsmeade. Changed my life.”
“Matty…”
“Don’t feel too bad for me, sweets.” Turning to you, he dipped a little closer, a smirk on his lips as his voice dropped. “If I didn’t have my sad, pathetic life to tell you all about, I wouldn't have a sob story to use to get a pretty girl to fawn over me.”
“Oh, please,” You muttered, shaking your head to hide your blush as you turned back to your meal. “Now you’re just flirting.”
“I’ve been flirting this whole time, you just never want to see it.”
Your eyes rolled at his smirk, and you twisted away, tuning back into the conversation going on around the table.
Mattheo loved his dinner. He ate everything on his plate, and at your relatives’ encouragement, he had seconds. Christmas crackers were popped, jokes were read and the little toys were exchanged around the table until everyone had a useless trinket they were happy with.
He proudly wore a bright green paper crown on his head, and forced you to wear the orange one that popped out of your cracker too.
By the time he was nibbling his way through a third plate, his hand was on your thigh, squeezing as he sat slumped in his seat. Jeans unbuttoned under his sweater, he patted at his stomach, content and full. You dipped another roast potato in a pool of gravy on your plate, dragging it through slowly. Lifting it, you took a bite, and he tipped his head, lips parting for the next bite.
You offered it to him, and he pulled the bite from the fork, chewing with a hum as he listened to the storytelling of the previous Christmas’ that was now taking place.
Before the food took you out into a food coma, your mother forced clean-up to take place. Bin bags were stuffed full, gifts were tidied away to respective cars and bedrooms, and the washing up was done, the table was cleared. When everyone put their minds to it, it didn’t take long, and you found Mattheo stacking the lad of the leftover tubs into the fridge.
“We’re going to put some more movies on, and drink mulled wine ‘til we get tipsy. You staying for that?”
“Wild horses couldn't drag me away.” Mattheo smiled, turning to you as your arms wrapped around one of his, guiding him back to the living room before all the seats had been taken. You sat down first, and he quickly found a home leaning on your chest once again, your arms crossed over his chest, and one of his hands laced with your own.
The other rubbed up and down your forearm slowly, getting himself comfortable as he groaned, spreading out as much as he could. “Did you eat too much?” You teased, and he pinched your arm, shaking his head.
“I will never be defeated by food.” Despite his claims, he shifted once again, lowering into the couch cousins. Wine was handed out, the lights turned down, and Love, Actually began to play. Clearly, Grandma Judie had chosen the movie.
That statement came to haunt him halfway through, though, when your mother arrived with a cheeseboard, handing out small plates, and pressing one into his hands. He was ever so polite, he’d never turn it down, and as she passed the box of crackers around to him, he piled three neatly onto the side of the plate.
“Take more than that, dear. Come on.” She encouraged, and you hid your face against the top of his head to hide your laughter, as he added another three. Then came the cheese, and you swore you could feel Mattheo’s hesitation as he added slices and cubes of various cheeses to his plate, all under your parent’s watchful gaze to make sure he was taking enough.
As he settled back, you brushed a kiss to his temple, and he tipped his face up towards you a little more. A smile was on his lips, the plate untouched and balanced in his lap.
“You sure you’re not being defeated?”
“Me? Never.” He grinned, lifting a cracker with a slice of mature cheddar on up to you. “I made sure to get enough for us both, don’t you worry.”
You didn’t have a chance to argue, the moment your mouth was open, he was forcing the savoury snack into your mouth, a wicked glint in his eye as you chewed slowly. Over mulled wine and cheese nibbles, the movie finished and another one began, this time chosen by one of your cousins. It was more upbeat, not a classic like the last had been, and there had almost been a row over it.
Classic, or new. Mattheo had sat back and watched in astonished amusement as comments were thrown around the room in an argument for which was better. Eventually, a coin was flipped, and half the room had to grumble and accept it as the other half sat smugly.
The night was fully upon you by now, darkness had taken over as the evening ticked by. The curtains were drawn, candles were lit, and both your sets of grandparents had called it a day and gone up to bed already. The babies had long since fallen asleep too, setting a kind of quiet and peace over the house.
Mattheo had gone still in your arms a long time ago, dozing between sleep and awake, finally having conceded after his second cracker and left the plate alone on the coffee table. You were sure he’d never admit it, though.
You were comfy and happy. With the weight of him pressing down against you, and the blanket you’d thrown over your bodies covering you both and keeping you snug, you were sure that this was what you’d call perfect.
The smell of spices and apples filled the house, your excitement renewing toward the end of the second movie as the time ticked on. Most of the children had fallen asleep, bowls of ice cream left on the kitchen counter from their own desserts, and long since tucked into bed to sleep.
Your Aunt got up to check the oven, and moments later she called to let you all know that the treats from earlier in the day had finished cooking. “Mattheo.” You nudged, excitement racing through you, and the man in your arms stirred a little. He grunted, rolling over slightly and gripping one of your arms a little more firmly. “Matt!”
“Not right now, sweetheart. M’ sleeping.” He muttered, huffing a heavy breath out, and you chuckled.
“You’re gonna’ miss dessert, though.”
That got his attention, one eye cracking open, quickly followed by another, and he sniffed at the air. “Smells good.”
“Mhm, so get up, and we can go and get some.”
Your family had already begun filing through to the kitchen, a new excitement surrounding the food as chatter took back up, laughter and new energy taking over. By the time you finally managed to join them, all of the various tray-bakes and puddings had been dug into, and you snatched up a plate to begin serving some to yourself. Some apple pie at one corner, some brownie at another, a scoop of ice cream in the idle, and a stack of cookies at the edge.
Mattheo shuffled in a few moments later, sleepy and stretching, trying to hold in a yawn as he looked around. Upon finding you, he made his way over, slumping down to rest his head on your shoulder as you plucked two mismatched spoons from what was left in the cutlery drawer.
Handing him one, he sighed, breaking off a large chunk of brownie and some ice-cream, before finally raising his head and eating the spoonful. With a groan, he told you just how good he thought it was, and went back in for more before even finishing his mouthful.
The two of you shared the plate between quiet chatter, talking about his day, as Mattheo recounted for you almost every moment. His eyes were sparkling as he got a second helping of brownie for you both, forcing his spoon between your lips when teased him for his excitement, and wiping the edge of your mouth when you glared at him. He was so light, bursting with a kind of happiness you rarely ever saw in him.
So much tended to weigh Mattheo down, so much of the time. He was a person who was burdened with struggles and troubles, and while he was exceptionally good at making the most of it, and finding silver linings, sometimes, it would eat away at him after too long. Darkness would crawl in at the edges, in the form of exhaustion and temper and emotional outbursts, and you’d find him staving off a panic attack with a cigarette between his lips, leg unable to keep from bouncing as he stood atop the astronomy tower.
He didn’t look hopeless and world-weary now, though. Right now he looked happy. Full of the kind of happiness that lit a person up from the inside out. He looked like he was at peace, even as he stood huddled with you in the corner of your kitchen eating a shared piece of brownie, while your family around you began to trickle out as the night went on.
Soon enough, even one more bite of sugar was too much, and you were slumped lazily back onto the couch. Mattheo was lying half across you as the last of your aunts and uncles quietly carried their snoozing children to the fireplace of the cars, ready to floo or drive home. Each and every one of them had bid him a goodbye, telling him how nice it was to meet him as he returned the sentiments with red cheeks and a bashful smile.
“I suppose it’s my turn to go now.” He mumbled, your fingers running once through his hair, and your mother poked her head out of the kitchen where she’d been chatting with your aunties who were staying, over a cup of tea. At least, you thought they’d been chatting, clearly, she’d been eavesdropping.
“Oh, Mattheo-dear, you’re not staying over? We thought you would.”
“You did?” He sat upright a little more, eyes wide, and your mother only nodded to him. “I’d like that… as long as I wouldn't be a burden to you.”
“A burden? ‘Course not, dear. You’re a treat to have, and an extra set of hands on Boxing Day is always handy.” She hummed, clearly pleased with her meddling as she disappeared. Mattheo accio’d for a notebook and a pen, sending a lazily scribbled note addressed to his housekeeper through the floo, to inform them of where he was staying for the night.
As he stood by the fireplace, folding the note and waiting for the flames to change colour, you wrapped your arms around him. Pressing your face between his shoulders, he sagged back into you, relaxing into your touch.
Orange flickered to green, and he tossed the note in, watching it disappear to ash in the flames in a split-second, before the warm glow was back.
“Come on, Matty. Let’s go upstairs.” You whispered, and he slipped a hand down to take one of yours from his stomach, lacing your fingers together. Lifting your hand up, he issued the back of it, before turning, and letting you guide him away upstairs.
You guided him through the house, the floorboards squeaking quietly under your feet in certain spots. “You can stay with me.” You murmured quietly, and he only nodded.
Opening up the door to your bedroom, his eyes immediately started flicking from one corner to the other, taking in every detail. It was fairly sparse these days, most of your most important possessions came to Hogwarts with you, and everything else, you’d had a big clear out of. Your skincare bottles were all lined up along the dresser, your laptop on the nightstand, and a few half-burned candles littered around.
One thing you always had, was candles.
Gathering the bottles you’d left out, you slipped away to the bathroom to get ready for bed before exhaustion took over.
When you returned, Mattheo was looking through the drawers of your wardrobe. “Searching for something, or just looking for all my dirty secrets?” You tease, and he jumped a little, but smiled as he turned to you.
“Where are your spare blankets?”
“Given out to all my cousins and relatives who are staying over. Why?” You pulled out a lighter from your nightstand drawer, moving from one candle to another and beginning to light them. He scratched at the back of his neck, and you raised a brow. “Matt, you’ll sleep in the bed, not the floor. Are you insane? It’s freezing, and uncomfortable.”
“I— Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You could never,” You murmur, flicking the flame out once they were all done. Most of your drawers were half-empty, and it didn’t take long for you to search through and find an oversized sleep shirt for him. Unfortunately, it was pink. “You want something else to sleep in? I can lend you a shirt, but I don’t have any shorts that would… suit you.”
A flush rose to your cheeks and you actively fought any kind of mental images from passing through your mind. Particularly any that involved Mattheo, and a pair of booty shorts.
He accepted the pink tee with a grin, stripping his jumper off and over his head. Folding it neatly and leaving it on your dresser, his t-shirt followed, and he donned the hot-pink band shirt with a half-faded Taylor Swift setlist on the back.
“Enzo would love this shirt.” He muttered, frowning at you as he admired the huge print of her across the front. Undoing his belt, you quickly diverted your gaze, turning back to the bed and tossing throw-cushions out of the way. You heard the rustle of denim, the clink of his belt as he folded it, and then the squeaky steps on the floor as he crossed the room.
“Do you want to watch a movie before we sleep, or are you—” Arms curled your waist, his face pressed into your neck, and your words stuttered off as he tugged you back into himself firmly. “Matty?”
He shuddered against you, and you turned in his arms despite his tight hold, cupping his face and forcing his eyes up to your own.
“Mattheo?”
“Thank you. For today, thank you so much.” He leaned in, a kiss on your cheek so soft you could barely feel it. Then another, and another, firmer as he worked, muttering his thanks between kisses all over your face, mumbling his appreciation. His voice cracked as he kissed your forehead, and he sniffled as he moved down to your other cheek. “This was one of the best days of my life, thank you.”
“Matty honey,” You pulled back, enough to see his face as his water-lined eyes shone gold in the flicker of the flames around the room. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I wanted you here. I was so happy to have you here, this was perhaps the best Christmas I’ve ever had, too. Watching you be so happy, making you this happy, it made it so. I love seeing you smile.”
He hiccuped a sob, nodding a little as your thumb swept over your cheek. He attempted to choke back tears, and you shushed him quietly. “I didn’t— I didn’t get you any presents, I’m sorry—”
“Mattheo, stop. Please, look at me. See how happy I am right now.” His eyes scanned over your face, fighting the battle against the tears wanting to spill over. He was clinging to your waist, hands bunching at the sleep shirt you wore as he tugged you in a little closer. “Please smile. That’s what I want you to get me for Christmas. I got snow, I got my family, I got to see you. Now let me see you smile.”
He sniffled through a laugh, the lines of worry etched onto his face finally smoothing out. He smiled, watery and weak, but he smiled, letting out a heavy sigh.
“There he is, my pretty boy.” You pinched his cheek, his head tipping a little further into your hold, his eyes fluttering shut.
“I’m in love with you.” The worst bubbled from him in uh a rush they almost blurred together, but his body finally sagged, like he was losing the very tension that even kept him upright Swaying forward, his forehead fell to settle on yours, like he was collapsing. “I’m so, so fucking in love with you, and I just had to tell you that. After today, after everything, I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”
His nose nuzzled against your own as the words he’d said settled over you. “Oh, Mattheo. After all that I just said, you don’t know how I feel about you?”
“‘Course I do. Why do you think I finally had the courage to say it?” Tipping his head up, he kissed the tip of your nose, arms sliding properly around your waist.
“I love you, Mattheo.” You murmured, shifting up enough for your lips to brush his own, and he smiled against your lips.
“You are the best thing in my life, sweetheart.” His confession was followed by his mouth closing over your own. A kiss that emptied every part of your mind, you could only focus on him. The slow movements of his lips, drowning in the feel of him pressed up to you, mouths making slow motions as you crossed that line between friends and more.
He pulled back for a breath, and you chased after him. Your mouths collided once again, needy and desperate this time, his hand slipping up to tangle in your hair as the other slid low down your back. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself up to a better angle as your heart pounded against your ribs, a steady drum beat to match the rhythm of your lips.
This time, when your mouth slid from his own, he left kisses dotted along your jaw, panting onto your skin but unable to stop. Only when he had kissed down to your neck, face buried in your hair, did he pause Hugging you close, his chest rose and fell as he moulded you to his body, fingers massaging against your scalp as his hand still resided in your hair.
Eventually, the two of you shifted to the bed, tucking yourselves snugly under the covers, wrapped around one another as you balanced the laptop on your lap, pulling up a movie.
“What are we watching?” He whispered, between lazy kisses along your jaw, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger.
“I was thinking Arthur Christmas. I think you’d like it.”
“Huh,” He murmured, pulling back as you turned up the volume and set it between you both. “Kinda’ sounds like Father Christmas, doesn’t it?”
You laughed against your will, taking his face in your hands and pulling him in for another kiss. “Godamnit, you’re cute.”
Suffice to say, he loved that one, too.
As fate would have it, Mattheo Riddle has a soft spot for animated Christmas movies.
#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle/reader#mattheo riddle/you#mattheo riddle x you#harry potter#slytherin boys#benjamin wadsworth x reader#benjamin wadsworth/reader
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Text
— COOKIES
order #6 of the coffee shop series: a cookie
ingredients. y/n x barista!felix. he’s never had a gf before. hopeless pining on felix’s end. mostly fluff with some angst. also the boys keep trying to play shitty wingmen again.
allergies. making out and felix being awkward
size. 3.2k
special add ons. felix is a sociable, confident, kind barista at yellow wood café. but once you show up on one rainy day, you turn him into a mess.
you hadn’t prepared for the rain to come so quickly.
the forecast had said that it would only pick up in the afternoon, and you figured that you would be home by then. so of course, you had left your umbrella at home.
you decided to run into the nearest building, hoping to stay there until the rain had died down a little.
it was a coffee shop, one that you hadn’t been to before. you had no clue how you didn’t know the place existed. it seemed like just your type of hang-out spot.
the difference between the café and outside was stark. looking through the windows, it was gloomy and intense, while inside, the atmosphere was warm and cozy. the smell of coffee brewing and people chatting filled your senses.
“can i help you?” you had been staring off for a minute now, your entire body drenched in rain.
“sorry,” you apologized, “i was just looking for somewhere to be until the rain stopped.”
“you’re alright! could i get anything for you while you wait?”
your eyes stared the barista up and down. he was around your age— and was the epitome of sunshine. his features were gentle and strikingly beautiful.
his name tag read “felix.”
then, you drifted towards the menu on the counter, written in chalk, slightly smudged.
“are the cookies any good?” you questioned, staring at the cute plastic containers full of baked goods, specifically the heart-shaped chocolate chip cookies.
“well, i baked them myself, so they better be good.” felix’s shy smile told you that he was proud of his baking.
“i’ll buy one and see for myself.”
usually, the freckled barista wasn’t nervous at comments like these, but your gentle eyes made his heart flip in ways that he didn’t quite understand. “will that be all?”
“for now.”
he rang you up, handing you the cookies straight out of the container.
without waiting to sit down, you bit into the cookie.
two of felix’s fingers met his neck, checking his pulse quickly— a nervous habit of his.
but his nerves turned into excitement as your eyes lit up.
“i’ll take two more cookies and a mocha, please!”
felix couldn’t help but smile widely, “our muffins are really good too. we have blueberry and chocolate chip right now, but i’m working on a recipe for a cappuccino muffin.”
you cut his ramble short, “i’ll try both. and a brownie.”
“got a sweet tooth?” he rolled up the sleeves of his baby blue cardigan to begin making your mocha, “i don’t want you to get any cavities.”
“i’ll have just one bite of each and bring it home with me,” you reasoned, taking a stool at the bar, “i have nothing better to do, anyway. the rain says it’ll last for another hour.”
“so you’re gonna spend that hour taste-testing the treats?”
“i’ve never been here before, i better start working on my regular order.”
“will you be a new regular?”
“if the mocha is good. otherwise i think i’ll just go back out into the rain, i’m already drenched anyway.”
there you go again. causing felix to worry about how good his barista skills were in a way that nobody does.
he couldn’t help but drizzle a chocolate heart on top before handing it to you.
immediately felix jumped back. “your hands are freezing!”
“that’s what happens when you’re in the rain.”
you couldn’t help but chuckle at felix’s concern. it wasn’t bad at all.
“i think this goes against every rule we have here,” felix shrugged off his cardigan, throwing it across the counter.
immediately your quiet laugh died down, your stomach twisting with butterflies. mostly at how kind the freckled boy was, but you couldn’t ignore the way that the white shirt under it clung to him tighter.
“thank you.” you wrapped yourself in the cardigan, breathing in a faint scent of a fruity perfume, almost masked by the overwhelming smell of coffee.
“felix,” chan, his boss, nudged him with a grin, “did you just do what i think you did?”
if it were any other barista, they would’ve been scolded. but felix had taken up a large spot in chan’s heart, one that meant that he refused to rebuke the boy.
“she was cold! right, y/n?” he defended, “she just came in from the rain outside.”
“so you’re just gonna give every customer your clothes if they’re cold?”
you could see a faint red tint forming on felix’s ears, “well no! but she’s new, i wanted to give her a warm welcome.”
there was a familiar look in chan’s eyes, one that felix could spot from miles away. one of knowing.
“alright then. i’m glad you were able to earn us a new customer. even if it meant giving up your clothes.”
“do you have any paper?” you interrupted with a mouthful of muffin, “and maybe a pen too?”
felix was thankful that you saved him from chan. “yeah! i’ll get it for you. hold on.”
thirty minutes later, once a spot of sunlight through the clouds had appeared, you were gone.
felix glanced over at your spot, sadness pulling on his heart, full of what if’s.
what if you didn’t come back? what if that was the last time he would see you?
he noticed the piece of paper left behind.
the title read, “felix’s bakery ranking.”
first place was the cookies. second was the brownies. then the chocolate chip muffin, then the blueberry.
“she must love chocolate,” felix jumped at jeongin’s voice from behind him, “she also got a mocha, right?”
“how do you know? you weren’t even here.”
“chan was telling the group chat.”
“he was doing what?” felix reached for the phone in his back pocket to confirm his words.
“talking about how you were mesmerized by that girl.”
“was not!”
“you totally were,” chan patted his back, “i’ve never seen you smile that wide.”
“says a lot for how much he smiles.”
felix groaned as jeongin flipped over the scrap paper.
“see you at 3 tomorrow,” he read out, looking up at felix whose eyes widened, turning to chan.
“i don’t work tomorrow! can i work tomorrow?”
“so it isn’t just you being kind?”
“i need to get my cardigan back.”
“you’re a terrible liar. just admit that you want to see her again.”
“just schedule me to work tomorrow!”
the next day, felix was walking on clouds.
the boy normally walked with a pep in his step, serving customers with a comfortable kindness that nobody else could replicate, but today there was an extra hint of sweetness to everything that he did. even some of the most unobservant customers had pointed it out.
but each of the boys knew exactly why he was acting the way that he was, thanks to the messages that chan had sent.
as the vintage clock on the wall inched closer and closer to 3, felix became more dazed, clumsy even.
“are you sure that he should be working right now?” minho shot chan a questioning look.
“just let him get it out of his system.”
“but we’re cleaning up his spill messes all for a girl that he had one conversation with. he’s hopeless.”
“i don’t even think he’s had a girlfriend before.”
“really?” minho’s eyebrows raised, “with how all of the girls stick to him like glue?”
“i don’t think he knows how much of a heartthrob he is.”
chan glanced towards felix, who was busy chatting with two girls who had stopped by just a few minutes ago, “he’s clueless sometimes.”
the bell on the door rang as you stepped in, blue sweater in hand, eyes darting across the room to find the blonde boy who immediately abandoned his conversation.
“i came to return this,” you slid it across the counter, just as felix had done the previous day, “and get a cookie as well.”
“just the cookie?”
“and a mocha.”
“your total will be—“
“just give it to her for free,” chan whispered from behind, trying to help the frantic boy.
“it’ll be free today,” felix stumbled on his words, “and maybe i could heat the cookies for you too? they’re better warm.”
“that would be great,” you took a seat at the same spot as before, “your customer service is top tier. free service and a cardigan on a rainy day?”
“we try.” felix couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face, or take his eyes off of you.
even when you weren’t paying attention to him, typing on your laptop and munching on a cookie, he would stare at you, just barely hiding behind the espresso machine.
“why don’t you ask for her number?”
felix jumped as yet another barista appeared from behind him— something that had been happening too much recently. or perhaps he was just less focused on his surroundings.
“i can’t do that. what if she rejects me?”
“she would’ve let you down by now, do you know how obvious you’re making it?” hyunjin tried to reason with him.
“i guess that’s true, but i’m nervous. she’s really pretty.”
“so? you’re pretty too.”
felix gave the compliment a light laugh, “but she’s intimidatingly pretty.”
he kept an eye on the way your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, your finger tapping to the rhythm of the café’s record player on the table.
“you’re such a hopeless romantic. just get her number. she’s gonna leave again and you’re gonna be upset that you didn’t.”
“maybe.”
with those words in mind, felix shyly approached you, hands fumbling with the hem of his shirt.
“hey,” he started, almost chickening out just from your eye contact.
his fingers went to his throat, checking his pulse, “do you think i could get your number?”
when you stared at him in silent shock for a moment, he continued, “not as, like, a weird thing! i just want to be your friend.”
he could see hyunjin out of the corner of his eye, ready to pull out his hair in frustration.
your smile faltered, but you still took the phone from his hand, saving your name as y/n.
“text me later.” there was a hint of sadness in your voice that felix didn’t fail to pick up on, but he didn’t dare to comment on it.
he ran off into the back room, ready to scream over the most embarrassing, disappointing moment in his entire life.
hyunjin followed close behind, “felix! what the hell?”
“i got nervous!”
“so you decided to friend-zone her?”
“she could’ve friend zoned me first!”
“she obviously wasn’t going to!”
“but if she did then i think i’d die!”
hyunjin was close to slamming his head against the nearest wall. “i’m gonna die right now if you don’t walk back out there and tell her that you’ve spent the whole day thinking about how pretty she is!”
“she’ll think i’m weird!”
“then i’ll do it!” felix tried to hold him back but failed as hyunjin opened the door, only to be met with an empty spot where you used to be.
felix let go, his shoulders dropping.
“where is she?”
“i guess she left,” hyunjin turned to see his devastated friend.
“did i fuck up that badly?”
hyunjin bit his lip, trying not to make it worse for him than it already was. but the truth was that, yeah, he did.
“maybe she’ll be back.”
felix texted you that night while he sat in bed, deciding on, “hi it’s felix! :)”
he kept his cardigan next to him.
perhaps it was a little creepy, but he decided to sniff it. it smelled different than usual. perhaps that’s what you smelled like.
perhaps he would never even get to know what you smelled like.
tears brimmed his eyes as he shut off his phone, staring up at the fan on his ceiling, letting the noise drown out the eerie silence.
felix wanted to slap himself for being such an idiot. he had no problem talking to people, he was the most extroverted extrovert that an extrovert could get. but he couldn’t help but question everything he did in front of you, even if he had just met you.
you didn’t respond.
when felix showed up to work the next day, it was like the sunshine was hidden behind a rainy cloud.
he knew that it shouldn’t have affected him as much as it did. he knew that checking to see if he got a text every minute wasn’t normal, or whip his head toward the door every time a customer came in.
so felix spent another night in his bed, phone in hand, staring at the text that he sent.
would it just be easier to forget about you? it’s not like he had anything going with you anyway.
it was only when he set it down for the night and closed his eyes that it began to ring, and he sprang right back up, eyes widening as he stared at the caller ID.
it was minho.
“hello?” felix answered, voice filled with sleep.
“you were upset at work today,” he stated, “is it because of that girl?”
“you could see it?”
“everyone could. like we always do.”
“i’m just gonna try to forget about it.”
“don’t.”
“what do you mean?”
“you have her number, right? come clean, text her that you were nervous. ask to meet up.”
“like a date?”
“exactly. ask her on a date.”
felix chewed on his lip, anxiety clouding his judgment once again. would he have the courage to even do that?
“chan said that you’re not allowed to work until you sort out your sadness. and nobody wants to cover your shifts, man.”
when minho hung up the phone, felix laid back against his pillows, letting out a breath of air that he didn’t know he was holding. then he checked his pulse.
opening your texts, he began typing. ‘i lied. it was something weird. you’re really pretty. you can block me if you want.’
he deleted the message.
‘actually,’
no.
‘i meant to ask for your number in a not-friend-way,’
no.
‘sorry for the other day. i was anxious and said the wrong thing, but i really wanted your number because i think you’re gorgeous. do you want to go out sometime?’
he sent the message and resisted the urge to chuck his phone across the room. instead, he threw it back down onto the bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and squeezing it as hard as he could.
minutes later, felix heard his phone buzz. he scrambled to pick it up.
‘that’s ok. i was a little disappointed, you’re rly cute :)’
it buzzed again.
‘wanna come over tomorrow and watch a movie or something?’
his fingers shook, trying to type back, ‘sounds great! does 5 work?’
you reacted to his text with a thumbs up, and then he was back to squeezing the pillow.
felix didn’t work the next day. instead, he spent the day showering, squealing, spam-texting friends, and preparing for his first-ever date.
when you opened the doorbell, you were met with quite possibly the cutest sight in the entire world.
there felix was, holding a box of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies in his shaky hands. “i baked these for you, kind of as an apology, kind of because i wanted to impress you. and i know you like the cookies.”
you giggled at his honesty, letting him inside as you took the box, “thank you felix, you’re such a sweetheart.”
he checked his pulse.
“sorry for the mess. i tried to clean a little, but i don’t have people over often.”
“it’s okay,” he was quick to reassure you, “my house doesn’t look all that clean either. kind of comes with being a human.”
you laughed, taking a seat on the couch. he followed your actions.
“so, about the whole number thing,” he toyed with the rip on his black jeans.
“i thought you were really really beautiful.”
suddenly, he was way too aware of how close you were to him. but he wouldn’t let himself get nervous again.
“one of my coworkers was telling me to ask for your number and i was nervous and thought that you wouldn’t like me like that.”
felix sighed, “so i ended up saying the wrong thing and giving you the wrong idea.”
when he looked back up, you were smiling, holding in laughter. “that’s honestly adorable.”
“really?”
“i got sad, i thought you were just that kind to everyone and that i was developing some crazy ego thinking that a boy as attractive as you would like me.”
“you think i’m attractive?” his ears were on fire by now, completely stiff as you leaned in to look him in the eyes.
“i don’t understand how you don’t know how attractive you are.”
“what do you mean?”
“do i have to spell it out for you?”
“probably.”
“i think you’re gorgeous.”
“i also think the same about you. you looked so cute eating all happily, and when you smile, it makes me want to kiss you.” he chewed his lip, trying to not regret his bold words.
something tense was in the air, something that made felix’s heart pound a thousand times faster.
“then do it.”
felix froze. was he supposed to tell you that he had never kissed a girl before, much less sat this close to one?
“well, are you going to? or are you getting shy again?”
“i’ve never kissed anyone.” he let his heart thud out of his chest at the confession.
your eyes visibly widened, “you? you haven’t had your first kiss?”
“or held hands with a girl. and i’ve never had a girlfriend.”
“that’s impossible.”
“i don’t know how to prove it.”
“your awkwardness does the job.”
you decided to make a move, “but i can show you how if you’d like.”
felix’s mouth went dry, unsure of what to do or say.
“it’ll come naturally. just let it happen,” you smiled reassuringly as he nodded.
climbing onto his open lap, your hands carded through his blonde hair.
you leaned in to meet his lips briefly, his eyes burning into your own.
it was a soft and gentle kiss, just like him. but his eyes were full of desire for more.
“can i have another?” his hands met your back, pulling you into him.
this time, the kiss lasted longer, so much longer that he began craving more of you, so he did what he saw in all the movies.
he slipped his tongue into your mouth, grinning against your lips in pride at his actions.
felix’s hands traveled to your waist as took your word, letting go of his anxieties and doing what came naturally.
and without even realizing it, he began to take the lead.
all of the feelings were overwhelming. the way that you tugged on his hair, how close your bodies were, the way your tongue felt against his own.
he never wanted to stop.
until his phone began ringing.
you pulled away and he let out a shaky breath, slowly opening his eyes to stare at your features up close.
“felix, your phone,” you reminded him.
he jolted out of the daze, reaching for it.
chan.
he was about to just cancel the call when he saw the spam texts, asking where he was.
with a heavy sigh, he answered with you still on his lap.
“did you make up with y/n?”
“be quiet! i’m with her right now!”
you let out a laugh.
“oh! tell her hi!”
felix hung up on his friend with a groan, turning the ringer off.
“can we go back to kissing again?”
“after he’s done blowing you up,” you pointed at the buzzing phone.
#skz#stray kids#lee felix#lee felix smut#stray kids reactions#stray kids imagine#stray kids scenarios#stray kids fanfic#stray kids blurbs#stray kids imagines#felix fluff#felix imagines#felix#skz fanfiction#skz scenarios#skz fluff#skz x reader#skz masterlist#skz stay#skz fanfic#skz imagines#skz smut#stray kids fluff#stray kids lee yongbok#lee yongbok#yongbok x y/n#felix x y/n#felix x reader#skz x y/n#stray kids x y/n
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