#I FEEL LIKE I SAID SO MUCH YET SO LITTLE!!! SUMMARY: HE'S HOT!!!! HE'S RIDICULOUSLY HOT IN BOTH HIS REGULAR AND SPOT FORM!!!!! I WANT HIM!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eddiernunson · 3 months

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Selfish | Steddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: Reader is torn as she wants two people at once, and she figures it's impossible...in the sense that they would never want her. She is proven wrong after making an accidental audience with Eddie one night...

Warnings: voyeurism, perv!Eddie, public smut, masturbation (f + m), a little bit of Steve x reader, double penetration...and lots of self indulgent writing.

Authors' Note: Yeah this is just self indulgent. That's all. I'd want them both. <3

Word Count: 10.8k

Selfish.

On a regular day, it’s hard not to feel completely selfish. There’re a million different voices in your head telling you to make a damn choice. Not just telling, but begging.

Not just in your head, but in your life. Your friend and confidant, Robin is one of the many voices telling you so.

You can’t help it, it started so innocently. During the course of the school year, you happen to start thinking that Eddie Munson is damn fine. Your paths barely cross, only seeing him across the cafeteria at lunch or the occasional party to sell. Something about him drew you in. His hair, his hands, his strong forearms, his lust for life, that slutty little waist… He is enticing, hypnotising.

It’s not like you’re ever going to get with someone who you’ve never spoken to unless you somehow drag him into a hallway closet. Oh, isn’t that idea ever tempting?

It’s an uneventful day at school, save for the random graffiti anonymously placed on each class room door. There were several suspects, the perpetrator found but not announced, much to the entire school’s dismay.

When Robin meets you at your regular table, she has a litany of complaints up her sleeve. If you don’t stop her, she can talk for hours about any given subject that passes through her brain. At this point, from an entire summer and autumn working with her on top of spending many hours shooting the shit with her, you’re ridiculously used to it. You might even call it charming.

As usual, you listen with an empathetic, yet distracted ear. Your eyes flicker to Munson every now and then, appreciating the way his muscle shirt shows off his toned arms. Usually, they’re engulfed by his large leather jacket, but on this unusually hot autumn day he is taking advantage of the warmer weather.

Oh, and so am I, you think to yourself, eyeing him up and down appreciatively.

Your eyes flicker back to Robin, holding back a giggle at her expression. She knows about your crush of course, not that you’d tried to hide it. Robin would come up with schemes to set you up with him, but there’s one little obstacle.

“You’re shameless, you know that?” She accuses, a half smile on her face. She’s being playful, as always. “One of these days, you’re going to have to make up your mind.”

This conversation is repeated, always on replay. It’s one of your little games. “I mean,” you start cheekily, “who said anything about talking to them?”

She shakes her head, quiet laughter leaving her lips. “You are impossible.”

See, Robin knew your secret. Not only were you infatuated with Eddie, but with your coworker as well. Steve.

Steve is a bit more realistic; you suppose. After all, you work part time with him, up to 25 hours a week. Most of the job is spent moving tapes from place to place, categorizing, and talking shit. Lately, even more than normal, you’re hypnotized by him, your eyes sometimes glazing over as you take in just how pretty his brown eyes are.

Man, do you have a thing for brown eyes.

This usually eggs him on, thinking his words must mean something. They don't, really. You don’t take in a single word of what he’s saying. You’re just admiring him, his pretty lips, the freckles decorating his skin…

See, your problem is that you can’t decide on which one you’d want more…not that there’s any part of you that remotely thinks you would have that luxury. You’re not possibly conceited enough to believe that you would have a choice. Really, if it came down to it, (emphasis on if), it would be which one would choose you.

And they have so much better to choose from.

So, you let yourself imagine it. There’s certainly no harm in the what if.

“Not impossible, just horny.” You laugh, winking at the way she chokes on her water.

Steve pushes the cart of returns around, tapping his hands rhythmically on the plastic. You are on rewind duty, using a rewinder to go through each returned tape quickly and effectively. It’s a weekday, so business has been slow. Weekdays give more leeway on the display tvs, topics of discussion, and finally, to fuck around.

“Hey, Robin isn’t working today, right?” Steve asks, looking back at you.

You’re invested in the movie playing, leaning against the counter. “Hmm?” The question registers. “Oh, no she’s off on Wednesdays, remember? Band rehearsal after school.”

“Right, right.” He nods, something clearly on his mind.

“Something going on in that pretty little head of yours, Harrington?” You ask, switching the tape out for a new one.

He looks over his shoulder, licking his lips. “Pretty, huh?”

You roll your eyes, completely missing the way his eyes trail down your body. Your disregard of any possibility for a mutual attraction really is your blind spot. “You know you’re pretty, Harrington. Don’t play dumb.”

He shakes his head, pushing the cart along towards the romance section. “If you say so, sweets.”

You lick your lips, tasting the cherry ChapStick that deepens the shade of your lips into a darker red. Something about him is different today.

On the computer is a sticky note asking if the back room filled with unlabelled tapes could be organized and categorized. With the lack of customers, list of chores completed, and plenty of time left in your shift, you end up being bored enough to follow through. It won’t be done in one shift, but at least you’ll get it started. It’s a damn tedious process.

Not even twenty minutes pass by, a pile of marked and labeled tapes already to your left when the door to the back room shuts. You suspect for only a second that Steve needed to grab something, until you feel a pair of hands on your hips and hot breath on your neck. You freeze, gulping as you stare dead ahead at the tapes standing in a row. Your throat dries up like a drain unplugged, every limb freezing in place like you’re glued to the spot.

“Steve?” You ask after a moment passes.

He hums, thumb swaying up and down your hip, gently brushing past the hem of your shirt onto your bare skin. The other hand curtains your hair from your shoulder, trailing kisses down the curve of your neck. As a reflex you relax into it, sighing as you lean into his warm, wet, touch. The sensation flutters throughout your limbs, turning every bone, every muscle, into gelatin.

Your head falls back against his shoulder as his teeth scrape across your skin decorated with goosebumps. Your relaxed disposition is short lived, freezing up when your mind catches up to what the hell is happening. “Wait—” you protest, head snapping up in a frenzy.

He holds your face, turning it towards him. Eyes are hooded, looking tired, but from his dilated eyes you can tell he’s anything but. “What?”

“We-we’re at work, Steve, someone can come in at any moment…”

He listens, partially, barely. His eyes flicker down to your lips, all shiny and tugging him in. “Is that your only protest?” Your heart races, feeling as if someone is pulling at the corners of your mouth as you hesitantly nod. “No one has come in for over an hour, and I locked the door and turned the sign around. We won’t be bothered.”

“Oh.” A gasp leaves your lips as he leans in for a kiss, mouth deliciously open against yours. He demands full control, his fingers spreading across your neck. Your body turns to face him, grabbing onto the collar of the polo shirt he wears under his green vest. You can barely keep up with him, giggling out of pure, absolute, giddiness.

His hand runs up your torso, shaking yet demanding. Your vest is pulled down your arms, his hand pulling you against him. He starts kissing down your neck, pushing you so his arm and your back collide with the shelf behind you. A startled gasp fills the small room, your feet shuffling as the mixed sensations create a pool in the bottom of your stomach.

“Look at you, so pretty, you feelin’ good?” You nod, a hand twisting under his shirt and grabbing at his bare torso. His voice is dripping in husk, gorgeous in a way you’ve only ever pictured.

“Uh huh,” you manage to choke out.

He doesn't falter at his multitasking, his expert tongue working against yours as his hands work the button of your jeans open and the zipper down. “Let’s see how soaked you are...” The joints where your jaw is attached to your skull feels as if they vanish as your jaw drops open and Steve places his hand on your thin, cotton panties.

“Shit, honey, you are soaked.” He mutters, a sly half smile on his face.

“Jesus,” you whimper as he gently teases you.

He wastes no time, pushing your pants down your ass, watching as he exposes you with a stupid level of intrigue. “Baby, you know how pretty your pussy is, just dripping wet, jus ‘for me?”

He slips a finger in, reaching the deepest depths, somewhere yours never fucking could. He’s so fucking good at it too, watching your face as his thumb rotates on your clit, the pleasure from it more than you knew was possible. “S-Stevie,” you whimper, fingers clutching onto his shirt. “Oh, my god.”

“Wanted to see you like this for weeks, honey.” He adds another finger, his face watching and listening for every reaction you feed him. He eats them up like he’s been starving for you.

This information simply didn’t process, because there is no possibility this is true. None. “R-really?” You ask, leg moving up to get better access to your pussy.

Steve smirks, relishing in how you tighten around his digits. “Of course, honey.” His voice is like velvet, tender and smooth. He starts to move them faster, pumping them quickly, watching the breaths from your mouth grow shallower, your head falling back onto a shelf. “You think I don’t notice you watching me?”

Steve loves the reactions you give him, watching how you melt into putty in his hands. “You did?” It’s so close, he’s only started and you’re already being hurtled towards the edge.

“The way your thighs tense up, your eyes watching me, those pretty lips parted…” he explains, you have to give him credit for being much more observant than you had pegged him for. “Wanted to put my thumb in your mouth so many times, darling.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask him, tensing up as you get close to your climax.

He laughs. You’re almost offended by his nonchalance. Is…is he not turned on, too? “We were surrounded by people, sweets. I have some self control, yunno.”

The reminder that you’re in the back room with him at work is on your mind, a hint of cockiness floods your head. “Evidently, not-not that much.”

He works his fingers harder, you’re not sure if it’s a reward or punishment for your words, but the orgasm is abrupt, overflowing your senses completely as you shake against the shelf. “There she is,” he mutters, fingers working you through every sensation he so expertly provides you.

He smirks as he watches the afterglow take over your face, biting his lip when your head finally lifts up to face him. Just when you think he couldn’t possibly get any hotter, he proves you wrong. You don’t doubt he will prove you wrong again. And again.

…and again.

You barely take a second to recover, hands fumbling down for his jeans button. “Kay, now I need you.” You urge him, grinning at the way his cock pops out against the fabric of his shirt. A hushed swear falls from your lips when you take in his size, bigger than you even thought he was.

And you thought he was huge.

“Yeah?” He asks, a droopy smile on his face when your eyes peer up at him.

You nod, wrapping your hand around him, jerking him off. He’s thick, the head flushed red and a vein wrapping around it. When his face crumples, a crease appearing between his eyes, you’ve already proven yourself right in your theory. “Please, Stevie.” You urge him, pulling his cock towards your entrance.

Your ass sits on an empty shelf, where it’s been resting since he fucked his fingers into you. When he slaps his cock, already leaking with precum, against your clit, you whine impatiently, silently begging for him. “I like when you ask so nicely. Do it s’more, will ya?”

“C’mon, Stevie, I want your cock, so fucking bad. I’ve pictured this so many times, I fucking need it. Please.” You don’t mention anything about a third party usually being present, but that could come up, maybe…

Steve grins, marveling in the way your voice is so pathetic for him. It’s even better than he imagined, by more than a million miles. A part of him is greedy for you, greedy for even more proof of how badly you’ve wanted him, despite the clear evidence from the first time he clocked it.

At the time, he wondered if he was picturing it, the way your eyes were unfocused and shifted down at his arms. He was barely flexing them, when he did experimentally, he watched your breath literally hitch, eyes hurriedly switching back to his face.

It took a few more days of experimentation, but he finally confirmed it when the evidence was too congruent to think otherwise.

He’s even more greedy for you, having spent many nights thinking about you bent over, on your knees, on your back, riding him, you name it, he’s thought of it.

He can ask you to continually beg for him another time, right now he’s just desperate for you, so he ignores the call to ask you to beg even more and pushes the head in.

The gasp, your jaw dropping, the swears that fall from your lips and invade the quiet room, the way your pussy sucks him in, everything about your reaction is perfect to him. The feeling is likewise, watching in real time as his eyes darken for you, and for you alone.

He’s huge in a way you can’t even comprehend, frighteningly so. Still, he starts thrusting, gently as he can muster, still stinging, regardless. He knows he should wait, he has to every time he’s with someone new, but god damn if your pussy wasn’t the best he’s ever felt in his life. His hips move wondrously, rolling them in a way that feels like magic.

You can’t help the yelps and the whines that fill the room, watching and combing your fingers through his famous locks. They’re so soft, despite the constant hairspray and hair products he uses. While the pain mostly overshadows the pleasure, the combination is beautifully laced together.

Boy, can he fuck better than you had imagined. While you have thought of some things while imagining him, nothing has ever even compared to all that he’s giving you.

The moans that pass through his mouth, the roll of his hips, the crumpled expression on his face…all things that your brain could never come up with. Sure, you thought he could talk dirty, imagined his long fingers instead of yours, maybe picturing the way you so desperately finger yourself; this wasn’t remotely close to what you imagined.

Hell, it wasn’t anywhere near what you had imagined.

It’s so much better.

You whimper, stuttering on the S of his name, unable to finish it, too blissed to care.

“S-s, what, honey? What’s that you were saying?” He chuckles deeply when you tighten around him. “Oh, you like being talked down to, huh? Like being put in your place?”

You nod, pulling him for a needy kiss, losing any sense of concentration when his hand lands on your clit, rubbing it in the exact way you needed him to.

“I fucking knew you would, little whore getting fucked at work, taking his big cock like you were made to, fuck.” His thrusts get stronger, harder, faster, gasping wordlessly at how fucking good he is at it.

“Fuck, Stevie, you gonna breed me? Gonna cum in my pussy? Need it so fucking bad, please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

The smile that invades his face is cocky, watching you crumble under him. “Listen to your pretty voice beg for me, you really want me that bad, huh?” You nod, wondering how his hips hit harder. How was that possible? “Gonna breed you, honey, just keep being a good girl f’me, and I’ll fill you up, mmkay?”

You nod, watching the beads of sweat slowly coat his reddened face. One hand curls itself into the hair by the crown of your head, gripping tightly and watching the intense pleasure that takes over your face. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, no longer aware of any existence outside of this room, you’re here, only here, and will only be here.

“Shit, gonna fill you up, honey, need to feel you cum all over my cock, won’t you, please, sweets, need it—” while he thinks your begging is beautiful, his is just the thing to put you over the edge. The fluttering of your tight walls around him pulling the cum that fills you up beautifully.

His cock thrusts through the collective orgasm you feel together, the force of it pushing his load out of your pussy, you watch it leak past his length and down your thighs. It’s a sight that almost makes you cum again.

He smirks, catching his breath in time with you. He places kisses up your throat, taking in the way you tighten around him. Finally, you come back down to earth, the smell of sex in the room from your tryst overwhelming it. How much febreeze would it take to hide it? Your jeans are barely down to your knees, shirt ruffled, and hair a mess. Man, did you get caught up in him, his kiss, his scent, his cock.

A shy grin cascades across your face, watching as a piece of hair curls its way into his eye. “Hi, beautiful.” He greets, hand plastering itself onto your cheek.

“Hi.” You whisper, still pulsing around him.

“Did you enjoy it as much as I did?” He asks, biting his lip as his eyes look bored into yours.

“Probably more.” You admit, grinning cheekily. “You did all the work.”

He laughs in answer, placing a kiss on your cheek as he pulls out. The loss is stark, you suddenly feel so empty.

Oh, he did manage his entire length. Fuck.

“Was it everything you wanted?”

You flick an eyebrow up at him, tilting your head. “I don’t know, Harrington. You tell me.”

He laughs, winking at you. “Yeah, whatever.”

You wouldn’t exactly call yourself his girlfriend at this point because that certainly didn’t feel like an invitation for such. In fact, when Steve mentions his date coming up that weekend you don’t exactly feel heartbreak, just jealousy.

Whatever weird relationship you just started with him, coworkers with benefits or whatever, you are down for it. You're immediately wondering how often you’ll be in the back room with him, sharing cheeky looks across the room when he winks at you.

When he’s that good, it’s hard not to be.

Despite the urge to, you actually don’t tell Robin over the phone about your hook up with Steve. Something about the secrecy just makes it that much hotter. You lie, telling her the night was boring with customers appearing for their late returns.

The store is reopened, Steve grinning at you manically as he continues with his work. Well, if you can call putting the returns away “work”.

Your mom is at work for the night, taking a double at the hospital. She left twenty bucks on the counter for supper, leaving a note to order some take out. Well, pizza it is. You order the vegetarian deluxe, rolling your eyes at the wait time; forty-five minutes to an hour. Apparently, they are very busy tonight. Whatever.

You decide to kill time, running up to your room and jumping on your bed, kicking your panties off, keeping the sweatshirt you wear on. Your fingers happily dance themselves onto your clit, using some of the gift Steve left you as lubricant.

Sometimes, the person you imagine takes over for you, sometimes they simply put their cock in you, disguised in the form of a dildo. This time, they merely watch.

“That’s right, let’s see those fingers touch your pretty clit.” You imagine his voice, Eddie, picturing him watching you. “Little slut can’t even be satisfied with Harrington’s cock, huh?” He asks, and yeah, maybe you are a desperate slut ready for either man to take advantage of you. But who fucking cares, at this point? Your hand moves up to touch your tit, sneaking past the hem of your shirt, when your own imagination stops you. “No, you can touch yourself over your sweater, I’m letting you touch your pussy, isn’t that enough?”

Somehow it makes you moan desperately, massaging it pathetically. You shake your head, feeling a bit like a brat for the moment.

“No? Feeling greedy, huh?” He asks, you picture his dark brown eyes fixated on your pussy, fingers itching to touch you, just able to prevent himself from doing so.

You grin, nodding. “Please let me, I’ll be so good.” You take full advantage of no one being home.

“Hmm. Don’t think you will be…” He muses, and man, did you know what you liked. You desperately hoped he would know, too. “You already had Harrington’s cock today, and now you want someone else?”

“Yeah, she is quite a slut, ain’t she?” Oh, there he is.

The idea of the two of them here, watching you with dark eyes, both breaking at the seams at resisting the want to touch you, creates a new stir in you that feels nearly impossible.

“Look at how greedy she is, desperate for us, ain’t she?” You picture Eddie agreeing, squatting right in front of your bed to get a closer look.

Suddenly you forget about the urge to beg them to let you touch your tit and move on to begging for them. Begging for one of them, at least, to finally take pity on you and just fuck you already. Why is this so enticing to you? Why does it draw you in so, like a moth to a flame?

Well, you suppose if the flame was two hot, gorgeous, capable men, you’d be drawn to it just as a moth is, despite how badly the heat burns you.

Your fingers grow faster, gasping more intensely as the scenario furthers in your mind. You’re about to push yourself over the edge, the whines from your throat loud and desperate, when the doorbell rings twice, one after the other. Fuck, the pizza’s here.

You completely forgot you even ordered food to begin with.

You rush to put a pair of sweats on, petting your hair down desperately as you pick up the 20 from the counter. The bell rings twice more, you yell “I’m coming, I’m coming!” at the impatient driver. Well, you would’ve been if they were just five minutes slower.

The door opens to face Eddie Munson, holding a pizza in his hand and wearing a dorky delivery driver visor. Huh, the last thing you ever expect him to wear is a bright yellow visor, the shade of American cheese, with a dripping piece of pizza on it, that’s for damn sure. Well, the last thing you expected was to see Eddie Munson, especially with what you were just doing, what you were just picturing. Well, this is awkward. For you it is, for him you guessed it was just another delivery.

You smile awkwardly, tossing him the 20 and trading for your pizza. He asks how much you want back as the order and the delivery fee only cost you 10 dollars in total. You insist he takes the ten-dollar tip, grinning when he blinks in disbelief.

As much as you want to stay and talk to him and get a better handle of his voice, you were so close, and you can feel it starting to drift away. You close the door with a frank thank you and slide the pizza on the counter, running up the stairs.

As the door slams in his face, Eddie’s eyebrows raise, finding the whole interaction peculiar. In fact, when you opened the door, he clocked the scent right away. With how wet you are, both your arousal and Steve’s cum dripping down your thighs, it flooded his nose. Eddie knows the smell of pussy and knows it well. You were in such a rush to get back to your own imagination, you didn’t notice the way his jeans started to tent at the crotch.

Eddie starts to shrug it off, accepting the tip and taking the hint that you wanted alone time, but a sound, enticing and wonderous, floats into his ears. He thought he was hallucinating, did…did he just hear his name?

He wanders past the gate to your backyard and looks up to an open window, not seeing you, but hearing the moans that leave your throat as you continue your mission. His jaw slacks open, listening to you beg for him, beg for his cock. God, now knowing he has such power over you is driving him insane.

His cock throbs in his jeans to the point of hurting, he grabs himself just for the tiniest bit of relief, slightly stroking himself to the sound of your voice. Eddie’s legs are restless, like he wants to go back to your front door and ask if you want his help. He nearly carries himself there, ready to devour you, his career as a delivery driver be damned.

He only makes two strides when the second thing that freezes him into place comes out of your mouth. The first was you openly begging for him, but the second one is hearing you add someone else’s name in the mix. Eddie mistakes it for the wrong name, but as you intertwine his with Steve’s, it becomes clear to him that he wasn’t the only one you were currently begging for.

Your voice gets higher, more urgent, the begging transitions from begging for them to fuck you, which, jesus, to letting you finish. Man, he loves the way your mind works. He slips his cock out, unable to resist relieving himself any further. His eyes flicker to your neighbors’ lights, he hopes no one would be nosey enough to peer into your backyard for the night.

Come to think of it, he’s actually not sure he would care all that much.

The symphony of strings of swears and whimpers that float down from your window only adds fuel to his fire. “Oh, baby, just letting anyone listen to you, if they really wanted to, huh?” Sometimes being vocal is his Achillies heel. He should shut up, especially perving like this, but it’s nearly impossible.

You beg his name, imagining him and Steve refusing again.

“Listen to you beg like a little slut, hmm?” He muses, regretting that there’s nothing for him to clutch on to.

“Eddie, m’ so close…”

“Not yet, doll.” He chides, hoping you’ll play along.

A miracle happens, as if you know exactly what his intentions would be. “Stevie, please?”

“Hmm, don’t you dare, Harrington.” Eddie threatens, and now he really does want to join you.

“Please, I’ve been so good…”

Your insistence, your sweet voice begging for him, God, Eddie’s already so damn close himself. “Let’s hear it, baby.”

The stars align, because from the sounds of your whines that come from your window are just enough for Eddie to spill over his fist, spurts of his cum dripping onto the grass beneath him. From the sounds of it, your orgasm is something that makes your every muscle spasm, the kind that lingers for minutes after. While your mewls, and whines, and whimpers are practically perfect, Eddie really wishes he could get the visuals.

He sees a shadow move; he wonders if you just remembered you have food waiting. He’d better move from your driveway before you realize he’s still there.

On his way to drop off a pizza that is also waiting to be delivered, one he knows he will have to pay for himself after the wait, (worth it), an idea forms in his head that is just too good for him to pass up or call it like it is…insane.

When you feel a repetitive tap on your forearm at lunch the following week, you believe Robin is trying to annoy you. You ignore her, focusing on the novel you’re reading while you shrug her off. At the clearing of someone’s throat, you finally look up.

Oh, shit.

Eddie stands in front of you, hands in his pockets as he nods to the seat right next to you. All you can do is nod, out of breath as he sits in the seat right next to you.

“I’ll uh, just get going.” Robin mutters, shooting you a smirk as she gathers her backpack and takes off.

You shoot daggers at her, anxiously twisting your hands under the table, gulping as your nerves flood your senses.

Eddie rests his jacket leather covered arms on the table, head turned towards you. “Enjoy your pizza?” He asks, a twinkle in his eyes you can’t quite place.

Your brows furrow, confused until it dawns on you. He was the one that delivered it. “Oh…it-it was good.” You smile, sighing nervously.

A lopsided smile takes over Eddie’s face, he watches as the wheels turn in your pretty noggin. Knowing what the confusion meant when they furrow until the realization hits you. It’s a breath of fresh air, really, knowing he didn’t need to worry about rejection, knowing how secretly desperate you are for him.

He nods, licking his lips. “Good, good.” The way you sit nervously, the subtle tensing of your thighs, you’re sweet, amusing, even. “You going to Harrington’s party this Saturday?”

You blink, taking in the sentence. “Huh?”

He chuckles, and the smile on his face is gorgeous. “Harrington. Know him?” You nod, eyes wide. “You going to his party?”

Steve literally invited you the day before, suggesting he might drag you into a closet or something. “Yeah, I am.”

“Wanna go with me?”

Yes. Yes, you do. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. “Sure.” You accept, leaning on your elbow, a shy smile on your face.

“Pick you up at 10?” Somehow, Eddie has the ability to make you feel breathless, and his skin hasn’t even grazed yours yet.

Hopelessly, desperately, you wait for Saturday. Over the week, Eddie has caught your eye across the cafeteria, shooting his cocky grin that continually melts you into a puddle.

That same cocky grin he gives you as he drives over to Steve’s. While Steve knows of your crush on him, he also was aware of how much you like Eddie. Honestly he’s just rooting for you, seeing the excited glint in your eye when you give him the news.

Every little part of you is wondering how it is possible that you might have the choice…when weeks ago you thought you had no possible chance with either of them. There’s a slight part of you wondering…wondering if you’d slipped into an alternate universe where the world is starting to work out in your favor. It feels plausible until you wondered why the hell you’d be going to work or doing homework in your perfect world.

Eddie’s hand rests on your shoulder as you enter, the music blaring from Steve’s living room. A crowd of sweaty teenagers jumping, grinding, dancing, filled to the brim with far too much alcohol. You’d barely said a word to him, stuck in your head as you accepted a red solo cup from him. He makes his own mix, a brown liquid you don’t recognize with some coke. Yours is a vodka-sprite mix, hoping the extra shot you pour will loosen you up a bit.

Or…a lot.

“Dance with me?” He asks, pointing to the living room as he takes a big swig.

You squint at him, already in the middle of taking a big gulp, wincing at the burn. “You dance?”

He shrugs, fingers tapping on the red plastic of his cup. “I do when pretty girls dance with me.”

You take another big gulp, already feeling the effects. What can I say, you are a lightweight. “Better go find one.”

Well, it seems the alcohol is doing its thing.

Eddie’s arm easily wraps around your waist, pulling you up against him. The look in his eye excites you, gulping as his hot breath is on your neck, enticing a shudder. “You little shit.” He mutters, a smug little grin on his face. “I was already asking a pretty girl for your information. I was giving you the privilege of asking, but now you have no choice.”

The cup nearly collides with your nose as he takes another swig, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand easily intertwines with yours as he tosses the cup over his shoulder, tugging you to the living room.

You follow him, hypnotized by his siren’s song. Eddie doesn’t have an inch of patience left in him, already antsy from the show you put on for him. He lets his hands wonder, holding you close to him and going everywhere, your hips, your thighs, your ass, even trailing under your tiny skirt. You don’t protest, inhaling his scent. The mix of body wash, cologne, and just him is mouthwatering.

He doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to from the way you melt in his arms when his lips finally land on yours. The reward of your moan vibrating into his mouth is just what he needs, the very reward he was looking for. You don’t have it in you to pretend you aren’t eager, your lips searching for his as soon as it registers. The kisses are urgent, fervent, and just the right amount of messy.

His knee makes its way between your legs, already mapping how easy it is to make you fall apart, even in the middle of a crowd. And do you ever fold in his arms even at the subtle touch of his hands on your skin, tongue on yours, the adrenaline in your veins… it’s enough to make you forget you’re in a crowd.

When his tongue lands on your throat, sending ripples of pure ecstasy down your spine. The moment he feels you start to grind on his thigh, he has you right where he wants you. His mouth dives into your ear, heated breaths sending a chill through you. “I’ll be right back.”

Confused, you catch his eye, faltering as his knee leaves where it’s stationed.

He winks, walking across the living room, feeling pretty smug at how he feels your eyes on the back of his head.

Now for his plan.

Steve invited a girl over for his party, deciding he’d do exactly what he had insisted he’d do with you. Instead, he’s mesmerized by how you and Eddie are grinding across the way from him. No matter how hard he tries, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the two of you, now wishing you were following through on said plans with him.

When Eddie’s lips met your neck, he feels entirely too restless, forcing himself not to place you in the middle of a sandwich he’d very much like to be a part of.

Now the girl is off with another dude having sought out a different sex buddy when Steve backed out, making out with some jock on his couch. Not that he cares, he’s barely noticed her. He’s far too busy being captivated by you and your date.

Speaking of your date, he attempts to look busy as soon as Eddie starts crossing the room, to where Steve assumed was the bathroom a few feet behind him. Boy, was he wrong. As Steve crowds into the wall, pretending to be staring off towards anywhere else, Eddie stops right next to him, observing Steve with a smirk.

Eddie started keeping track of Steve as soon as he got to the party, keeping mental tabs on him. It wasn’t hard, Steve’s eyes were glued the two of you, and it made Eddie’s plan ten times easier.

“Hi, Harrington.” He smirks, watching Steve’s shallow breathing and shifty eyes. Wasn’t very often he’s seen him lack confidence, and it’s almost too easy to get the two of you to dance how he wanted. “Enjoying the show?”

Steve falters, batting his pretty eyelashes as he processes it. “I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

Eddie rolls his eyes with his arms crossed. It certainly doesn’t help that Eddie had used every one of the tools in his belt. Shown off his arms, put some care into his hair, wore a shirt that was just a little too short for his torso…

As planned, it was working like a charm. “C’mon Steve, those pretty eyes of yours were burning a hole into the back of my head the entire time. Or…were you not watching the way she grinded on my leg?”

Steve’s eyes flicker to you, having now moved back into the kitchen to get another cup of alcohol. His eyes meet Eddie’s again, gulping, not able to find it in himself to deny any further. “Okay, so I was. It’s basically impossible not to.”

Eddie’s smile grows, his teeth just barely peeking through. “Isn’t it?” It really falls into Eddie’s favor that Steve was already against the wall, hand landing right next to his face. “Well, I gotta be honest, from the look on your face it almost looked like you wanted to join us.”

Oh god, is Steve hallucinating, or did Eddie just invite him to do the very thing he so desperately craved? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Munson.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again, amused at the hesitance Steve displays. “I’m not. I’m inviting you to one.”

Steve’s breath hitches, Eddie affirming exactly what he was afraid of. “Think she’d be down for that?”

The genuine laughter that leaves Eddie’s lips is a bit startling, to say the least. “I can say, Steve, with 100% certainty, that she would be.”

“Well, shit, Eds.” Steve laughs, already hard from the mere thought of it. “Let’s go get our girl.”

A part of you starts to worry, tipsy as you stare into your drink while sitting next to who you thought was Steve’s date but is all over some football jock. Despite your date being Eddie, you were glad. Your jealousy can start simmering down. You catch Eddie’s jeans ripped at the knee, eyes raking up to his face, noting Steve trailing right behind him.

Eddie ignores your confused face, offering his hand for you to take. Yours lands in his, and it wraps around yours as he effortlessly tugs you up to him. “Come on, we’re going upstairs.” He waits for you to acknowledge Steve standing by you, eyebrow quirking up. “Oh, Steve’s joining us.”

You are not protesting. That's the last thing you'd be doing. If anything, it’s just sudden. All you can do is let out stuttered breaths, attempting to ask how, or why, before getting to the what.

Eddie pretends to falter, brow furrowing as he condescendingly tilts his head. “What, I thought this is what you wanted?”

Okay, how could he possibly know that? “Y-yes, yes, I do, but-but how--?”

“You should probably close your window next time you decide to order food and have a bit of fun, there, sweetheart.” Your eyes shoot open wide, immediately understanding why Eddie approached you when he did. Your window. He leans into Steve, laughter sitting under his voice. “Stevie, should’ve heard her, she was begging for us both, sweet thing had no idea I could hear.”

Steve’s mouth turns into a smirk, watching the many phases your sweet face goes through. “That true? You thinking of us both at the same time?”

By this point, your eyes haven’t even stopped switching between the two men as they leer over you. You wonder how many times this exact scenario has crossed your mind, giving you eyes as they proposition you to be the delicious middle of their sandwich. It’s everything you want, everything you crave.

Then why the fuck is it so damn terrifying?

“You got words, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, catching Steve’s eye, who has his hands on his hips, his eyes curtained by those glorious locks.

No words come to mind, except how fucking wet their gazes make you feel. You let your action speak for itself, turning on the spot to run up the stairs.

You’re halfway up when you hear the thumping of two sets of feet behind you vaguely over the loud music, giggles bubbling up your throat as you turn around the corner down the hall. Not panic, but pure excitement fills your chest as the sounds of footsteps invade the upstairs. A hand grabs yours, yanking you back to the door that Steve opens, his own room.

Sometimes it’s occupied by some random hook ups, he usually tries to lock it for a big party, but honestly if there were someone in his room, he would’ve kicked them out. He’s already hooked up in his mom and dad’s room, as barf inducing as it is, and he refuses to do so on this particular night.

Eddie is right behind you as you enter, hands already making their way under your shirt. He’s eager, his hand hooking under the hem and lifting it over your head and your arms. The cold air meets your skin, gifting it goosebumps. Your shirt hits the floor, you can hear it on Steve’s hardwood. The sound is minor in the grand scheme of things, currently focused on Steve’s lips on yours and Eddie’s hands making their way under the wire of your bra.

Steve’s hands grab at your shoulders, pulling you so you fall on top of him, Eddie giggling as he lands on the two of you. Eddie’s laughs weave with the kisses he scatters along your back, your neck, hands moving absentmindedly as he undoes the backing of your bra.

Under you, Steve’s hands delicately grab the straps of the bra and pull them off your arms. Your bra is flung across the room without a second thought, Steve palming your tits and playing with the nipples between his fingers, twisting and groping them as you mewl into his ear.

Eddie falls sideways onto the bed, the momentum knocking both you and Steve on your sides as well with him. You giggle, starting to grab at the edge of Steve’s shirt to lift over his head. Eddie flips your skirt up, his long fingers touching the fabric over your weeping pussy.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Eddie mumbles, sneaking under the waistband of your panties, touching you softly and moving his finger up and down. “Pretty baby must be turned on, hmm?”

Steve bends down to mouth at your nipples, his silk tongue hot and magical, gently nipping with his teeth in a way that makes your blood sing.

The marvelous mixture of sensation has your head flung back on Eddie’s shoulder, writhing in their holds as they work together. One of Eddie’s fingers slips in, long and deep within you. A loud gasp fills the room as Eddie’s thumb rotates your clit slowly and watches you fall apart.

His finger hooks, working perfectly against your g-spot. “F-fuck!”

Steve licks up the mound of your breast, dirtily licking all the way to your neck, nibbling bruises across your neck. “Gonna cum so quickly, sweets?” Steve asks, teasing you.

“Feels-feels so good!” You whimper, starting to grind helplessly on Eddie’s finger.

Steve’s eyes switch over to Eddie’s, who is already watching him. He grins, eyes switching from the metal-head’s eyes to his lips before licking his own. Both men are pressed against you as they lean in, their lips connecting as you lay in a true sandwich. Wet sounds of their kisses are loud in the room, and from their body language it gets heated fast as Eddie moans behind you, his fingers not resting for a second.

They’re fast and relentless, a heat in your pussy too hot, too much as you’re pushed over the edge like being pushed over a cliff. It hits you hard as you restlessly wither in-between them. Steve’s mouth moves from Eddie’s straight to yours, muffling the moans that leave your mouth.

The loss is sudden as Eddie removes his fingers to pull your skirt down your ass. “You want me to tell Stevie what I heard, or you wanna tell him?”

Your lips freeze against Steve’s, eyes opening, gulping as you back away from him.

“Ooh, I wanna know, what’d you hear, Eds?” Steve asks, getting the hint when Eddie helps move you on to your back.

“Well, from what I could tell she was picturing us watching her play with herself, begging for us to touch her, begging for our cocks, begging to cum…”

Shit, he did hear everything.

“Shit, when was this, honey?”

You bite on your pointer finger nervously as Eddie tugs on your thighs, giggles spilling from your mouth. “Wednesday.”

Steve shakes his head, unbuttoning his jeans as he grins at you, Eddie settling himself between your legs. “Oh, you greedy girl.”

Eddie finishes pulling your skirt down your legs, tossing it over his shoulder as he asks, “Why?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Steve asks, cockily grinning at Eddie as he pulls down his boxers, his cock springing free. “Yeah, she took my cock in the back of Family Video that day, didn’t ya, darlin’?”

Eddie quirks his eyebrow, staring up at you from in-between your legs, grinning intensely. “Oh, you are greedy aren’t ya? Maybe such a greedy girl doesn’t get her wildest fantasies coming true, hmm?”

He’s bluffing, but in your post-orgasm haze you can’t tell at all, you're just desperate for them. You protest it loudly, humming several no’s in a row.

“I dunno, maybe you can watch for tonight and we’ll let you join in another time, hmm?” Eddie taunts you, grabbing Steve’s cock and stroking it, Steve’s moan from final, sweet, relief filling the room.

You’re protesting more, resting on your forearms as you’re hypnotized by the way Eddie’s eyes are locked onto Steve’s. Okay, watching them isn’t all that terrible, but you’re already naked.

Eddie leans in, eyes still trained on Steve as he wraps his mouth around the head of Steve’s cock. You’re hypnotized by it, their constant eye contact creating an energy that is palpable. Eddie’s head tilts back, his tongue that he likes to show off so much at school lingering on Steve’s mushroom tip, reveling in the pearl of precum.

He kisses it, twisting his head to you. “Enjoying the show, sweetheart?”

You nod, grinning manically. “Very much.”

“Maybe we can take pity on her, hey, Eds?” Steve asks, also looking at you.

“Yeah, she can watch another time.” Eddie mumbles, pulling away from Steve to lean in back between your legs. “For now, I need to bury my nose in this sweet little cunt.”

That’s the only warning you get before Eddie’s long tongue slides itself against your wet folds, a hot, wet stripe sending shivers up your spine. You can’t help the whine that leaves your throat, desperate and all too happy to accept it.

Steve saunters over to your mouth, stroking himself as he observes your face. “Think you can be a good girl and take this cock down your throat?” You nod, reaching for him pathetically. You guide his cock to your mouth, the large head pushing into your mouth. His length fills your mouth, pushing right to the back of your throat. “Oh, that’s a good girl.”

A hum leaves your mouth around him, somehow dividing your attention between Steve’s cock in your mouth and Eddie’s tongue on your pussy.

Speaking of Eddie, his tongue has been slowly working, barely putting an ounce of pressure, focused on gathering up any arousal you feed him. His fingers are harsh against your thighs, the friction nearly burning as he grips you tightly. “Fuck, you taste…” he pauses, gasping and greedy, “so sweet.”

Your mouth is busy, too busy to tell Eddie how much he just needs to touch you harder, already. Your hips do it for you, grinding up as a silent question. Simultaneously, your hands move to Steve’s base, playing with his balls. Your mouth makes a wet plop, suddenly in the mood to have them up against your face. Your greedy tongue pokes out to lick at the patched hair that covers them, gasping at the sweaty musk they radiate.

Steve buckles, swearing loudly as his hand lands roughly next to your face. “Oh, my gooood, baby.”

As a reaction, Eddie digs in further, his tongue pushing into you, deliciously long and vibrating into you as he hums. The stench of sweat and your dribble fills your nose, your face slobbered and wet. Eddie places his thumb on your clit, rubbing in small circles as the more you give him, the more he takes.

He knows the smell of pussy, and your smell has driven him completely insane, like a pheromone that overwhelms any logic he once held and replaces it with you.

You gasp, taking Steve’s cock back in your mouth, the tip hitting the back of your throat. Steve’s hand curls into your hair, his thumb swaying against your cheek. You can barely focus on it, the overstimulation making that oh-so-funny feeling take over once more, swelling in your stomach.

“You gonna cum again, honey?” Steve asks, his hips moving slowly, yet picking up at an unprecedented rate. You nod around him, his cock hitting and forming a beautiful swell in your cheek, moaning around him. “Gonna fill this pretty little mouth, then we’ll pay attention to Eds over there, hmm? Bet he needs some help, hmm?”

“Might cum from her taste alone, honestly,” Eddie mumbles, working his tongue even faster, even more.

That single sentence does it for you, mouth tightening around Steve as you spill onto Eddie’s tongue, legs tightening around his ears. Steve feels as you moan around him, every part of you tensing, your mouth specifically tightening and pulling sticky ropes that jump down your throat.

It becomes too much, overflowing your mouth and drooling down your chin. Eddie kisses your thigh, lapping up the arousal that spilled to your thighs. Steve pulls out, watching with hooded and hazy eyes as your mouth stays open, tongue poking out covered in him, smiling as when his eyes drift to your throat gulping as he flows down your throat.

“Did I hear you say it was my turn?” Eddie asks, head poking out from between your legs. “Does that mean I get to feel this tight little pussy wrapped around my cock?”

Steve chuckles, his hand still wrapped in your hair. “If I’ve already had a turn, guess it only seems fair.” His thumb swipes across your chin, gathering the excess cum that gathered.

Out of nowhere Eddie pounces, grabbing Steve’s wrist and lapping the sticky substance with his tongue, making a show of it. Well, Eddie is nothing if not a performer.

Steve seems to think his turn is over, turning to the mess of clothes on the floor. “Stevie,” you whine, sitting up. Your legs feel like jelly, grabbing at the shirt on Eddie right next to you. How is Eddie still fully dressed? “Do you have lube?”

“You don’t need lube, sweets, you're soaked.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Not what I meant, Ed.” You look back to Steve. “Hey, stop getting dressed! You got lube, right?”

“Uh…yes.” Steve startles, hands on his hips with his hips, eyebrows furrowed.

How have they not picked up on it yet? “Seriously?” You ask, switching between their confused glances. “Remember how Eddie said you’d make every fantasy come true?” They nod, you move onto your knees, undoing Eddie’s belt, and button quickly. “Well, when I pictured this, I pictured every hole being filled.”

Usually, a sentence like this would make you shy, embarrassingly so. However, the collective stare the two men give you is mind numbingly arousing.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, sharing a bewildered look with Steve. “Well, go get the damn lube, Steve!”

Steve chuckles, moseying to the bedside table and grabbing a small bottle.

Your hands, frozen on Eddie’s half undone jeans, finally start moving again, pulling down his jeans and underpants. His cock springs out, the head an angry red. You lean forward, extending your legs backward as you lean forward to accept Eddie in the back of your throat.

Steve comes from behind him, lifting the loose black shirt he wears over his head, sprinkling kisses along Eddie’s skin.

Eddie groans, lifting his head up. “Fuck, ok, get up, need to feel that pussy right now.”

You smirk, getting off Eddie with a pop, standing up on weak legs. Eddie pulls you right against him, wrapping your lips in a sweet kiss. His tongue wastes no time to reach out to touch yours, connecting wonderfully. Eddie turns the two of you around, kicking off his jeans and stumbling over them. He falls backward onto the bed, you falling onto him and giggling like a madman.

A hand wraps around your cheeks, squishing them comically and pulling your face upward. “Kiss me, honey.”

You grin, locking lips with Steve as your body hitches up toward him. A pair of hands plant you back down, bare pussy connecting with Eddie’s gorgeous cock. The sensation makes you whine, thighs tensing around Eddies. Your hips grind helplessly, hoping it pushes him in. “Patience, sweets.”

You whine impatiently, petulantly groaning against Steve’s lips. You part from him, staring down at Eddie. “Stop teasing me, and—” your sentence cuts short, Eddie grinning in satisfaction as he shuts you up. A hushed swear leaves your throat, elongated and stuttered on the sh in shit.

Your impatience is the size of a teaspoon, hips rutting down to take more of him quicker, even though he’s at a size where you know you should take your time. “Take your time,” Eddie tuts, wrapping his hand in your hair.

“I can’t.” You whine, trying to pull him in more.

Impossibly, you manage to take in Eddie’s full length faster than you know you should. It’s still not fast enough.

A second pair of hands land on your ass, grabbing at the apples of your cheeks with harsh nails digging into the soft skin. Eddie’s hands are on your hips, fingertips under the edge of Steve’s. A cold, thick liquid lands where it needs to, a finger pushes it in, a mighty pressure added to the mix.

You whine, bucking into them and grinding on Eddie’s cock simultaneously. A mix of sounds ring out, Eddie moaning, Steve chuckling, you breathlessly gasping. “Fuck.”

Steve adds another finger, twisting and playing, watching how both your holes spasm together, how Eddie’s cock starts to move for you when your hips are jerking too much to really do anything.

Eddie gasps into your ear, groaning and border-line whimpering. “F-fuck, feel this tight fucking pussy…Jesus, Harrington, you planned on keeping this to yourself?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away, inserting a third finger and grinning at your high-pitched reaction. “With how good it feels, can you fucking blame me?”

“How many times you pictured fucking me, sweets? Good as you thought it’d be?” Eddie asks, voice guttural.

“S-s-s-so much better,” you stutter, whining in the crook of his neck.

Over your shoulder, Steve winks at Eddie, and it gives Eddie the warning to pause his movements to allow Steve to enter. The pressure of the head against the hole is so good. “Fuck,” you whimper, gasping desperately.

If there’s anything you’re willing to admit, it’s that you never knew you could feel this good, this full, it’s a shame it took this long, really. The stupid part is, Steve isn’t even halfway in. Your jaw drops, hands tensing and curling and toes twitching, so many little muscles moving instantaneously.

“You okay, sweets?” Eddie asks, whispering sweetly as your gasping grows in both depth and volume. You frantically nod, the sweat fierce and intense.

“More.” You beg, the only word that can possibly make sense to you.

However small, however faint, Steve heard the plea and pushed in more. Your jaw drops, leaning onto Eddie’s bare chest with your elbows and staring at Eddie’s darkened, brown eyes. He’s pretty, too pretty.

You adjust, and yeah, lube definitely needs to be used in this bullshit, it makes it feel so much better. “More,” you whimper, twisting your body to look back at Steve to see his reaction as he pushes in one last time.

The awkward twist of the body is worth it to see how his jaw drops and eyes close, followed by his head falling back in bliss. “Fuck, both your tight little holes are so good, honey.”

“What a good girl you are, love, god you take cock so well,” Eddie compliments you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Steve’s strong hand sways across your ass, caressing it fiercely. “Like she was made to, isn’t it,” he adds, hunching over your build to kiss the bare skin.

Your toes are curled, your whole-body tense, eyes closed as you lie in the sandwich that contains the three of you. Good. God, it’s good. The goodness that it is starts to trail down your cheeks, trailing off your chin. “Good,” you whimper, trying to look at both of them at once. “G-good. Move. Move,” you act restlessly, hands moving without a destination in mind, hips bucking anxiously with no such success.

They work in tandem, their hips synchronously moving together, both rolling their hips perfectly. Steve twists his arm around your torso, extending as he wraps his hand around your neck, fingers beautifully spread, choking the little air you have out of your lungs. Eddie stares up at your face in awe, holding your hips fiercely while his hips buck up.

Steve’s hand awkwardly spiders up your jaw, letting go of your neck to hook a thumb in your mouth and rest his fingers on your chin.

As a reflex, you start to suck on it. “What a pretty slut we have, hey, Stevie?” Eddie asks, admiring your pretty mouth wrapped around Steve’s thumb.

“Thirsting over her little holes being filled, taking it so well, fucking right, she is.” Steve agrees. He yanks his thumb out, using the same hand to lightly slap your ass.

You moan, loud and stuttered, and guttural at the sting of pain that just adds more to the pleasure. “Fuck!” Steve chuckles doing it again, harsher this time.

Eddie’s arms wrap around you, pulling your tits against his chest. He pulls you in for a kiss, dirty, and filled with spit. Steve slaps another time, harder than the others, you yell into Eddie’s mouth as a direct response. Your lips stutter off Eddie, whining desperately at the marvel.

“Whore.” You whine out, desperate.

“Oh, she wants to be called a whore, does she? Well she certainly earned it, didn’t she?” Eddie mocks, voice only a little bit strained. Eddie surges forward, slapping your ass harshly, igniting a yelp from you from the unexpected sting. “Sorry, Stevie, I wanted in on the fun.”

Steve grunts out a moan, “Of course, after all, our whore loves it, doesn’t she?”

They start to move faster, Eddie’s hips more jagged, Steve’s hips in a rolling pattern, both cocks fucking you in a way that is simply too good to be true.

That seemed to be the common theme for the night, good. While fantastic, amazing, wonderful, beautiful, are much better synonyms, good is the only word simple enough to reach your brain. Maybe the stream of tears trailing down your face are stealing the strong words from your vocabulary, maybe it’s the cocky look that sits on both their faces. Maybe it’s the wandering hands.

“Gonna cum.”

“Oh, make a mess for us, sweetheart.” Eddie commands, planting wet lips all along your jaw, neck, shoulder, anywhere he can reach.

Steve slips his hand around your thigh, placing two fingers on your clit. “Wanna feel this tight little hole as you cum, yeah? Gonna see our baby make another fucking mess.”

The pleasure is overwhelming, consuming every nerve you have. Gasps leave your throat, high pitched and too much. “Cum all over me, baby.”

A feeling you’ve never had, a high you’ve never reached, comes into play, forcing you to push something you didn’t know you could. “Oh, I’m gonna—”

A gush overwhelms the heavy breaths that are coming from both Eddie and Steve. Your vision is flooded with stars, writhing in their collective hold.

It takes you a minute to recover from it, both men’s hips slowly bucking in, slowly hips rolling and swaying. You still look like you need time when you choke out, “Fuck me! Fill me up, please, please, please?”

“Of course, whatever the pretty girl wants.” Steve mutters, hands gripping onto your hips as he fucks into you, matching the relentless pace Eddie was already at.

“Jus’ like that, jus’ like that~”

“Oh fuck, keep begging like that, honey.” Steve encourages you, grabbing harshly against your scalp.

“You better be as close as I am, Harrington, or this will be embarrassing.” Eddie warns, only half joking with how desperate his moans sounded.

“Fill her up with me?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Eddie answers, grinning manically. “J-j-jesus christ!”

The symphony of moans as they fill you up in both holes is music to your ears, something you never thought you’d hear. You do your best to memorize every note, every consonant, every vowel, to commit it to memory.

The world freezes as three sets of lungs attempt to catch their breath. Hands gracing over any skin they can touch for a gentle caress. Caresses lead into kisses on skin, wet and comforting in the best way.

You can’t tell how much time passes as the three of you fall over into a three way spoon, cocks still keeping you good and full.

“Did so good, honey.” Steve praises, petting your hair and skin.

“Good girl, such a good girl for us.” Eddie adds, unable to help his hand fluttering over to Steve’s hair, as well.

Your gasps turn from whimpers to hums, accepting every whisper of appraisal with an overly satisfied grin sitting on your face. They pull themselves out eventually, you moan at the loss as your spaghetti limbs sprawl on the bed. “Gonna grab you some water, honey,” Steve whispers, planting a kiss in your hair.

“You need a bath, sweetheart? I know for a fact it fits the three of us down the hall.” Eddie asks right after him, yanking a pair of his jeans on.

You nod, head feeling heavy on your neck.

Eddie scoops you up in his arms, carrying you down the hall. As the tub fills with hot, soapy water, Steve comes back up the steps with a cold glass of water to the bathroom. “Drink up.”

In Steve’s corner tub, you sit on Eddie’s lap, arms wrapped around him absentmindedly as Steve climbs in across the two of you. They spend their time washing your body, the hot water, and bubbles soothing and gentle as ever. It feels so good, so nice, it hurts to think it will end soon.

Your hormones must’ve been wild, because the tears fall down your face as you start to think about how badly you don’t want this to end. They’re worried, asking what’s wrong as they worriedly reach one another’s eyes. “’M selfish.”

“Why you selfish, sweets?” Eddie asks, tilting your chin up to him.

“Cause…cause I don’t want this to end…having both of you...it’s too good.”

Eddie and Steve share a glance, the both of them knew from the start it wasn’t just a one-time thing. “Who said this was going to end?” Attempting to reach your eyes with his.

“What?” You ask, a beautiful flicker of hope in you.

Eddie’s arms tighten around you, hand reaching in to kiss your cheek. “It’s nowhere near over, baby.”

“You’re too good for us to let you go, honey.”

“Really?” You ask, now a tad skeptical. “You’re going to let me be selfish enough to have both of you?”

“Please.” Steve chuckles, eyebrow furrowing at the crash down the stairs. “If anything, we’re the selfish ones, honey.”

Selfish.

On a regular day, it’s hard not to feel completely selfish. But when there’s two enticing and captivating voices telling you that’s not possible, you forget the word even exists.

Thank you so much for reading! I love to read comments and replies and tags and as always reblogging is the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie x reader #steve harrington x eddie munson x reader #steddie x reader smut #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #steddie x you #steddie x y/n

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undercoverpena · 12 days

Text

up sky, low high

frankie morales x f!reader | frankie morales masterlist

summary: frankie takes you on a heli-ride. you decide to test his competency and take him for a ride.

word count: 1.9k warnings: smut. 18+. there's mouth to cock action in the sky - new kink for jo? maybe. jo's interpretation of how to fly a heli is deffo a warning in itself. everyone is safe. remember he's a professional, but don't try this in the air bbys. jo’s spelling—written on phone, forgive me. moodboard not reflective of reader. an: this wouldn't be possible without @morallyinept who not only thotted with me, told me to write this, filled me with confidence at the halfway point when i sent it to her but also made the prettiest banner and moodboard for this (see at the bottom). babe ily, thank you so much for this.

It’s not ideal—not even close to safe.

Finger pushing in on the button that releases the elements of your seatbelt as you swallow, staring at him. Gawking, in fact.

Frankie always looks good, a fact not fiction.

Whether it’s first thing in the morning, sleep in his eyes—fingers scratching over his soft stomach as he yawns. Or when his eyes are hidden under the bill of his hat, dark, all mahogany brown pupils blown with lust as the thing on the television becomes forgotten.

And while he does always look incredible, there’s something criminal about the way he looks right now. Piloting, all in his element, wearing fucking competency like he was the one who first birthed it as he keeps the helicopter in the air.

Short flight, he’d said when he’d helped you into the rental.

Now, you could bet on it.

Because you're not even sure how long you’ve been in the air, too busy gazing, hungrily undressing him as he flicks switches and checks gauges. Your understanding of what he was doing lost, barely reaching a basic level.

What you do know is that if he reaches over, slides his hand up your dress and touches the fabric covering your pussy, he’d find them soaked.

But then, he’d also likely notice the way you’re taking shallow breaths, that you’ve been squirming for friction for the past so many instructions—

Because of his voice.

It all low, husky—dragged through gravel when it comes through the headset. Pointing out sights, places, but he’s the only thing you want to gaze at from this height. From any height.

That’s why the thought had arrived, to begin with, the lucrative one. The one so far gone that you try not to consider logistics and just trust in the fact he’d stop you if it was too unsafe. Your voice barely steady through the microphone, asking—layered and wrapped with demand, as your pulse quickens and your palms become slick with sweat.

You know the idea is ridiculous. Yet, somehow, you find yourself moving up onto your knees, digging them into the chair you’d just been seated on.

That’s when you see it. The glimmer, the spark, before he whines out that he’ll maintain altitude as you palm him over his cargo pants. Feeling him harden, pressing against the zipper, all thick, long and delicious as your mouth waters.

Because you need him in your mouth.

A thing you must murmur because suddenly he’s helping—lifting his hips as he whispers an oh fuck, when you drag his layers down and your hand wraps around his cock. More so when you move your wrist, dipping your head to slide your tongue to lick up the bead of want already there at the tip.

Flicking your gaze up, you find hungry eyes staring back—ones lit by the sun, shades a plenty making up the lust-filled gaze that makes your mouth open wider as you take as much of him as you can.

Fuck it’s glorious.

Both the thrum of vibrations through the cushion seat under your knees as he keeps the thing in the air and the feel of his hot length sliding against your tongue. As you take him. As you make him hiss through gritted teeth when you try to take a little more of him than you usually manage—tears springing in your eyes and your throat constricting around him—

“Careful, querida,” he soothes.

Large hand cupping the back of your head, easing, aiding, as his cock rests at the entrance of your mouth, placed perfectly on your lower lip. Breath coming back to you; eyes blinking as he darts his eyes from the world below him to you.

“You okay?”

Until now, you weren’t sure if it was possible to be more in love with him. Then he proved that even up in the air he thought of nothing but what was best for you.

Nodding, spit trailing down your chin, droplets falling to your chest where it pools as fabric meets skin, you smile. Gleam. Grin. Before making him swallow a moan as you take him again, his head falling back.

It’s then, when you hollow your cheeks do you feel him shift, allowing him, as he gently thrusts to slide his length as far down your throat as it allows. Good girl, so good, my good girl—

Humming around him at his praise, a blend of languages as he calls you pretty and perfect. And you can tell he’s close, taste it on your tongue as he begins to rock his hips, as he begins to hiss—teeth biting down on his lip, imagining his knuckles whitening around the cyclic stick.

It’s enough to make you come from the thought—close to ruining your own panties further as you press your thighs together.

Closing your lips around him, sucking and adorning, showing him, etching your love for him with the way your tongue swirls over the tip, hand gripping his thigh as he groans your name. It followed by s’close, m’close baby—

Then he pulls you off him, all with care. Spit connecting your lips to his tip as you stare at him in confusion. The line dropping, snapping—it clinging to the curls at the base of him, soaking his hair like dew on a spring morning.

“Frankie…”

It’s all you manage to croak out. Eyes wide, thoughts barely present, all cock-drunk and adrenaline-fuelled—the scent of him still there, around your nose, musk and engine oil.

“Need to land,” he replies, short, jaw tight—cock angry and throbbing between his thighs as he flicks a switch. “Can’t… can’t fuck you, unless I land.”

You’re not sure he’s ever landed so quickly, never mind so clunky. Remembering stories, how he gloats at his prowess at most of his land landings. But you have no time to question, think, or ask, before he pulls off his belt, headset and hat before reaching to yank you into his lap.

It’s clumsy—a mess of limbs, a tight squeeze as your hands skate around his neck. But you forget about it all when his mouth crashes to yours. Kissing you so hard and hungrily your teeth clash. His breath is hot in your mouth as he pants at the feel, likely tasting himself as he slips his tongue into yours.

And it’s warm, his tongue. Licking into your mouth, large hands around your waist brushing your clothed core against his cock—the hiss reverbing down your throat as you swear you feel him shake. Tremble. So desperate for you that it makes him quiver.

You love kissing him.

Could spend hours doing it. Not caring about jaw aches when you’re tangled up with him. Like right now. In some field, in some place—

“Need t’fuck you, baby. Can I fuck you please?” he asks, voice low, but tinged with a plea.

His hand balls up your dress, the other hand hooking a finger in to pull your soaked underwear from your pussy before groaning at the sight. “Hold them for me, baby.”

Swallowing, smiling—you do. Lifting, nudging yourself closer as your knees screech on the leather as you become full of molten hunger. Hovering over him as he eases the head of his cock to your slick entrance, sliding it through your folds, eyes focused on you.

“Can’t wait.”

“Then, don’t,” you whisper.

Then he hisses as he pushes in, right between his teeth. One that’s born at the back of his throat and makes an entrance into the air. Cuts. Slices. The sound so fucking hot that you clench around him when he bottoms out—mouth open in an O at how full, stretched and stuffed you feel.

“No te muevas—lemme feel you, baby. Fuck—”

Your smile widens—practically smirking. Shifting on him as the hand on your waist tightens its hold. But, you’re not listening. Even less so when you press an open-mouth kiss to his skin as you begin to move, to slowly slide your pussy up and down his shaft.

“Fuck, querida—feel so—good—incredible. Tu perfecto. Made for me, you know that…”

It’s layered—all in a breath; you answer similarly when you say that you do. Practically pressing it into the air as you pant, resting your forehead on his shoulder, as the two of you are quick to find a pace.

It’s almost drowned by how wet you are, how loud it is when he begins to thrust up into you. All aching for one another, practically feral as you feel your slick clings to your inner thighs—likely smudging against his skin as your fist clenches at his shirt. Clit brushing against the tangle of coarse hair, you’re soaking, that makes you dizzy as he begins to fuck up into you.

All deep thrusts. Making you moan—feeling nothing but good. Perfect. Amazing.

Just how he always makes you feel this way. Every, single, time—

“Need you to come, baby,” he strains, rasps, groans as you feel his hand—all expert, calloused in the right places—snake between the two of you.

It’s there, trying to disguise between letters: desperation. Despair. His touch confirms it, finding your bundle of nerves as he makes you gasp, arch, tighten around him as your hand finds refuge on the back of his neck. Your fingers slide into his sweat-soaked curls, smearing against your fingers as you clutch, grip and grasp.

And you’re aware of it now. How the cabin is warmer—windows likely smothered in perspiration—but it’s nothing compared to the heat of your body. It licks at your neck, at the base of your spine, the backs of your thighs that meet your calves.

But you’re lost in it, in him. Wanting nothing more than to come; unable to speak from how much you want to. More so as his hips cant up into you, as you begin to see white in the corner of your vision—as your body becomes more fire than bone.

Tightening around him as he shifts, an angle that makes you see fucking stars as you whine his name like it’s made of one syllable.

“—that’s it, querida. Fuck, s’good for me, I love—“

It building, so near to snapping as you hear him babbling, rambling. Your mouth is just open against his neck, moaning—the noise slipping out of you as it slams into you. His voice fading, the world going quiet as you come undone, all pulsing, all clenching down on him as it crests.

But his hips push you through it. Chasing, seeking. His pace is all sloppy, difficult, lost as you blink your eyes open to see the way his face is scrunched, lips over his teeth. And if you hadn’t just, you swear you’d come against from the sight.

That look of sheer determination, skin bathed in sweat before his eyes find yours—crystallising, glazed over and fucked out—

“Come for me, baby,” you whisper.

And his expression pauses. Relaxes.

Smooths.

His hand tightens on your hip, grunting out your name—burying it into the air as his hips stutter. Then, he whines. Spilling inside of you as he collapses back into the chair, you pressed against him, jaw all slack and his eyes clenched shut.

And you swear you can feel his heartbeat. It is all out of step with your own.

Not that you care.

Smiles painted on your faces as your eyes met his, breaths ragged, your finger wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.

Before his lips slide back over yours, kissing you, writing gratitude against your mouth as the muscles in his neck flex under your palm.

an: look how pretty this issssssss. thank you so much, jett.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #francisco morales x you #frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier fic #francisco catfish morales

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nyx-is-missing · 4 months

Note

Clarisse and Reader (daughter of Poseidon) meeting in the middle of the night to swim in the lake and being caught by Chiron in a make-out session and being punished for it

Young love

Clarisse la rue x fem!reader (Poseidon's kid)

Summary: when Clarisse and reader cant get alone time in land and daylight, they search for the comfort of water and nights, until they are found

Warnings: poorly written make out session, fluff, lovebirds, kissing, chiron was there

(Yall already know)

"Clarisse are you sure nobody will notice we left?"

I said, while we both took of our clothes somewhere in the sand, the night was beautiful and me and Clarisse wanted some deserved time alone, wich we couldnt have in daylight

With the summer everyone was in camp and nowhere was calm and alone enough for us to have...a little time for us.

So there it goes our idea, to go out in the middle of the night to swim at the beach.

"Who would notice? Everyone is sleeping right now, dont let your head stop you from having some fun... c'mon"

She took me by the hand, walking me to the water, and we only stopped when the water was almost on our necks.

"Hey clari, do you hear this?"

"Hear what?"

She looks at me, and then looks around, as if waiting to see if somebody was there.

"The waves, arent they the most beautiful melody?"

I close my eyes, feeling the hot water currents softly in my body, and hearing the sound of the waves who never ceased to wet the sand.

"No"

She kissed the base of my neck

"Your voice is"

"Clarisse la rue being lovestruck? Thats new"

I looked at her, smilling big, to wich she just answered "i dont have much time with you, let me be ridiculous"

Her kissed went up, from the base, to the middle, to my jaw, and then my lips.

Her arms were around my hips, pulling me closer to her, my arms automatically hugged her neck.

I couldnt describe a better feeling, being in the water, on the arms of the girl i liked, kissing her, being unafraid of living, of loving.

Everything was too much, and yet too less.

I wanted more, more love, more of her, more kisses, just more more more.

Her tongue was hot against mine, and i felt everything with such intensity, i could swear my legs became jello, if my body wasnt inside the water, i would be shaking.

Its siliy, we kissed a thousand times and it still feels like the first one, i still get nervous when she looks at me that way only she can do.

I deepened the kiss, and felt her hands lowering a few inches, please let all the fish be sleeping, they like gossip a little bit too much

There was wind, and still i felt hot, even more when her mouth got back to the base of my neck, bitting it gently.

My eyes closed with enjoyment, but they oppened it up so quickly as i heard a familiar sound, a too familiar sound.

"Um.. clari we should sto-"

"Oh please, i barely have any time with you anymore, just one more kiss... or two.. or three.."

She said going directly back to kissing my mouth

The chill in my spine did not went away, actually, it had gone bigger when i heard him clearing his throat and saying:

"Young demigods... dont you think its too late to be swimming?"

Me and Clarisse separate really fast, faces going white with the shock of being caught by him

"CHIRON! I...we... how are you? The family doing great?"

He just stared at us with a fatherly look

"Both of you, get dressed and go back to your own cabins.....and three days of clean duty"

"Yes chiron, we are sorry"

We say togheter

"And next time you two decide to sneak out, at least do at daylight, so we can notice if something happens to either of you...or at least in a place harder to catch because... seriously.. i've been alive centuries, did you really think i wouldnt check the beach?"

#lesbian #fanfic #clarisse pjo #pjo tv show #pjo series #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 6 months

Text

For All I Care

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x Bard!Tav

Astarion's POV, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Astarion being bad with emotions, hints of one-sided Gale x Tav if you squint

Warning: Canon typical violence, violent thoughts toward Tav

Summary: After a fight with a hag, the rest of the party wakes up to find you still fighting for your life. Astarion feels himself at a loss, afraid and helpless in a way he has never felt before. And it's all your fault.

A/N: Just a gentle reminder that I have not played the game, so in terms of the exact placement on the timeline, it's a little sketchy. Just know that this is well before the events of I Want It All, and we'll call it good. And, as always, PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS! I NEED VALIDATION TO SURVIVE!

Word Count: 6.2K

If Astarion never saw a hag again, it would be too soon. Just one was more than enough for several lifetimes. The bitch was not only a sore to look at but hit like a brick wall. Even after a full night’s sleep aided by Shadowheart’s magic, he still felt stiff all over.

The rest of camp wasn’t much better. The sun was almost fully overhead by the time everyone stumbled out of their bed rolls. All morning banter was replaced with mumbled greetings and not so subtle groans. Even Lae’zel remained quiet, seemingly too occupied with her own discomfort to comment on the weakness of everyone else.

Astarion counted himself grateful for that. He didn’t think he could endure a lecture on top of an aching back.

“Here we are,” Gale said, a little too cheerfully. “I know last night's excursion was rather strenuous, but if this doesn’t cure what ails you, nothing will. No offense, Shadowheart.”

“I would take offense, but I’m frankly too tired to care,” she countered, dryly.

Gale gave a good natured laugh before handing her a bowl of something hot.

The pout on her face fell away as soon as she took her first bite. The rest weren’t far behind, the low murmur of pain turning to something more pleasant.

Astarion observed, doing his best to push down the bite on envy in his chest. He could eat, technically, but it went right through him, not even granting him the temporary relief of a full stomach. If it didn’t smell appetizing, he wouldn’t mind so much, but it did. Yet another minor torture of his existence.

Eventually Gale did turn his gaze to him, that annoyingly persistent enthusiasm faltering.

“Do you…ah, require a refreshment?”

Deciding to have some fun, Astarion gave him his best seductive smirk.

“Very much,” he purred. “However, if you’re the one offering, I’ll pass. I’ve got someone much more appetizing in mind.”

He turned his head towards your tent, and immediately frowned. You still hadn’t made an appearance. Granted you were always one to rest in, but this was getting ridiculous.

Gale followed his eye line, grimacing as he came to a similar conclusion.

“Might need to hold off on that. They got it pretty rough last night.”

“I’ll go check on them,” Wyll volunteered, pouring a fresh bowl of stew. “If anything will get them out of bed, this will.” He then turned to Astarion, giving him a hard look. “Try to keep your fangs to yourself until they’ve eaten something.”

He answered with a mocking pout. “Oh mother, must I?”

Wyll didn’t raise to the bait, rolling his one good eye before making his way towards your tent.

Something odd twisted inside Astarion. He was struck with the sudden urge to trip the man. Childish perhaps, but he just couldn’t stand that tone of altruistic condescension. He would have spoken up if Wyll hadn’t beaten him to it. He was rather partial to the idea of you and him sharing breakfast in bed. It would only be breakfast, but he wasn’t in a position to try for more. At the very least, it would be a convenient excuse to check on you himself.

Gale hadn’t been exaggerating. You had gotten the brunt of the hag’s attention, running between everyone to provide whatever aid you could. By the time you made it back to camp, you could barely stand, skipping your nightly check-ins in favor of falling straight into your tent and a soundless sleep.

This troubled him in a way he couldn’t properly explain. It wasn’t like he needed you to tuck him in, but he had grown accustomed to your face being the last he saw before closing his eyes. He knew the others appreciated it as well. It was how you had found yourself as the leader of this merry band. You weren’t the strongest or the most powerful, you simply took the time to care.

It should have bothered him more. Gods knew he clashed with Wyll and Karlach on more than one occasion concerning their bleeding heart heroics. Perhaps it was because your heart always put the party first. You’d extend it to others, but never to the point it needlessly put them and, more importantly, him in danger.

You just…helped, with clear eyed understanding and so little fanfare it made it easy to forget just how much you did, until the moment you couldn’t.

He blinked hard, mentally yanking himself from wherever his mind was leading him.

He wouldn’t feed on you today, he decided. There had to be some boar or deer around. It’d be best if they stay put another day anyhow. No need to rush into the next life or death scenario.

“Shadowheart! Gale!”

Everyone turned, to see Wyll running from your tent. The two spellcasters were up the next second, all exhaustion rushing from their bodies, readying for a fight.

“What’s going on?” Gale asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Tav.”

“What? How?” Shadowheart interjected. “They were fine last night. I healed them myself.”

Wyll shook his head. “That may be, but they’re not waking up.”

“We better have a look then,” Gale said, with an authority that left no room for argument. He took the lead, the two others falling quickly behind.

Astarion stayed where he was, frozen. There was a hard twisting in his gut. He could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck as the sudden need to run shot through his veins. He recognized the symptoms; fear was an emotion he was intimately familiar with.

Before he realized what was happening, he was on his feet, taking long strides towards your tent.

It couldn’t be as bad as Wyll was making it sound. Admittedly, you had been run rather ragged, but nothing the rest of them hadn’t felt. Perhaps he had taken one bite too many. This was nothing. You were fine. You were supposed to be fine.

He stopped at the threshold, pushing aside the flap.

Whatever breath he had in his lungs rushed out in an instant.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. It clung to the inside of his nose reeking of damp sickness. Your body was drenched in sweat, your hair plastered to your forehead in soaked clumps. He swore he could feel the heat of your skin burning. Your breath came ragged as if someone had wrapped an invisible hand around your throat and was slowly choking the life out of you. He could see how your body twitched and jerked. It was taking both Shadowheart and Wyll to keep your limbs in check as Gale mumbled some enchantment over your body.

His hand gripped hard on the fabric. He needed to take a step back. He had little experience with disease, but it was plain enough that whatever this was didn’t play by any rules he was familiar with. The survivor in him screamed to use this perfect distraction to grab whatever he could carry and run. Still, he didn’t move.

“What’s wrong with them?” he said, his voice rough even to his ears.

“I don’t know,” Gale admitted, clearly disturbed. “I haven’t seen anything like this before.”

“They were fine,” Shadowheart insisted. “I healed them, and they went to bed. Nothing else happened.”

“There were a lot of spells being thrown around last night. Maybe they were hit with something the rest of us weren’t,” Wyll suggested.

“Oh Gods,” Karlach said, just behind Astarion’s shoulder. “Do you think it’s the tadpoles?”

Something heavy sunk straight into his stomach at her words. It certainly was a possibility. They all knew the symptoms, but why now? Why you?

There was a slight rustle of movement just behind him. Lae’zel by the smell. A quick look out of the corner of his eye saw her standing just behind Karlach. Her back was stiff and her expression hardened in a way he had come to recognize.

He never moved faster in his life.

Before anyone could react, he ducked under Karlach’s arm, knocking Lae’zel off her feet. Her sword scattered clear of her grip, skittering into the grass. She fell with a hard thump as he used the momentum to trap her under the weight of his body and dagger at her throat.

“Now, what were you planning to do with that,” he said, as smooth as a knife.

Her surprise was evident, but quickly overtaken by a low growl straight from her chest.

“Unhand me, or I will unhand you.”

“Might need the sword for that.”

“Oi! What’s going on?” Karlach said, finally turning towards the scene.

“If it is the tadpoles, we cannot risk them turning,” Lae’zel snapped. “I am prepared to do what is necessary.”

Red blinded Astarion’s vision, a hiss escaping his lips as they pulled back to show bared fangs.

“Necessary?”

“We don’t know that yet,” Wyll said, stepping beside Karlach. “Just think a moment. If it was the tadpoles, wouldn’t all of us have felt something by now?”

Lae’zel ignored him, her eyes turning straight to Astarion’s. Her expression lost none of its fury, but there was a coldness to it that forced an air of calm.

“You know I’m right,” she held.

His jaw clenched. He did know. If even one of them turned into a mind flayer the rest were bound to follow. Killing you would be the logical thing to do to preserve his own survival. Still, it wasn’t your neck he was poised to cut.

“Nobody is killing anyone!” Wyll interjected. “Gale and Shadowheart will figure out what’s wrong with Tav. In the meantime, we are not going to do anything we would sooner regret.”

“Astarion?” Karlach said, cautiously.

There was a long pause. He could feel their eyes burning the back of his skull, but neither stepped closer. It was easy to imagine what he looked like; half crazed, teeth bared and blade ready. Not his best moment.

With what grace he could muster, he pulled away, quickly putting some distance between himself and Lae’zel.

She got to her feet, decidedly not reaching for her weapon as her eyes moved between the three of them.

“They live for now,” she allowed. “But if Tav does turn, you know what we’ll have to do.”

Astarion’s spine stiffened. The dagger twitched in his hand, just in time for Karlach to step between them.

“Walk away Lae’zel,” she said, sternly. “I’m not kidding.”

Lae’zel’s brow furrowed, her face twisting in disgust. “Tsk'va,” she cursed. “Cowards. All of you.”

She turned then, picking up her sword before making her way back to her tent.

Once she was a good distance away, some of the tension left Karlach’s shoulders as she pulled her attention back to him.

“You okay?” Karlach asked.

“Well, I certainly haven’t made any new friends,” Astarion said, his voice tighter than he intended. He glanced over at Wyll. “I take it still no answers?”

Wyll gave a long sigh. “Gale said he’ll need more time to detect the exact cause. He doesn’t think it’s the tadpoles, but there’s no telling just yet. Luckily, Shadowheart was able to calm them enough to sleep. At the very least they’re no longer at risk of hurting themselves.”

“So what do we do?” Karlach asked.

“Wait. This isn’t something we can fight. Gale and Shadowheart will do what they can, but ultimately, this is Tav’s battle.”

Astarion bit back a growl as red once again danced across his vision.

Wait? That was the fabled Blade of Frontier’s brilliant plan? Hells below was everyone in this camp completely useless?! He didn’t need to be a cleric to know what was happening. He knew what dying smelled like and none of them, not a single one, could think of an actual, tangible solution besides wait?

Forget tripping the man, it was taking every single ounce of restraint to keep from strangling him.

Draining the last of his patience, he turned on his heel, and made his way towards the treeline.

“Where are you going?” Wyll called.

“To go kill something,” Astarion spat. “Unless you want me to stay here and do it.”

Wyll looked like he was going to say something that would put his neck in Astarion’s teeth, but Karlach spoke up first.

“We’ll make sure Lae’zel keeps her distance. Don’t wander too far.”

Astarion didn’t have an answer. He just managed a tight nod before continuing out of camp and out of sight.

He didn’t know how long he walked. He just knew that by the time he stopped the sun was much lower in the sky. The sounds of his companions deafened in the overgrowth leaving him well and truly alone.

A shuddering breath escaped his lungs. Whatever strength in his limbs left him. He only just managed to catch himself on a tree as his hands began to shake.

What in the nine hells had he been thinking?

Well, that was the trick, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been thinking. Fear had been driving him and he had done as he always did when fear took over; he found a way to survive, damn anyone who got in his way. The difference was, it wasn’t his life that was in danger. When had your survival become so vital to his?

He knew he was reliant on you to keep him safe from Cazador. You were the only one who trusted him. Without your vote of confidence, chances are he would have been left to his own devices a long time ago. He needed you alive if he were to maintain the protection of the others. And he had put that protection in direct threat by holding a knife to one of the group’s best fighters.

He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his face in his hands.

Fuck, this was a disaster. He had never been particularly gifted when it came to strategy. It was difficult to anticipate consequences when he never knew what fresh hell awaited him in the morning. Compound that feeling by two hundred years and it was no wonder all his plans fell apart.

Even if you did survive, he still had no way of guaranteeing you would stay loyal to him. All his attempts at seduction had failed. You certainly enjoyed his company, and he was sure you gave him more attention than the others, but he didn’t know what you wanted. Every single day he waited for you to name your price and every single day you failed to answer. It was driving him to insanity.

No wonder he had been so quick to draw his blade. Any grasp he had on safety was already hanging by an invisible thread.

He let out a deep breath, forcing himself to calm. There was little he could control at the moment, but he could control himself. It was a new sensation, one he was still getting used to. He’d have an easier time of it once he fed.

Blood of thinking beings was out for the moment. He’d have to settle for something big and preferably angry. There would be nothing elegant about this hunt.

He got his wish. While he might have preferred a bear, the raging boar did well enough for his purposes.

It was an ugly kill. He didn’t just bite the beast. He tore into its neck so deeply the bones of its neck became exposed to the open air alongside bloodied muscle. His hands did the rest, ripping it fully open so the innards spilled out onto the forest floor. In the end, he didn’t even get much blood out of it, allowing the earth to become wet with carnage.

He breathed it in, hoping it would somehow erase the smell of your convulsing body from his mind.

It didn’t work.

Even with fresh blood in his mouth, he could only think of your labored breaths and racing heart. The relief of sated hunger became tainted by the taste of sickness on his tongue.

He forced himself back on his feet, not bothering to wipe away the blood as he stumbled further into the forest.

There was nothing he could do. He’d sooner drain the life from you than save it. It was baked into his nature; a disease in his own right.

If he just had a target, something he could trick or kill, it would be different. Instead he was left to wait; useless…powerless.

His hands clenched, his nails digging into his palms to the point of pain.

Surely he didn’t need you so badly. If you died, he would just have to refocus his efforts on somebody else; Shadowheart perhaps, or even Gale. He wasn’t about to get sentimental now. He would survive you as he had done countless others. This wasn’t his end.

He found a deer next, performing the same ritualistic slaughter. Blood filled him. He could feel his mind becoming clear, but it wasn’t enough. He moved onto a burrow of rabbits, then a badger, and even a weasel. It was only when he caught himself seriously contemplating gutting a squirrel did he realize how futile it was. All the blood in the world couldn’t make up for his inherent weakness.

He had grown too dependent on you. It was making him sloppy, unbalanced. Maybe you were better off dead. He would be free then.

That was the point of this whole venture wasn’t it? To be free. Free of Cazador. Free of fear. And here he was ready to chain himself to another just because they’d shown him a bit of kindness. What was that kindness worth when the loss of it inspired a terror he'd never known before.

A fury rose within him, one he clung to like a lifeline.

This was all your fault. You brought him to this. How could he possibly forgive you?

He let the anger fester as he took the time to clean himself up. Blood caked his hands up to his elbows with tendons stuck under his fingernails. It took several washes in a nearby stream to get it all out. He counted himself lucky his shirt had managed to escape most of the viscera. The last thing he wanted was an interrogation.

He needn’t have worried. It was well after dark by the time he crept back to camp. All was still, in the same way a body became when holding its breath.

He spotted Gale easily enough as he poured over some tome, his lips moving along with the words. Lae’zel and Wyll sat together, polishing their weapons without exchanging a word. Shadowheart looked to be meditating while Karlach sat next to the fire, brow furrowed while throwing the occasional stick into the flames.

Aside from the faint scrap of stone on metal, not a sound came from any of them.

Against his own will, his gaze turned to your tent.

It struck him then, why the quiet filled him with such dread.

By now a steady flow of strings should be teasing the edge of his ears. You seemed convinced a half inch of fabric was enough to muffle your rehearsals. None of them bothered to correct this assumption. On more than one occasion, he found himself forgetting the book in his hand as he listened to you work out some new melody. There was something about the way you played, as if each note lifted a burden on your soul. And if the night wasn’t filled with your music, it was touched by your voice.

You had a way of sparking conversation, sharing countless stories while encouraging the others to do the same. You knew when to listen, when to comment and just when to laugh to make the telling all the sweeter. He spent more time than he cared to admit thinking about how to pull that sound to your lips. He found it had the same effect on him as your plucking.

Then there were the rare times, when banter dwindled and everyone became lost in their own thoughts, he could make out a song just under your breath, an unconscious hum to accompany your work.

It brought a comfort he couldn’t describe, one he hadn’t realized he needed, until it was gone.

With quick steps he made his way to you, slipping into your tent with not even the barest rustle of fabric.

He’d never been in your tent before. If it were any other day, he’d be taking the time to examine every inch of it, but all he could focus on was you.

You were so still. An improvement from before, but not an especially encouraging one. It was clear from the perfectly arranged pillows you hadn’t moved since Shadowheart put you back to sleep. The only hint you were alive was that barest intake and outtake of breath.

His jaw tightened, his body tensing as a growing panic rose within him.

No, this was good. You were stable, for now. He still had options, more time to plan. He didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. Best he left and waited to see what the morning would bring.

You took a sharp intake of breath, slightly deeper than before. Your eyes twitched behind your lids and then you settled.

He paused, glancing to the entrance, half expecting somebody to come rushing in. He was surprised nobody was in here with you, or at the very least watching the door. He had slipped by without so much as a “hey you”. Any vagrant could just wander in.

He could end it right now. All it would take was one quick slice. The picture became clear; a single surprised gasp, the smell of your blood and then…silence. Forever.

Bile rose in his throat. He shut his eyes trying to will the image away as that new desperate terror threatened to drown him all over again.

Damn you. Damn you to every circle of the hells!

The gods were mocking him. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He couldn’t just like you. No, he had to go and start caring.

A small whimper broke through his thoughts. Your head jerked, your brows pinching in distress.

Shadowheart. He needed to get Shadowheart, or Gale, or Wyll. Hells, she may not be able to touch you, but Karlach would undoubtedly have a better bedside manner. Besides Lae’zel he was the worst person suited for this. Gods, what was he even doing here?

You took a sharp intake of breath, flinching away from something only you could see.

He was on his knees the next second.

Your body settled, but your breathing came hard and fast. At least it wasn’t rasping.

His hands hovered over you, unsure of what to do. He had officially given up on the idea of leaving. He’d just have to improvise the rest.

Hesitantly, he let his fingers brush across your forehead, pushing aside a few of the loose strands. You were hot to the touch, but he took comfort in the fact you weren’t sweating as you were before. Whatever had taken hold of you that morning, it seemed to have loosened its grip.

You began to calm, a soft murmur of contentment stumbling from your lips.

The irony was not lost on him, but it didn’t stop a part of him from melting at the sound.

“Now that’s hardly playing fair, darling,” he whispered. “I’m trying to be angry with you.”

You didn’t answer except for a sigh as you turned your head, following his touch.

He allowed himself to linger for a moment before placing the back of his hand against your skin to feel it properly. You really were much too warm. The relief you were expressing no doubt came more from his body temperature than his caresses.

Slowly, he pulled away as he glanced around the small space. There had to be a water skin in here somewhere. Surely the idiots would know better than to leave you to burn yourself from the inside out.

A soft groan caught his attention as he spun back to you.

You shifted under the blankets, rolling back and forth as if to get loose of your cocoon. Your eyes darted quickly behind your lids. Another huff of breath and then, all at once, there you were.

“Tav?” he breathed.

Your eyes were bleary. Your skin was sallow. Your hair was a mess. Everything around him smelled of sweat and sick. And for a moment, he swore he could feel his heart beat again.

A hint of a smile touched the corner of your mouth, your brows rising slightly.

“Tav? Must be pretty bad then.”

He had to laugh. It was a short, strangled thing, and just about the only thing he could do to keep the stinging in his eyes at bay.

“Worse,” he said, managing to gain some hold on himself. “Of course, it must be said, your worse is most best.”

You huffed out a small laugh of your own, which quickly turned into a series of dry coughs.

He straightened in alarm before quickly spotting the water skin hanging on the center pole of the tent. Thankfully it was full, allowing him to waste no time lifting your head as he guided the water into your mouth.

As soon as the liquid met your tongue you scrambled for more, pushing yourself further up to guzzle the rest.

“Easy,” he warned, pulling back the container. “Can’t have you choking to death after all of that.”

You gave a slight sputter, proving his point as you caught your breath. “Sorry. Just thirsty.”

“Clearly,” he quipped. “Do you need more?”

You averted your eyes, your expression turning suddenly sheepish. “Please?”

As tempting as it was, he decided to save his teasing for later. It was always more fun when you could give it right back anyway.

He lifted your head, resting it on his lap before guiding the lip of the lid back to yours.

“Slowly this time,” he cautioned.

Your muscles tensed with restraint, but you followed his lead, taking no more than he gave.

He tried to ignore the tight feeling in his chest. His mind flickered to his own thirst and, for a moment, he could see his own desperation reflected in your eyes.

Something stirred inside him; an ache he didn’t recognize. He’d do just about anything to keep that look from marring your face ever again.

Once you’d gotten a few more mouthfuls he pulled the water skin away, setting it down on the floor beside you.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice still a little rough, but an obvious improvement.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “To anyone.”

“Don’t worry, nobody would believe me anyway,” you teased.

“Truer words.”

Without really thinking, he let his palm rest on your forehead. He had already gotten a sense of your temperature, but the way your eyes closed as you relaxed into his touch was too good to pass up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.��

“Like a band of goblins decided to make a riot of my insides,” you admitted, before turning your gaze upward. “What about you?”

“Me?”

Your mouth turned in an apologetic half smile. “No offense, but you look a bit ragged. Did something happen?”

He blinked, surprised by the sudden flash of anger your question inspired. Of course he was a bit ragged. You had started this morning on the verge of death, the knowledge of which had been torturing him for near on…oh, who bloody cared how long. And yet you had the audacity to ask if something happened, as if that wasn’t enough; as if you weren’t enough.

It must have shown on his face, as your brows furrowed in concern.

“Astarion?”

He mentally shook himself, pushing down the emotion as best he could.

“Don’t worry about me, darling. Let’s focus on getting you better.”

You frowned, your lips parting as if to say something when the entrance of the tent burst open.

“Hey, thought I heard your voice!” Karlach said, with a beaming smile. “Good to see you awake soldier. Told’em you’d bounce back, just a matter of time. Shadowheart! Gale! Tav’s awake! Astarion is with ‘em.”

Astarion prickled at the announcement. He didn’t need the entire camp knowing his business. He had decided to sneak back for a reason. Surely nobody had seen him.

He got his answer, as Karlach turned back, lowering her voice.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Noticed you slip in earlier. Thought I’d leave you to watch Tav, but then I heard talking and well…you know.”

“Yes, thank you,” he clipped, hoping the note of embarrassment would be blamed on getting caught and not…other things.

“Thanks Karlach,” you said, smoothing over any lingering tension.

“Don’t even think about it. Few more rounds of healing and you’ll be right as rain.” She then turned her gaze to him. “You got’em?”

His brow furrowed slightly. He could say no. Gale and Shadowheart would need space to do their work. It would be the perfect excuse to walk away and try to forget any of this happened.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting in his lap.

You looked so fragile. It was a word he had never thought to use before when describing you. The sound of it rang with a dissonance that made his hair stand on end. Still you managed a half smile, your head tilting as silent permission to leave if he wanted.

And what exactly would he do if he left; wait in the dark, just as helpless as before. He may not be able to do much, but he could do this. It was better than nothing.

He turned back to Karlach, his purpose clear. “I’ve got them.”

She didn’t say anything back, simply nodding in acknowledgement before dipping out, and allowing Shadowheart and Gale to enter.

Shadowheart immediately took a place beside you, her hands glowing with magic as she got to work. Gale, meanwhile, remained standing seemingly unsure of what to do.

Astarion couldn’t help but notice the way the wizard’s eyes shifted awkwardly between you and him. Some petty part of him felt vindicated in staying. Apparently he had taken his designated spot.

“Glad to see you awake,” Shadowheart said.

“So am I, funny enough,” you said. “What happened?”

“Nasty bit of business,” Gale explained. “That hag didn’t hold anything back. Combination of cause fear, ray of sickness, a few other bits of spell work and bestowed curse to keep them all knotted together. The healing magic Shadowheart gave you last night was able to mend your physical wounds, but little else.

“Luckily once we were able to identify the spells, I was able to untangle most of the effects and pluck that curse right out. All told, it looked much worse than it was. With the hag dead, it appears your body has been able to fight off most of the remaining effects on its own. Honestly, if you were at full capacity at the start of the fight, it likely wouldn’t have gotten as bad as it did. Much easier to recover when all your blood is inside your body.”

Gale’s eyes flicked over to Astarion.

His jaw clenched, knowing full well what the wizard was implying, but he wasn’t about to admit he was right.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I take an arrow to the shoulder,” you said, dryly. “Just don’t bleed.”

Shadowheart gave a short laugh. “Good to see your sense of humor is intact.”

Astarion and Gale broke eye contact allowing whatever argument was about to ensue to die on their lips. There were more important things to worry about.

“What can I say, I’m a born entertainer,” you said, ruefully before turning your gaze evenly among the three of them. “I’m sorry to have caused so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Gale assured. “When compared to Karlach’s engine or my own condition, this is little more than a sniffle.” He glanced over to Shadowheart. “Anything I can do?”

“Honestly, there’s not much even I can do at this point,” she admitted. “We’ll just have to see how you feel in the morning. One of us should stay with you at least, in case something happens.”

“I’ll do it,” Astarion said, earning shocked looks from both spellcasters. He did so particularly love the look on Gale’s face.

“You’re sure?” Gale said, skeptically.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not planning to sleep much anyway. And don’t worry, I’m just as capable of yelling as anyone else in this camp. Besides, I doubt either of you are going to be much use to anyone in a few hours.”

Gale looked like he wanted to argue, but not before you spoke up.

“He has a point,” you said. “The pair of you have done enough as is. I’m feeling a lot better already. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Gale relented, with a grimace. “There’s some stew in that container there if you get hungry. See if you can keep some food down. And if they so much as twitch in their sleep–”

“I’ll handle it,” Astarion cut off with a sharpness that left no room for dispute.

Gale appeared taken aback. So did Shadowheart for that matter, but Astarion couldn’t bring himself to care. You had in a very polite, roundabout way told them to leave. His job was to make it clear how much better that would be for everyone’s health.

Both Gale and Shadowheart got the message, ducking out without another word.

Astarion waited, counting down a solid minute to make sure nobody else would come barging in. Only when he was certain they were gone did he finally allow his body to relax.

“You don’t have to stay.”

He pulled his attention back to you, his brows furrowing.

“I really am feeling a lot better,” you insisted. “I’ll be alright.”

His instinct was to argue. He wasn’t in the mood for any more quiet heroics from you, but something in your eyes gave him pause.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked.

“I…” You swallowed. The emotion in your voice was clear even from that one word. “You don’t–”

“Do you want me to go?” he repeated.

For a long moment, you didn’t say a word.

He waited for the predictable guilt to appear, an obvious sign of your irritating selflessness with maybe an apology thrown in on the side. There were hints of it, yes, but something else lingered, moving across your features despite your best efforts to bury it away.

“No,” you confessed, with a yearning deeper than he felt he had any right to know.

He thought back on what you told him, the bits and pieces you shared about your life. It was never obvious, just comments that slipped through, as if by accident.

You didn’t know your mother. Your father was little more than a memory. You never mentioned any siblings. A flurry of names and faces filled your stories from across Faerun, but they never stayed the same between tellings. Now that he gave it proper thought, he couldn’t think of a single one of them you had named friend.

He had to wonder how many nights you suffered through a fever alone, how many times you bandaged your own wounds and kept your own company on long nights in the middle of nowhere.

You hadn’t given him permission to go out of the kindness of your heart. You had expected him to. You just wanted to give yourself the illusion of control over when.

And yet, you asked him to stay.

“Well, that settles it,” he soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your lips parted as if to say something more, but you closed it again swallowing the words back down.

He counted himself grateful. He was liable to say any number of foolish things if you let him.

Slowly, your eyes began to droop as sleep overcame you once more.

As promised, he didn’t move, not daring to so much as shift your head.

Maybe…maybe this was your price. He couldn’t be sure. He doubted he would ever be sure of anything with you, but maybe this was what you wanted; somebody to care.

It was a dangerous notion. He had never provided anything real before. The concern he felt for you now was against his will. If he started caring for you on purpose, who knew where that might lead; the things he would be willing to do, all for you.

He blinked the thought away. He was getting ahead of himself. A little went a long way, especially with you. Honestly, it would be almost too easy; a kind word here, a helpful hand there, and he would have you curled around his finger in no time. It wasn’t so different from what he had done before. All he needed to do was not care anymore than he already did. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He could stop any time he wanted.

It was the thought that kept him through the night, the one he repeated to himself as he came as close to holding you as he dared.

He had a plan now. What could possibly go wrong?

Taglist: @bambamwolf87

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #asexual!tav #asexual!reader #bard!tav #astarion x ace!tav #astarion x evie

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wheresarizona · 4 months

Text

Learning to Live Part 27

summary: Javier was warned by you that the place he chose to propose needed to be somewhere secluded because you’d be super horny afterward. What happens when you’re both super horny after he puts that ring on your finger? Let’s just say there’s no way in hell you’re making it back to your guest room at the Murphy’s, and you’re taking advantage of any time you have alone, even if it’s risky.

rating: E (18+!! This is basically porn with plot. It is horny. No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), public sex, vaginal fingering, getting caught, oral sex (m & f receiving), road head, deepthroating, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), woman on top, anal play, dirty talk, (MASSIVE) breeding kink, spit mention, come eating, birth control discussion, wedding planning, feelings, Angry Javier Peña, Javier Peña in love, Javier saying romantic things, Chucho being the best supportive father, Chucho jonesing to have grandchildren)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

word count: 17.7k+

a/n: I have had a rough last couple of weeks, and the only thing that kept me from having a complete and total breakdown was writing about these two horny dummies. This chapter is unbeta’d, and any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @juletheghoul for ensuring the Spanish made sense and @theorganasolo for giving it a read.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The waves were roaring as they rolled and crashed toward the shore; some bird he couldn’t identify was squawking in the distance, the warm, humid air smelling like salt and brine. All of that was surrounding him, and the only thing Javier cared about was the woman moaning beneath him.

His fiancée.

She tasted like coffee and the sweetness of the berries and pineapple she had eaten earlier, tangling his tongue with hers. He held himself up with an arm beside her head on the blanket over the sand, giving himself enough space to work his other hand between their bodies and into her stretchy black leggings and panties. Two of his thick fingers were fucking in and out of her hot, wet cunt, his thumb on her swollen little clit, Javier swallowing her noises, knowing she was close with how tightly she was squeezing his digits.

Happy was an understatement for how he felt; he was on cloud nine, over the goddamn moon, on top of the fucking world—Javier had to be the happiest man on the entire planet because she said yes.

Yes!

She was wearing the ring, her fingers currently in his hair, and he was dying to be inside her.

There wasn’t any reason for him to be surprised by her answer, yet up until she said that three-letter word, there’d been fear in the back of his mind she’d say no. Which was ridiculous for him to even think, and he deserved it when she laid into him that she did say yes, and she was going to marry him.

He’d brought her to a little stretch of beach away from the high-traffic, touristy areas Steve and Connie had shown him years ago, so they’d have some privacy hidden away in their alcove, and since the lifeguards didn’t start patrolling until eight, there wasn’t much risk of anyone coming across them.

They didn’t get this far the first time they made out due to the interruption of her stomach growling and Javier stopping the heated kiss to insist that they eat breakfast, which they did as they watched the sun rise. Now, his cock was hard and straining in his jeans, arousal hot in his belly, working his fingers faster and making it a point to press into that spot that made her toes curl. Her muffled sounds got louder until her body was tensing, clamping down on his digits hard enough that he slowed his movements, working her through her climax with his thumb gently rolling over her sensitive bundle of nerves.

He nipped at her chin while she panted. “Good girl,” he purred, kissing a wet streak under her jaw. “Quiero hacerte el amor bajo el sol (I want to make love to you under the sun).” His words were said into her skin. “Quiero dártelo despacito mientras escuchamos las olas (I want to give it to you slowly while we listen to the waves). ¿Quieres eso (You want that)?” He sucked on her pulse point, and she moaned out yes, which might be his new favorite word.

All he needed to do was pull down her pants and underwear with how she was soaked and ready for him, and he’d be able to slide his dick inside the wet, snug heat of her pussy; Javier removed his hand from down her leggings, groaning as he sat up on his knees, his fingers going into her elastic waistband, starting to tug—

“Good morning, folks,” an unfamiliar masculine voice greeted.

Javier’s stomach plummeted, his heart pounding in his chest, and he immediately went on the defensive. His hands left her as his upper body twisted, and his head turned to glare at the interloper.

Fuck.

A small white truck was a little way away from them with Ocean Rescue in big blue letters on the side of it, a rack on the back with a long white paddleboard atop it, and a red lifeguard rescue tube hanging from it. A guy in his late twenties was in the driver's seat, his arm hanging out of the window, dark sunglasses covering his eyes, with floppy black hair and a clean-shaven face.

Javier cleared his throat, frowning.

“Good morning, sir...” he said.

Thank Christ, with how they were positioned, the younger man wouldn’t have seen anything; Steve would give him so much shit if he got arrested because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

“It’s usually only surfers out this early.” The lifeguard smiled. “I just wanted to make sure everything is okay over here.”

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Ma’am,” the man said a little louder, “is everything okay over here?”

“Everything’s great!” Javier glanced over to see she was holding her thumb up.

“Awesome.” The guy in the truck focused back on Javier. “I hate being a buzzkill, man, and getting in the way of your fun, but it’s my job to remind you this is a public beach.”

“Right, yeah.” Javier scratched at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

He waved away his apology. “Don’t sweat it. Just enjoy the rest of your day!”

“Yeah, you, too. Thank you.”

The other man nodded once, his attention going in front of him as he started driving, slowly making his way down the beach and away from them.

“Oh my god, Javier,” Cielito groaned. “That was too close.”

He faced her, seeing her hands covering her eyes.

“I’m sorry, mi amor (my love),” he said, checking his watch. “Fuck, I didn’t realize it was after eight.”

She looked at him with shock on her face. “How did we lose track of time? How long were we fooling around for?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, pressing clean fingers to his forehead. “I got so fucking caught up in everything I forgot to pay attention to the time.”

There was rustling as she sat up, her hands rubbing along his biceps. “We both got caught up and forgot we had a time limit. On the bright side, he stopped us before you pulled your dick out or got my pants off, so he saved us from being arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Still coulda gotten us with a lesser charge for fucking around in public.”

She pulled his hand away from his face to make him look at her and the soft smile on her kiss-swollen lips.

“But he didn’t. So, why don’t we pack up and take this party back to the house where we can attempt a quickie without anyone knowing?” She wagged her eyebrows.

His cock twitched, gulping at the thought. “Or I could just fuck you in the back of the car?” That was a better option.

“You know how much I love car sex, and the SUV does have a lot of space in the backseat and those dark, tinted windows, but I think our public sex luck has run out for today. I can picture perfectly how giddy Steve would be if he had to bail us out of jail because we were caught having sex in public.”

The image of his best friend’s grinning face came to mind, and just the thought made his jaw clench and mouth turn down in a frown.

He sighed. “You’re right. Steve would never let me live it down. The house is a better idea.”

“I’m always right,” she said with a smile, lightly patting his cheek.

Javier snorted, leaning forward to kiss her. “You are always right,” he murmured against her lips.

He felt her smile. “You’re gonna be the best husband.” The fingers of both her hands slid into the hair above his ears, and, along with her words, he had a shiver moving down his spine, feeling himself melt under her touch.

“And you’re gonna be the best wife,” he said as they broke apart, and he took her left hand into his, seeing the ring on her finger, bringing it up to his lips to kiss it.

“Ugh, we need to leave right this second because it is essential I make you come.”

He smiled, meeting her eyes.

“Essential? What if we can’t sneak away from the Murphys? I’m sorry, baby, but you might have to wait until tonight to get me off.”

The wheels were turning in her head. She was thinking hard until she nodded to herself at figuring something out. “I’m gonna make you come.” It was stated as a fact. “Before tonight.”

His eyebrow rose. “Uh-huh, right, and how are you going to do that?”

The toothy smile on her face was reminiscent of the Cheshire cat. “Oh, it’s a surprise.”

“It’s a surprise?”

“Yep.”

“No hints?”

“Nope.” She shook her head.

The most logical way for her to achieve her goal was to corner him in the bathroom back at Steve and Connie’s, but he didn’t think she’d be this excited about that. She had something else in mind, and he was curious what it was, finding her eagerness to get him off a major turn-on, as evidenced by the hard-on in his pants.

“I do like surprises,” he mused.

“You especially love sexy surprises, and I think you’re really going to like this one.”

“I know I will.” He caressed her cheek, memorizing how her face looked in the soft glow of the morning sun—breathtaking. “I love you.”

She smiled. “I love you, too.”

It didn’t take them long to pack up the stuff he’d brought into the tote bag that included empty berry containers, a mostly drunk thermos of coffee, and two dirtied coffee mugs, folding the big blanket, too, and putting it all in the trunk of the rental.

Javier thought the smile on his face might be permanent, with how it wouldn’t go away. He opened the passenger door for her. “Your ride awaits, Mrs. Peña.” She took the hand he held out to help her up into the vehicle as she giggled.

“Future, Mrs. Peña,” she corrected as she sat down in her seat.

He took the step to have him next to her and bent to be at her eye level, gently turning her head with his fingers on her chin. “You said yes, and you’re wearing the ring—all that’s keeping you from legally being my wife is a ceremony and a piece of paper, but to me? I’ve already got it in my head that you’re Mrs. Peña, my wife, and people will know you’re taken just by looking at your hand.” He nodded toward her hands in her lap on top of his leather jacket.

“You love that.” Her smile was beaming.

“Love what?”

She held up her left hand. “That you put a ring on my finger so it’s clear I’m off the market and unavailable—you like that you’ve staked your claim.”

Now, that made him frown—he did love that the engagement ring broadcasted she was in a serious relationship, but he did not like the idea that it was him putting a claim on her like she was a piece of property.

An exasperated breath left her. “Let me rephrase,” she said, “because I can see it on your face—” She gestured at it. “—that you’re hating me objectifying myself. You like that I’m wearing something that shows I’m yours and have chosen to spend my life with you, and when we’re together, others will see it and know, too.”

He was smiling again, taking her left hand into his, the pad of his thumb feeling the smoothness of the gold band, then the ridges of one small diamond, two, the largest, and down to the smaller ones before it was smooth gold again, and rubbing back over it, over and over again, as he spoke. “Yes,” he said. “I love that you’re wearing this ring so I can see the proof every fucking day that you chose to marry me—” He pressed his free hand to his chest. “Me. You’re marrying me, and just like how I can see the proof, everyone else can, too—they’ll know you’re mine, and I’m yours, and you’ve chosen me, and I can’t wait to wear my own ring to broadcast to the entire fucking world that I’m a married man and your husband.”

“God, you’re so fucking sweet—gold or silver?”

His eyebrows scrunched together. “Huh?”

“Your wedding ring. Gold or silver? Do you want diamonds on it? Or a different kind of gem? What are you imagining?”

“A gold band—nothing on it,” he answered immediately. “Gold that matches yours.”

Her eyes softened. “That makes perfect sense—something simple and classic.”

“Yeah, that’s all I need.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Now, let’s go, babe.” Her right hand brushed his bangs off his forehead. “You know how horny it makes me when you’re stupidly romantic, and I hate that you were cockblocked.”

He huffed out an amused breath. “I’m fine, mi amor (my love).” He gave her a quick peck on the lips.

Her hand moved from his face to the front of his jeans, Javier’s mouth falling open as she rubbed over his half-hard dick. “Sure, you’re fine,” she said. “Sure, you don’t care about not coming.”

There was a dull ache low in his gut from not getting off, and he swallowed hard at remembering her promise to make him come before that evening.

“Fuck, let’s go.” He kissed her quickly, grabbing her seatbelt and getting it around her body to buckle it in, kissing her one more time before he moved to shut the door, the dark window obscuring the view of her.

Cars were crowding the roads when they started heading back to the Murphys, the rush hour traffic making their commute much longer than the forty-five minutes it’d taken earlier that morning.

Javier fucking hated traffic, and it was one of the things he didn’t miss about Miami.

His jaw was clenched tight as they moved at a crawl down the highway with one hand on the steering wheel and his other in Cielito’s lap with their fingers intertwined, trying his best not to let his irritation of the other drivers sour their joyous day.

A candy apple red Mazda Miata with its top down almost hit their front bumper as it cut into their lane, causing Javier to slam on the brakes and lay on the horn. “Fuck!”

The guy in the car flipped him off, and his nostrils flared, his heart hammering, it taking everything in him to resist the urge to jump out of their Ford and kick the other man’s ass.

“Give me your cell phone,” his wife-to-be said.

He was seething, glancing at her. “What?” The word slipped through his teeth.

She let go of his hand to hold out her palm, looking at him expectantly. “Give me your cell phone, please.”

There was a deep frown on his face, his eyebrows dipped low, not wasting another second as he adjusted in his seat to easily pull the cell phone off his belt, passing it to her.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, looking over at her.

“Home,” she answered, her attention on the phone’s numbers under the protective case’s front plastic.

“Why didn’t you bring it?”

“Why would I need it? We’re gonna be together the whole time we’re here, and I kinda didn’t want anyone to be able to reach me unless it was an emergency, which, if that were the case, they’d know to call you.”

Her answer made him smile, liking that she didn’t want their time together to be interrupted. He watched as she pressed a number, then the call button to speed dial someone, the device going up to her ear.

Seconds later, she was laughing. “Sí, Pop (Yes, Pop),” she said, “me propuso matrimonio y yo dije que sí (he proposed to me and I said yes).” She giggled, and he was looking at the road again as he listened, not caring about the traffic anymore. “Creo que soy yo la afortunada y seria estúpida si hubiera dicho que no (I think I’m the lucky one and I would have been stupid if I’d said no). Javi es increíble y me hace la mujer más feliz del mundo entero (Javi is amazing and he makes me the happiest woman in the world). No sabes lo feliz que estoy de que me haya pedido que fuera su esposa (You don’t know how happy I am that he asked me to be his wife)... Eso es cierto, estabas asi de feliz cuando Antonia dijo que sí (That’s true, you were this happy when Antonia said yes). ¿No es la mejor sensación (Isn’t it the best feeling)? Apuesto a que Javi también lo está sintiendo (I bet Javi’s feeling it, too).”

“I am,” he said, his head turning toward her with a smile, warmth spreading through his veins. “Sí, lo soy (Yes, I am). Se siente increíble (It feels amazing).”

She grinned. “Sí, él también está muy feliz (Yes, he’s very happy, too),” she told his dad. Something she heard made her laugh, and Javier wished he knew what his father was saying.

“What did he say?” Javier whispered, focusing back on what was in front of him.

It had her switching to English, sounding amused. “We haven’t even been engaged a day, and you’re already asking about grandchildren.”

Of course, that was what his dad wanted to talk about. It made his heart speed up that this was the conversation that would determine if Cielito and he would start their family—she wanted to discuss living on the ranch with Chucho while their house was being built, something his father had already agreed to with him but hadn’t talked to her about yet.

A big smile was on her face as she spoke. “Yes, we will definitely be married before a baby is born… We haven’t had a chance to hash out the details of our wedding yet… Oh, of course, we have to do something at the ranch with Daphne and Velma—” Those were their two calves they lovingly called their bovine children. “—and we’d have to make sure Steve, Connie, and their family can be there…” Her tone shifted to something somber, and he quickly looked over to see she was frowning, and he matched her look. “It’s fine that you asked,” she said, “but, no, I wouldn’t want anyone from my family there; I don’t think they’d come if we invited them, and I’d worry they’d cause a scene if they did show up… You and the rest of the Peña’s are all the family I need…”

Javier’s heart squeezed, reaching over to rub her thigh. “I love you, too…” She grabbed his hand and held it, his dad making her laugh again. “Yes, yes, your nietos (grandchildren),” she replied in exasperation. “Javi said he talked to you… I know you’re excited, Pop…” She was smiling again. “You really won’t mind a crying baby?” Javier held his breath. “You’re sure?” Whatever his answer was, it had her giggling. “I’m going to remember you said that! Today, December 11th, at—” Her attention went to the clock radio. “—8:39 am Jesús Eduardo Peña Torres swore he wouldn’t mind his grandchild crying at all hours of the night and stated he would even assist in caring for the child to give his son and daughter-in-law breaks…” His father said something that cracked her up, saying through her laughter, “You’re going to put it in writing for us?!” Javier chuckled, thinking when they saw his dad next, he most likely would have something written up for them because he was that serious.

As much as he was loving the banter between his fiancée and father, he was dying to know if this had quelled her worries.

The bumper-to-bumper traffic was an afterthought as he glanced over at her. “How are you, uh, feeling?” he quietly asked.

Her bright, shining eyes met his with a grin on her beautiful lips, moving the phone away from her mouth to cover the speaker. She whispered, “Oh, it’s go time, babe. Like, I am going to be keeping you busy."

The smile on his face made his cheeks hurt, her answer causing arousal to burn low in his gut and blood to rush to his groin.

She was going to keep him busy trying to get her pregnant, and he was more than up for the challenge—his dick hardening at the thought.

Cielito uncovered the cell phone, saying to his father, "Yes, I'm still here; sorry, Javi had a question... Oh, of course." She was smiling. "I love you, too. Here he is." With that, she held the phone out toward him, and he took it.

"¿Bueno (Hello)?" he answered with the device at his ear.

"¿Le propusiste matrimonio durante el amanecer como hablamos (Did you propose during the sunrise like we talked about)?"

While his wif-fiancée was out with her best friend the previous weekend, he’d gone to the ranch to discuss his proposal idea with his dad since the elder Peña was a romantic like him and understood what he wanted to do.

"Sí (Yes)."

“¿Dijiste el gran discurso romántico que habías planeado pero que te negaste a practicar conmigo (Did you say that big romantic speech you had planned but refused to rehearse with me)?”

Javier sighed, remembering how his dad had needled him to say it—the only reason he didn’t was because of how intimate and personal it was, and he only wanted his intended to hear it.

“Más o menos (More or less),” he answered. “Acabo de decir lo que se sentía bien y vino del corazón (I just said what felt right and came from the heart).”

“¿Y a ella le gustó mucho (And did she like it a lot)?

“Ella dijo que sí, así que supongo que si (She said yes, so I guess she did).”

“¡Esi es, mijo (That’s it, son)! Sabes, recibes tus genes románticos de mí (You know, you get your romantic genes from me).” Pride was in his tone. “No tengo duda de que lo que dijiste fue hermoso (I have no doubt that what you said was beautiful). ¿Le gustó el anillo (Did she like the ring)?”

His head turned and looked at it on her finger.

“Le encanta el anillo, especialmente porque era de mi mamá (She loves the ring, especially because it was my mom’s). Ella estaba conmovida que le dejaste tenerlo (She was touched you let her have it). Eh—” Their SUV was moving at a slow roll, and his head moved away from her, switching ears as he said, hopefully quietly enough that she wouldn't hear, "¿Es normal que haya mucho llanto (Is it normal for there to be a lot of crying)..?"

Chucho laughed. "Sí, Mijo (Yes, Mijo). Eso es bueno (That’s good). Tu madre también lloró cuando le propuse matrimonio (Your mom also cried when I proposed)—Incluso yo también lloré (I even cried).”

“Yo también (I did, too)."

"No hay nada de malo en eso (There is nothing wrong with that). Estoy muy feliz por ti, Javi, y orgulloso de ti (I am so happy for you, Javi, and proud of you). Vas a ser un esposo increíble (You’re going to be an amazing husband)."

The praise had a lump forming in his throat.

"Gracias, Pop (Thank you, Pop)."

"No, gracias, Mijo (No, thank you, Mijo). Has traído a una mujer maravillosa a nuestra familia y me encanta tener una hija (You've brought a wonderful woman into our family and I love having a daughter). Sería aún mejor si también tuviera algunos nietos (It would be even better if I also had some grandchildren)."

Javier sighed. "Lo sé, lo sé (I know, I know). Quieres a tus nietos (You want your grandchildren). Bueno, tendrás que esperar porque no es algo que sucede asi tan rapido (Well, you're going to have to wait because it's not something that happens overnight)."

"Lo siento por ser tan agresivo (I’m sorry for being pushy). Es que estoy emocionado (I’m just excited). ¿Ayudó mi conversación con ella (Did my talk with her help)?"

"Sí (Yes). Gracias por quedarte en casa hoy (Thank you for staying home today)."

"No quería perderme tu llamada (I didn't want to miss your call)."

"Lo aprecio mucho, Pop (I appreciate it a lot, Pop)."

"De nada, Javi (You're welcome, Javi). Sabes que haré cualquier cosa por ustedes dos y sus futuros hijos (You know I'll do anything for the two of you and your future kids). Ustedes significan todo para mí (You all mean everything to me)."

Javier knew his dad was telling the truth, and it made his eyes burn with unshed tears.

"Te amamos (We love you)."

"Yo también te amo (I love you, too)."

He didn't want his emotions to get the better of him when they should be celebrating.

“We'll see you Sunday,” he said in English.

"Yes, you will. I can't wait to get a picture of you and her with the engagement ring for my photo album. We're going to have a great dinner."

"Yeah, we will. I'm gonna get going. I'll let you know when we get home from our trip."

"Thank you. Congratulations, Mijo. I'm going to take some flowers to your mom and tell her the news. I love you—I love both of you, and your mother does, too."

The mention of his mom had foggy memories of his dream from the night before coming back to him, only recalling bits and pieces of it, but he knew his father was right—she did love them.

"Thanks, Pop. I love you, too. Bye."

"Bye, Mijo."

He pushed the end call button, moving it to his other hand. Beneath the car's stereo and temperature controls was a slot where he put the cell phone.

"Well," Javier started, reaching over to grab her hand, "I wouldn't be surprised if he had our wedding planned by dinner Sunday." He brought her hand up while he looked over at her and kissed the center diamond.

She giggled. "I'm pretty sure he started planning our wedding when we first got together, which, oh my god, how long has he known you were going to propose on this trip?"

"The first week of November. Why?"

His eyes were back on the road, keeping her hand in his palm, his thumb rubbing over the ring.

"Because over the last month, when it'd just be your dad and I talking, he was fishing for info on my dream wedding—I didn't think anything of it 'cause it's been set in stone for a long time that we're going to get married and I figured he was just being proactive."

Javier was frowning, feeling a twinge of annoyance that his dad could've ruined his plans.

"I'm glad it didn't tip you off..." he grumbled.

"Hey, don't be upset with him! He's our biggest supporter. He's invested in our relationship like we're Buffy and Angel or a couple in one of your tías telenovelas!"

His eyes narrowed. "He finds our relationship... entertaining?"

There was a lot of drama between couples in telenovelas, and he guessed they'd been through some shit in their relationship. She'd explained that vampire slayer show to him and made him watch some episodes, and knew Buffy and Angel didn't have an easy time being together.

"No, he doesn't find our relationship entertaining," she replied. "We're his favorite couple. He thinks we're meant to be together and wants our relationship to succeed more than anything."

"Oh."

"Yeah." There wasn't too much space between them, a small console keeping their seats separated, and she leaned over, her free hand reaching across her body to rub over his pec. "It's very sweet. There's something else I want to talk to you about."

"Yeah?" He turned on his blinker and looked over his shoulder to check his blind spot before merging into the next lane, where cars were moving a bit faster.

"Yes, babymaking."

Air hissed out of him at the sharp spike of arousal that cut through him.

He licked his lips. "What, uh, about it?"

"Our sex life is fucking amazing, and I don't want us to lose our spark and for it to become a chore; yes, we basically only have one shot a month, and we'll have to really go to town, but I want us to enjoy ourselves and fuck for pleasure, not for the sole purpose of reproducing."

Looking over at her with a smile, he said, "Yeah, that sounds good. I wouldn't want it becoming a chore, either."

She smiled. "I'm glad that's agreed upon. There's something else I need to tell you."

"Okay?"

"You know how we got up insanely early yesterday, too?"

That was when they traveled to Miami, and they'd woken up at 4 am to make their 6 am flight from Laredo to Dallas/Fort Worth.

"Yes?" He was paying attention to driving again.

"Well, apparently, in the hecticness that was making sure we had everything before we left the apartment, checking us in when we got to the airport, boarding the airplane, traveling, boarding another plane, and getting to Miami, it kinda, sorta, slipped my mind to take my birth control..."

His eyes went big, his head snapping toward her.

"What?"

"I know. I can't believe I forgot and just about had a heart attack this morning when I saw the pill in my pack—I had to make a choice."

"What choice?" he asked.

"It was either I take yesterday's and today's pills, or I take neither."

"What did you choose?" he breathed out the question. He thought his heart might thump right out of his chest, looking forward once more.

"Well, based on the fact that I showered after each time we fucked yesterday, and there's still come inside me, and we've agreed to a baby, I just said fuck it and threw away the entire pack."

His brain short-circuited, it taking him a little longer than usual to process what she said, and needing to make sure he understood her correctly.

"You're no longer on birth control..?"

"Nope," she said with a pop of the 'p.'

"I could get you pregnant?"

"Yep." The word popped from her mouth.

"Fuck." Blood was rushing to his dick, remembering how he had come inside her twice the day before. What if he’d already knocked her up?

She removed her hand from his, her upper body turned toward him and close while she rubbed along his inner thigh, making him gulp.

"Do you like that?" she purred.

Both of his hands were on the steering wheel now, squeezing so tight the leather creaked.

He cleared his throat. "You know I do."

She palmed his swelling cock, and his mouth fell open.

"Yes, you do. It's too bad we're gonna get back to the house and won't be able to lock ourselves away in the guest room and fuck for hours. Just imagine fucking me over and over again to keep me all nice and full."

Now, it was all he could think about. He was fully hard, and he hated that they wouldn't be able to do just that. How was he supposed to enjoy the rest of their trip when he was so fucking horny?

"How long until we get back to the Murphys?" she asked.

It took him a second to register her question; his brain was stuck on imagining fucking her in a myriad of positions and finishing inside her each time.

He glanced at the clock, then the cars in front of them, and the sign on the side of the highway for where they were. "Uh, maybe forty/forty-five minutes." And then they wouldn't be alone until later that night, which made his mouth turn down, annoyed. "Why would you put that shit in my head?" he groused.

Sure, they could try to slip away to be alone; however, he had his doubts that they’d have enough time to fuck. They didn't have an excuse like they did yesterday of needing a nap and shower after traveling. The kids would want their attention—Steve and Connie sure as fuck would notice if they disappeared for an extended amount of time in their home, and his best friend would happily interrupt if he had a chance, like when he banged on the wall the night before when they were trying to have sex in that goddamn squeaky bed.

"Because," she answered, "I want you to be so horny you'll let me suck your dick right this second."

His cock jerked hard in his jeans as he groaned.

"I thought you said our public sex luck had run out?"

"Our stationary public sex luck has run out, but now we're moving in a dark windowed vehicle. So, if you want and think you can handle it, I'll suck you off to take an edge off of how unbelievably horny you are—which you're at the grumpy stage of being unbelievably horny, and I'd prefer getting you in a better mood, so you're not too mean to Steve."

She was right. He was unbelievably horny.

"Okay, yes, please."

The sight before him was miles upon miles of cars and a sea of glowing red rearview lights, the tall buildings in downtown Miami jutting high in the sky off in the distance to the left. They were moving slowly and steadily down the road.

Her seatbelt clicked as she unbuckled herself, shuffling to get her knees on her seat, leaning over the small, low center console, his hand closest to her moving to rest on her shirt-covered back to give her room to work open his belt and jeans.

The metal of his belt buckle rattled, and she quickly popped open the button on his pants, lifting his hips instinctively for her fingers in the denim waistband to tug them down far enough to free his throbbing dick and heavy sack; his jeans pulled taut as they stretched across his spread thighs.

He looked down to watch her spit in her palm, the ruddy tip of him shining with precum. She took him in hand, and he gasped, her head tilting up to meet his gaze. Reaching, he squeezed a handful of her ass.

"I know you love watching, but I need you to be a good boy and keep your eyes on the road." He swallowed hard. "Just know I've wanted to do this since the beach, and I'm happy you're finally letting me—my panties are drenched."

"Jesus Christ," he said on an exhale, looking forward at the sports car they were slowly following. "I love you so fucking much." Both of his hands went to the steering wheel, keeping them at ten and two.

"I love you, too, and if it becomes too much, you're allowed to tap out."

"I know."

She licked a broad stripe from base to tip, swirling her tongue around the head, making Javier groan as she pressed into those sensitive spots that made sparks dance along his spine. Pleasure had ignited in his belly, her lips wrapping around him and taking him into the hot, wet heat of her mouth, his jaw dropping and hands making the leather screech with how tightly he was squeezing the steering wheel.

The vibrations of her moans had the fire rapidly building in his gut, loving how he could hear how much she was enjoying herself.

She spit on the head of his cock, following it with her mouth, bobbing up and down, taking more and more of him until he was hitting the back of her throat, and it had him panting when she swallowed around him to take him down into the tight space.

"Oh, fuck, baby," he moaned, his toes curled in his boots. "That's so fucking good."

It did feel good, but what would be even better was if he could fuck her—he was greedy. She was giving him a fantastic blow job, and all he could think about was how he wished he was inside her—that it was the wet heat of her pussy enveloping him right now.

Yeah, she was on her way to getting him off—she was now wetly stroking him while her head dipped down so she could lick at the thin skin of his balls—but no matter how much pleasure she was bringing him, there was still an undercurrent of irritation from being interrupted that morning when he was trying to get into her pants.

This might not have been the best idea when the car behind them honked because he was going too slow; Javier immediately sped up.

She was right.

She could take the edge off of how horny he was by making him come with her mouth; he just hated he couldn't fuck her until later that night.

Add in the fact she accepted his proposal and told him she wasn't on birth control anymore, and it was killing him he had to wait to have sex with her. She put it in his head about fucking her for hours, and he was annoyed it wasn't something he actually had the means to do with them being on a trip.

If it was his choice and he knew they could get away with it, he’d lock them away in the guest room when they returned to Steve and Connie’s and spend as much time as he could between his future wife’s legs.

She had him back down her throat, humming around him, and he felt his eyes beginning to roll back in his head—a horn blared behind them again, this time the car speeding to pass around them, the traffic finally letting up, and the vehicles moving at regular speeds. It pissed him off, turning on his blinker and looking over his shoulder as he moved over into the far right lane for slower traffic, hoping people would leave them the fuck alone.

He was close, his heart beating rapidly, and dick swallowed down deep in her throat while her hand fondled his sack, it adding fuel to the burning fire in his gut, the muscles starting to tighten—at the thought of finishing in her mouth, he frowned.

A sign on the side of the road caught his attention, showing some places off the next exit that gave him an idea. Glancing at the clock on the stereo, he made a decision.

Or, more accurately, his dick made a decision.

"Don't make me come."

His sentence came out strained, his big hand on the back of your head and his hard cock nestled in the tight confines of your throat. Tears were streaming from the corners of your eyes at suppressing your gag reflex, saliva dripping down your chin.

What he said made your eyebrows furrow, humming, 'What?' around him.

You could hear the blinker clicking, his long arm reaching to grab some of your ass.

"Don't make me come," he said again.

With how he was panting and his tense thighs, you knew it wasn't going to take much more to finish him, and you didn't understand why he wanted you to stop, coming off of him with a gasp, a string of spit keeping you connected.

Your breaths were labored, sitting up to look at him.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

He looked at you with a smirk, his face flushed.

"I'm fucking amazing," he answered.

His dick was slick as your hand languidly jerked him, easily moving up and down the velvety skin.

"...and you don't want to come..?" It made no sense. You knew how horny he was.

"I want to come." His eyes went to the road. "I just don't wanna come in your mouth." He seemed to be looking for something outside, his head moving forward with squinted eyes, and your face turned to see where you were, finding that he was taking you down a busy city street lined with stores, restaurants, and motels.

"Um, what's your game plan here, babe?" You were beyond confused. "We're not back in Laredo, where you have your secret sex spots around town." There were different secluded places Javi had found in his younger years to park his truck and fool around with girls. "This seems too risky."

The buildings were getting nicer and newer the closer you got to the towering buildings of downtown.

"We're not doing anything risky, mi amor (my love). Especially not after this morning. Trust me."

The blinker ticked as he pulled into the parking lot of a hotel that was by far the fanciest you've driven past so far, but definitely not a five-star establishment—maybe three if you had to guess while the others had been ones and twos.

"You're joking," you said. "We're not getting a hotel room and abandoning your friends."

He parked in a spot facing the road and turned off the engine, wiggling in his seat as he got his jeans up.

"We're not staying here for the night," he said, watching as he tucked his still-hard cock into the waistband of his pants he buttoned and buckled, covering it with the bottom of his white button-up shirt.

"This isn't the kind of place that rents by the hour, Javi. We passed those, and I don't get why we didn't stop at one if we're planning to fuck for an hour or two."

His eyes met yours as he frowned. "I'm not taking the woman I love, my fiancée, to a seedy motel. You deserve better, so I don't give a fuck if this place doesn't rent by the hour, I'm getting us a room no matter how much it costs, and I'm going to fuck you for a couple of hours because I swear I'm going to go fucking crazy if I don't come inside your pussy in the next twenty minutes."

What he said had you clenching hard around nothing, completely down for his plan. There wasn’t anything for you to wipe your face off with, so you settled on using your shirt to get the spit and tears off your skin, not caring about the dark splotches on the coral-colored fabric when you were done.

"Let's go," you said, grabbing your purse from the floor and getting out of the SUV.

Javi met you at the back of the vehicle and grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him as he briskly walked toward the entrance.

“I love that you’re comfortable enough in your masculinity to admit you’re not gonna last and didn’t lie to me about how you were gonna rock my world or some shit.”

He looked over his shoulder at you with an eyebrow raised. "Who said I'm not gonna rock your world? Yeah, the first round might be quick, but it's still gonna be good for you, baby." He ended the sentence with a wink, which had your skin heating. Javi focused on what was in front of him as you walked through the doors that automatically slid open upon your approach.

He wasn't joking when he said he didn't care about the cost—it was a Friday during the busiest travel season of the year, and you hadn't booked ahead; you were lucky they even had a room available. There was no hesitation when they told him the obscene price for one night, and he handed over his American Express credit card. His black leather wallet was in one hand, the fingers of the other tapping impatiently on the marble countertop while he waited for the worker to finish the transaction.

He didn't read over any of the paperwork he scribbled his signature on, and once they told him the room number and handed over the keycard, his hand was taking yours to quickly lead you to the elevator the hotel employee had pointed out.

The room was a queen suite with the typical bedroom furniture—a bed, nightstands, dresser, TV, as well as a sitting area that consisted of a couch and coffee table, a desk on the opposite wall, beside a mini fridge with a microwave atop it.

There wasn't much time to take in the details because the moment Javi got the door open, he was dragging you in and kicking it closed as his mouth collided with yours in a hard and searing kiss, palming your ass with one hand, an arm around your back guiding you further into the room.

The keycard got tossed onto the desk, along with your purse, his tongue eagerly pressing between your lips. Arousal was burning in your belly, your fingers working open the buttons of his shirt while he walked you toward the bed that was in the far corner and felt like it was miles away.

The tension that had built up since your morning liaison had been interrupted was so thick it was palpable enough to be cut with a knife. There was desperation in your kisses, feeling his need with every hungry press of his lips to yours; relief as you removed each other's clothes, that you were finally somewhere you didn't need to worry about how loud you were or anyone bothering you; overwhelming happiness over the day's events and eagerness to make use of the perfect, not-absurdly squeaky, queen-size bed.

The two of you were naked in record time, and after Javier pulled off the ugly red and green floral printed bedspread to fall into a pile on the floor, he was facing you, his hard dick bobbing between his legs, with a look on his face that promised trouble.

"No," you said.

That just made him grin and move quicker as he replied, "Yes," his arms getting around you as you laughed. He used that impressive strength he developed from doing manual labor on his father's ranch to toss you onto the mattress, where you bounced a few times, the springs complaining under your weight—Javi quickly followed, finding yourself with a sizable man on top of you, his hips nestling in their home between your thighs while his lips found yours once more.

His hair was soft between your fingers, feeling the hard line of his cock pressing into your belly.

You spoke between kisses. "You just love… throwing me like… a sack of potatoes."

You felt his mouth curve into a smile. "Yes."

"One of these days… you're gonna… throw out… your back."

He nipped at your lip, pulling back to look at you with a grumpy expression. "I'm not gonna throw out my fucking back—I'm used to hauling around calves and bails of hay. Tossing you around is nothing."

"Okay, Hercules. Now, how do you want me?” You held his cheeks. “Missionary? Doggy? Cowgirl? Reverse cowgirl? From the side? In your lap? What are you feeling? 'Cause you weren't the only one cockblocked this morning, and I would really like to get fucked."

"Do you wanna come on my fingers again? Or my mouth?"

"Nope.” You smiled. “Dick, please."

He crookedly smiled. "I love you so fucking much."

"A girl tells you she wants your dick, and you proclaim your love—how romantic."

"My wif-fiancée," he quickly corrected, "tells me she wants my dick when I'm dying to be inside her—I'm gonna proclaim my love for her. Hell, I wanna propose to you again."

You giggled. "The power of my pussy,” you said, pulling him down for a brief kiss, your eyes on his when you separated. "And I love you, too. Position?"

He gave you a quick peck. “You’ll see,” he said and started getting up, a pained groan leaving him.

Sitting up on your elbows, you watched as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed by you with his feet easily planted on the floor. With where he was on the mattress, you had a view of his profile, taking in the curve of his nose and his plush, pillowy lips, watching him spit on his fingers that he curled around his shaft, hearing the wet strokes as he slicked himself up.

His head turned to you. “Move your legs.”

He wanted to lie back, and it made you smile as you moved them out of his way and got up on your knees. “I’m riding you,” you said.

Javi was lying on his back with his long legs bent at the knees along the edge of the bed while his feet touched the ground, and his ass settled a little over halfway to the middle of the mattress.

He was looking at you with a smile. “Yeah—get on, mi amor (my love).”

“My ride awaits?” you asked, tossing him a few pillows, Javi putting one under his head as you shuffled toward him.

“My dick awaits.” And it was, his cock resting against his stomach in the hair below his belly button, shining from his saliva in the dim light coming from over by the door.

“Yes, it is.” When you went to straddle him, his hand on your thigh stopped you.

“Other way,” he said.

A toothy smile appeared on your face. “Reverse cowgirl.” You turned around with your back to him, getting your leg over his hips. “I’m surprised you’re putting me in charge,” you said, keeping a hand on his thigh for balance while the other went between your legs to grab his hard length. “I’d think with how horny you are, you’d wanna just fuck my brains out.” Slotting him at your entrance, you didn’t draw things out and sunk down, matching moans coming from you both as he stretched your tight walls, and you took him all the way down to the hilt.

His hands were on your hips, holding you flush against him.

"Don't move," he said through his teeth, his cock twitching inside you.

You were leaning forward with your palms on his thighs for leverage.

"I won’t—god, you feel so good inside me, Javi. I love you.”

"You feel so good around me." He already sounded wrecked.

It took a minute before his fingers loosened their grip.

"Monta me (Ride me)." He smacked the side of your ass. "Monta me, mi Cielito (Ride me, my Cielito). Mi amor, mi vida, mi prometida (My love, my life, my fiancée). Haznos venir (Make us come)."

At the order, you started moving, rising on your knees until only the tip of him remained inside and falling back down, over and over again, at a steady pace.

"I fucking love you," he groaned. "Fuck, you look so good." His hands squeezed your asscheeks, spreading them and helping you bounce. "This ass—fucking love this ass bouncing on my dick." He gave it a spank; his voice was tight like it was taking everything in him to keep himself from coming. "Love this pussy; this perfect pussy—I was made for this pussy.” His breaths were loud, and you knew if you looked at his face, it’d be screwed up like he was in pain with his eyebrows pulled together and teeth bared.

“Javi,” you moaned when his thumb slid through your wetness up his cock to press to your asshole, circling the tight ring of muscle, something blissful curling inside you.

“I'm gonna marry you,” he continued. “I wanna give you my last name. Shit," he hissed and audibly gulped. "You’re off your birth control. You're gonna make me come, and I could get you pregnant."

Obviously, he was loving the visual of seeing your ass move up and down as you worked yourself on him—and you were loving the things he was saying, so much so it had a wave of arousal dripping down his cock and making it slicker where you were joined.

Heat had started forming at the base of your spine, your slick walls hugging his dick, spearing into you and fitting so perfectly, each stroke felt like nirvana.

"I'm gonna keep you full of my come today," he gritted out. "Gonna fuck you as many times as you'll let me to keep you stuffed."

A shock of pleasure in your tummy made you clench hard around him and stuttered your rhythm.

"You think you'll knock me up?" you panted.

"I know I'll knock you up—if not today, maybe tomorrow or the next day. I'll fuck a baby into you, eventually."

It was a promise, and it thrilled you.

Your breaths started coming out heavier, feeling the threads of your orgasm beginning to wind. Your brows were furrowed as you concentrated on your movements, breathily moaning.

As incredible as this felt, just the penetration wouldn't get you off; you needed more—it was loud between your legs, hearing his cock wetly working in and out of your pussy, the bed’s springs softly squeaking beneath you, rough sounds coming from Javi’s throat, and softer ones slipping past your lips, the air conditioner, below the window, loudly thrumming in the background.

"Fuck, lay back," he said. "I'm too fucking close."

It took a little maneuvering to get your legs out in front of you while keeping his dick in place and lying back so your spine was to his chest. You ended up leaning a little to the left, so your head rested beside his on two stacked pillows. His fingers dug into your waist, and he started thrusting up from beneath you, the new angle making his cock press into spots that had stars bursting behind your closed eyelids and his name leaving your lips in a hedonistic chant that seemed to only get louder as the seconds passed.

This was on par with how you expected he'd fuck you when you got into this room, his feet planted and giving him the traction he needed to push up his hips and fuck into you hard and fast, his dick never more than halfway out of you.

He was grunting in your ear, the pleasure in you building, hearing the slick slide of him fucking in and out of you. Your hands had grabbed onto his forearms for something to hold onto, your fingernails, no doubt leaving behind crescent moon indents in his skin.

And since Javi knew your body like the back of his hand and how to play you like a goddamn fiddle, he licked two of his fingers and pressed the pads to your perky little clit, circling it just the way you liked while his other hand massaged your breast before his digits were tweaking your stiff nipple.

"Need you to come for me," he grunted. "I wanna feel my fiancée come around my dick. I need you to squeeze me, so I can fuck you full of me—need to fill you up."

The muscles in your abdomen began to wind up tight; the onslaught of his cock pistoning into you, his fingers swirling around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and your nipple being pinched and rolled had you soaring toward your end.

"Oh god," you whined through hard breaths, "I'm gonna come—you're gonna make me come."

"Let go, mi amor (my love)," he said. "Come for me, baby."

The tension built inside you until you were cresting, coming with a shout, your body tensing up and pussy clamping down on him so hard it sent him with you. Javi pushed up into you as deep as possible, a low, dirty moan leaving him as his dick jerked hard, and you felt the pulse of spurts and spurts of his come painting your walls.

Pleasure had overtaken every molecule in your body, your breaths panting from your lungs, and your heart thudding a mile a minute, not bothering to fight it when you went completely lax and became a dead weight atop your future husband. You welcomed the sweaty arms that wrapped around your middle, and turned you onto your sides without dislodging himself inside you, your hand going back to push into his damp hair, his face nuzzling at the back of your neck.

There was a stillness to the room as your hearts slowed together and breaths evened out, the hum of the air conditioner’s motor the loudest sound. Calm had washed over you both; peace, relief—for the first time since you were back home, you could actually relax. There was no fear that someone heard you or you were too loud. Instead, you were able to bask in the post-coital glow when the two of you never felt closer and more connected.

Minutes pass, and in the distance, you hear the occasional door slamming and voices passing by your rented room, fading away as quickly as they came.

"What's your dream wedding like?" Javi asked, ending the long, comfortable silence.

“You know how women say they’ve been dreaming about their wedding since they were little girls?”

"Yeah?"

"I don't know what kind of childhoods they had, but weddings never crossed my mind as a kid aside from when we had to go to one, and they were really fucking boring to me.” Javi snorted. “There was maybe one time I thought about my own nuptials, and it was in my early teens at my cousin's wedding that was insane. There were over two hundred people in attendance at some swanky venue, with expensive food and booze—think steak and lobster, a raw oyster bar, and Dom Pérignon; they went all out, and my mother made this comment about how so many of the guests would come to my future wedding—and she didn’t mean our family members; she was talking about the wealthy friends of our family I barely knew and the rich acquaintances my parents just wanted to rub elbows with.”

“You hated that,” he said, kissing your bare shoulder.

“I fucking hated it and was not okay with the idea that one of what was supposed to be the happiest days of my life would be hijacked to keep up appearances.”

“Sounds fucking miserable.”

“Right? I don’t want a big wedding. I don’t like being the center of attention, and I know I seem pretty confident, but I actually get awful stage fright. So, I don’t think I want a small wedding either. My dream wedding is you and me going to the courthouse with your dad and Robyn as witnesses and eloping, then afterward, we throw a big party to celebrate with our friends and family—that just sounds nice to me.”

His lips pressed to your neck.

"What about you?" you asked. "How do you imagine your dream wedding?"

His arms around your belly squeezed a little tighter.

"My dream wedding is whatever you want it to be."

"As sweet as that is, it's your special day, too. And you're a big 'ol sap, so I know you've got something in mind.” Your fingers scratched lovingly at his scalp.

"I don't want a big wedding, either.”

“I am well aware.”

Years and years ago, his wedding with Lorraine was going to be the biggest in Laredo that year since her dad was the mayor and her family was well-known and the wealthiest in town—which was a huge reason why it was well over seventeen years later, and people still talked about Javier leaving her at the altar.

“Yeah, I guess you are—I love you.” He held you closer.

“I love you, too, baby,” you said.

“You wanna know how I picture our wedding?” he asked. “You know the tree on the hill out on Pop's land, I take you to watch the sunset?" It was the place where you told him you knew he loved you before he ever said the words and somewhere you’d returned many times after.

"I'm very aware of the spot. We ride out there all the time." Him on his horse, Sombra, and you on his cousin's, Dulce. Javi was more than happy having you on his horse with him, but you had asked him to teach you how to ride by yourself, and he did. You quite enjoyed being able to do it on your own.

His finger started skating along the skin of your belly, drawing random shapes.

“I like to imagine us at the tree as the sun sets with my dad officiating—he’s holding his bible, and I know we’re not into that shit, but it’s Pop, and he’d give it his all, including a scripture or two, and a photo of mi mamá (my mom) he’d hold under his fingers to the cover of the book so she’s there with us, too, and Seb and Robyn would come as our only two witnesses.” His cousin, and your best friend/co-worker, who were dating.

You could picture it perfectly, standing there beneath the old oak tree’s tall, twisting limbs and canopy of green leaves with Javi’s big hands holding yours as you said your vows and intertwined your lives with an exchange of rings, the sky exploding in color from the setting sun.

"Your dream wedding is just a stupidly romantic version of my dream wedding,” you said. “How dare you out-dream wedding me!"

He chuckled, sitting up a little and using his hand to turn your head by the chin so he could lean over and kiss your cheek. "I told you my dream wedding is whatever you want it to be.” He nuzzled against your face. “I don’t think I’ve told you this,” he said. “Sunrise and sunset used to be nothing more than the beginning and end of my day when I worked on the ranch, and then I met you—the sun would rise, and it meant another day with you in my life, and the beauty of it took my breath away. And sunsets? They’ve never been prettier—they’re gorgeous, and I want to share every sunrise and sunset with you for the rest of my life.”

You flipped over, and it had him slipping out from between your legs, a low hiss coming from his mouth.

"Sorry," you said, pushing him to lie on his back as you straddled his hips, and laid chest to chest with him. Your face hovered over his with your arms holding yourself up beside his head, ignoring his come oozing out of you. His eyes were squeezed shut as you stared at him. "I’m gonna marry you so hard, you sweet, adorable, romantic man—you said your dream wedding is whatever I want it to be, and now it’s your stupidly romantic wedding at our tree during sunset."

His eyelids blinked open, and he smiled crookedly.

"Yeah?"

"Yes." You nodded. "Is your dad even ordained?"

He had a thoughtful expression. "I don't think so? But I read you can get ordained online, and it's not difficult to do. We can ask him if he'd want to."

Your face softened. "You know he'd love to."

He was smiling. "Yeah, he would."

The look on your face shifted to something mischievous. "And if he says no, we can just ask Steve to do it."

His features scrunched into something annoyed, and a hand slapped your ass hard, making you laugh.

"Over my dead body," he said. "He's not doing our fucking wedding ‘cause he’d say embarrassing shit and ruin everything. If Pop won't do it, then we're going to the courthouse."

"That's it? We're either having a sunset tree wedding or going to the courthouse? There's nothing else you'd want?"

He thought it over for a second.

"I like your idea about a party afterward with our friends and family," he answered. "I'm with you on not wanting to get married in front of everyone, but I do wanna celebrate with them."

You smiled. "So, private ceremony and a poppin' party afterward? Did we just plan our wedding?"

He matched your look, his hand coming up to hold your cheek. "Yeah, I think we did." He pulled you down, kissing you tenderly. When he looked at you after, his gaze was soft. "Any day, any time, you tell me when, and I'll be there no matter what," he said. "Nothing will keep me from marrying you.” He suddenly looked unsure. “You know that, right?"

It made your heart ache. He was worried you thought he might not show up to your wedding as he'd done at his first.

"Javi, baby." You put all your weight onto one arm to push his hair out of his face with your other hand and soothingly stroke your fingers through the soft strands. "Is the sky blue?"

His eyebrows creased. "Yes?"

"Is grass green?"

"Yes?"

"Are you the sexiest man alive?"

He frowned. "Fucking Harrison Ford is this year’s sexiest man alive, and you know that." He was pouting, and it made you snort.

When he saw the People Magazine while the two of you were at the grocery store proclaiming Harrison Ford as this year's sexiest man alive the previous month, Javi had grumbled, 'You gotta be fucking kidding me,' because he knew you thought the actor was attractive and had seen the majority of his filmography. Javi had a love/hate relationship with the guy since he did quite enjoy his movies but couldn't stand the fact that the other man was your celebrity crush.

"Well, whoever decides the sexiest man alive at People Magazine is wrong since the correct answer to that question was yes—you, Javier Peña, are the sexiest man alive."

"Fucking Harrison Ford," he muttered.

You huffed in exasperation, rolling your eyes.

"Let's get back on topic. Does two plus two equal four?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Is Empire Strikes Back the best Star Wars movie?"

"Yes—why are you asking these questions?"

"Because they’re all facts," you said. "Like how I know for a fact you'll be there on our wedding day to say 'I do' and put a ring on my finger so I'll officially become Mrs. Javier Peña."

His dimple was showing he was smiling so big. "Yes, I fucking will."

His arms were around you, and a surprised sound left you as he rolled you onto your back, your thighs cradling his hips and feeling his cock beginning to harden between your bodies.

He lightly bit at your chin, his lips making a wet trail of kisses under your jaw that had tingles skittering down your spine, moaning when he got to the sensitive skin of your throat, your fingers tangling into his hair.

"I'm gonna marry you.” His voice was muffled while he kissed and bit along the column of taut skin. "And there's a chance you could be pregnant with our baby when I do."

He was making it hard to think while he sucked at your pulse.

"When?" you gasped.

"Hmmm?" he hummed.

You swallowed hard, feeling your heart beating in your cunt.

"When do you want to get married?"

His head came up to look you in the eyes, low light from the fixture above the room’s door across the bedroom glowing behind the mess of brown hair on his head, giving some strands sticking out at odd angles a honeyed hue. His lips were red, cheeks pinked up, his gaze dark and hungry.

"Whenever you want," he answered. "Next weekend, next month—if you're planning on inviting people out of state, I'm fine with waiting a few months to give them time to figure out their travel shit. It's all up to you." He pecked your lips. "Most of my family are back home, and then I'd want Steve's family there—that's it for me."

He kissed you then and really kissed you. The kind of kiss that told you the conversation was over, and he wanted to shift his focus to the fact you were both naked in a bed, in a place where you could fuck with abandon and no interruptions.

Javi moved you further up the mattress and sheathed his hard dick back inside your sopping pussy, the slickness of his come allowing him to slip right in—his mouth was fused to yours while he slowly rocked, letting you feel every ridge and vein along his shaft pressing against your inner walls.

He had you feeling incredibly full with how he was keeping most of himself buried inside your cunt, pushing in so deep you thought he had to be up in your guts. Your legs wrapped around his waist and locked at the ankles, his large palm grabbing your left hand from his hair to lace your fingers together, his lips leaving yours to kiss the diamond before pressing your hands into the bed beside your head, his mouth back on yours.

It started soft and slow, neither of you rushing to come and simply enjoying being with the other. At some point, there was a shift, and the kisses became more heated until he was breaking away to get up on his knees, untangling your legs from him and moving them to one side, causing your hips to twist onto your side with his cock still inside you. He had one hand gripping your thigh, the other on the side of your ass, and he started moving at a hard, fast pace that had skin slapping against skin as his hips connected with your backside and the backs of your thighs.

He made you come by getting his fingers into the tight space between your closed legs to play with your clit while he pounded into you, and before you even recovered, he had you up on your spread knees, your chest to the mattress as you caught your breath. Your fingers were clawing at the snow-white sheets and moaning loudly when his tongue licked against your overly sensitive bundle of nerves.

Javier said he was going to fuck you for a couple of hours in this hotel room, and he did.

In the first hour, he had you on top of him, on your knees, your back, your stomach, your side, bent over the bed and on the edge of it. You lost track of how many times you came, and it was a mess between your legs with the two times Javi had finished inside you.

There was, of course, a break for Javi to recover after he'd come, and so you both could drink some water from the plastic cups on a tray with the empty ice bucket.

His cell phone started ringing about an hour and a half after you arrived.

There was a thin sheen of sweat coating both of your naked bodies, and you were lying back with your head on a pillow—Javi's lips were wrapped around the swollen berry of your clit while two of his thick fingers were deep in your come-filled cunt, pressing into that spot that had your vision blurring, so close to climaxing you were right on the precipice.

Your hands were in his hair, moaning loudly, and the sudden ringing had you jumping in your skin.

"Ignore it," he said into your pussy.

He was back to sucking on your bundle of nerves, and you focused on the pleasure building in your tummy, winding tighter and tighter. The call went to voicemail, and the ringing stopped. Finally, you fell over the edge, coming with a gasp, your muscles clenching up tight, euphoria erupting out from your center.

"Good girl," his muffled voice said, working you through your high.

You were feeling amazing, your body completely relaxing, limbs trembling, practically melting into the bed, and having to fight off the exhaustion from so many orgasms that was threatening to make you fall asleep.

Ringing started again, and it startled you.

Javi sighed against your cunt, his mouth and fingers leaving you and the mattress jostling as he got up.

"Who the fuck is calling?" His voice was a little hoarse.

"My money is on either your dad or Steve," you slurred, sounding drunk.

Your eyes were closed, but you could hear the rustle of him grabbing his jeans off the ground to get the cell phone off of his belt.

"Goddammit," he muttered, and you heard the beep of him pressing a button. "What?" he answered. "Yeah, we're fine... She said yes... Thanks..." He was talking to Steve. You were sure of it with his annoyed, clipped answers. "We had time, so I brought her downtown... Yeah, we'll be back before then..." He loudly sighed. "With all the great shit that happened this morning, I was too busy enjoying time with my new fiancée to even think about calling anyone. Sorry... Okay, I gotta go... Bye." Another beep of him pressing the end call button and the phone dropping down to his jeans on the floor.

"Was he worried we hadn't gotten back?" you asked.

"Yeah."

"That's sweet."

"It's annoying."

The bed’s springs softly squeaked as he got onto it.

You smiled. "I think it's cute that Steve gets on your nerves as if he was your sibling—you love him, you'd take a bullet for him, but just the sound of him breathing aggravates you; Steve's your adopted brother."

His hand grabbed your ankle, rubbing his thumb over your skin.

"Maybe he is."

"He is. His kids call you tío (uncle), and you love them like they are your flesh and blood."

"I do."

"Yes, you do." Your eyes blinked open, moving to sit up on your elbows to see him sitting on the bed by your legs, his gaze meeting yours. "There are a lot of people who love you, Javi, and I'm happy our kids will have so much family."

He frowned, and you knew he was about to ask about your own, who'll be up in arms when they discover you’re engaged to him.

"I don't want to talk about it," you said before he could open his mouth. "This is a happy, horny time, and we're not gonna ruin the mood with my baggage—I gotta go to the bathroom." You started getting up, and he stopped you with his hand on your leg, your eyes meeting his.

"Mi familia es tu familia y te aman sin condiciones (My family is your family and they love you no matter what)—te amamos sin condiciones (we love you no matter what). Tu familia biológica no saben lo que se están perdiendo (Your biological family have no idea what they’re missing). Eres inteligente, hermosa, compasiva, y cómica (You’re smart, beautiful, compassionate, and funny)—eres increíble y si ellos no pueden ver eso, no los necesitas (you are incredible and if they can’t see that, you don’t need them).”

Emotion had your eyes burning. "Thank you," you said, leaning forward to touch his forearm. "I know you all love me, and I love you—it'll be nice when I can change my last name."

A little smile pulled up on his lips. "I can't wait to give you my last name—now, go pee.” He patted your leg. “We only have half an hour left, and I don't wanna waste a single minute."

"You know, you get really bossy when you're horny." You got off the bed on shaky legs, something you were used to, padding across the floor.

"Would you rather me be grumpy?" he called after you, making you laugh.

Stopping at the bathroom doorway near the room's door, your hand on the mahogany-colored wood, you looked over at him. "Grumpy-horny Javi is very hot, and I can expect to be railed senseless—like last night when you were mad about the squeaky bed and worked out your frustration by putting me face down, ass up, and fucking me hard. With bossy-horny Javi, I'm in for an insane amount of orgasms because you get all pleasure dommy and make it your life's purpose to make me come so many times, I look like a newborn giraffe when I try to walk afterward."

A short huff of air left his nose, and he looked amused.

"Is there a regular-horny Javi?" he asked.

"Yes.” You nodded. “Regular-horny Javi is usually stuck to me like glue and handsy before we get naked. The sex is very intimate and involves a lot of kissing, and we're so comfortable we sometimes chat and laugh in the middle of it."

He was giving you a fond smile. "That one's your favorite," he said.

You grinned. "Of course, and it's the horny Javi I get the majority of the time, so I am living the fucking dream."

"It's my favorite, too."

"Like, don't get me wrong, the last hour or so has been spectacular and some of your best work, but all the position changes had me feeling like we were filming a porno."

Something happened because he was suddenly giving you a blank stare, and it had your eyebrows cinching together. After a few seconds of silence, you spoke. "Javi?"

Saying his name had him coming back to himself with a slight shake of his head.

He said something so quietly you couldn't hear it from how far away you were.

"What?" you asked.

His eyes were on yours, and they'd gone darker.

"I'm buying a camcorder."

"Oh my god, Javier," you said in exasperation. "You're not buying a camcorder for the sole purpose of us making a dirty movie."

He was frowning. "I'd use it for other stuff—like our wedding and the birth of our kid."

"You're absolutely not recording me giving birth."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "No birthing video, got it. I still wanna record our wedding and some of the party. I'm sure there's a lot of other shit we'd wanna film."

"Uh-huh." You crossed your arms. "We've been together awhile, and you're just now deciding you should get a camcorder?"

"Yeah, seems like a great investment." He shrugged.

"Seems like a horny investment—you're ridiculous. Buy your camcorder, Mr. Amateur Porn Star." You walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light.

"Our homemade porno would be better than anything professionally made!" he shouted from the other room.

Javier was getting old, and he fucking hated it.

When the idea came to him to stop at the hotel, he thought two hours was more than enough time—he could fuck her over and over and over again to work it out of his system so he wouldn't be on edge the rest of the trip.

What he didn't account for, in his grand horny scheme, was his goddamn refractory period. It pissed him off that he wasn't ready to go again after five, ten minutes like it'd been in his twenties. No, on a good day, he was looking at fifteen, and most of the time, it was at least twenty. So, forty minutes out of their two stolen hours they had alone together, his dick didn't work.

It made him so fucking mad.

The time wasn't wasted—the first twenty minutes, he got to enjoy some post-sex cuddling, and they planned their wedding. The second time, the moment he could function, he was using his mouth and fingers to make her feel really fucking good.

This has never been an issue since they haven’t had a time constraint like this before. The few Saturdays where they spent the majority of the day tangled in their bed's sheets, it wasn't a big deal for them to take a fifteen to twenty-minute breather between rounds.

But in these two uninterrupted hours after the love of his life agreed to marry him and told him she was ready for them to start their family, revealing she was already off of her birth control, every minute counted; there was something in the back of his mind, an urge, that he needed to bury himself inside her and fuck his come as deep as possible—it was insatiable. He'd already finished twice, and it wasn't enough, and because he had to wait twenty fucking minutes to get hard again, there was only enough time for him to come once more.

Which was where they were now, with Javier kneeling on the bed while she straddled his hips, her arm around his neck, the other on the bed behind her for balance, his hands gripping her ass and helping her work herself up and down his cock.

His forehead was wet with sweat, feeling a drop slide down the side of his face, the rest of his body glistening. Exertion had grunts pushing from his throat, his mouth on hers smothering her moans.

He had already got one last orgasm out of her and was heading toward his own end. Her pussy was drooling all over his dick with the mixture of their come and her arousal, dripping down to coat his balls and fall onto the sheets—they were making a mess, and he planned to leave the housekeepers a big tip for all the trouble.

The familiar pressure was coiling deep in his gut, electricity igniting in his core, a telltale sign he was close. He broke the kiss and got both of her arms around his neck, making her squeak in surprise when he practically tackled her back onto the mattress, their bodies bouncing a little for a few seconds.

His hips were moving fast, hearing the wet smack of his body colliding with hers and his cock working in and out of her drenched cunt.

His teeth found her chin with a small amount of pressure while his eyes were closed, holding himself up with his arms bracketing her ears.

"Come for me, Javi," she breathlessly said, grabbing onto his ass, her fingers digging into the flexed muscles. "Come for me, baby." His face went into the crook of her neck, panting hot breaths against her skin. "You've fucked me so good today, Javi. I need you to come—fuck a baby into me."

Pleasure sliced through him like a burning knife, and he whined, his strokes speeding up.

"Anything," he panted. "I'll give you anything you want—you can have anything. I'm yours—" he was fuck drunk and rambling. "—I'm all yours, and I'll give you a baby—I'll get you pregnant. We'll have our baby. Fuck," he groaned.

All his nerves lit up, energy thrumming under his skin and sparking through his body. The knot in his belly was tightening, his rhythm becoming uneven until he was at the point of no return—he was coming, and nothing could stop him.

He pushed forward hard, sinking his dick inside her to the root as it jerked, and pleasure overtook him, raggedly moaning that dulled when he bit into her shoulder—his come gushed into her depths, his hips rolling to fuck it deeper before the oversensitivity made him hiss.

Something in the recesses of his brain was purring happily—satiated.

His body was blissfully relaxed, and he slumped onto the woman under him, feeling completely wrung out and thinking he might pass out.

"'m sorry," he mumbled into her neck. "Is this okay?"

Her fingers slid into his hair, and tingles shivered down his spine.

"It's fine, baby," she whispered. "But don't pass out—we have to leave."

The sound he made was a mix of a groan and whine. He was so comfortable he didn't want to move.

How mad would Steve and Connie be if they didn't go on the beach trip and stayed here for a few more hours?

"No," she said. "We're not ditching your friends." Of course, she knew what he was thinking.

"I don't wanna move." He actually whined this time.

"You knew we had two hours here, and that's it. We need to take a quick shower so it's not obvious we've been fucking, and then we gotta get back to Steve and Connie's because the kids are excited to go to the beach with you."

He nuzzled closer into her throat.

"'m comfy."

She pinched his asscheek hard, and he twitched.

"We're not disappointing the children, Javier. Now, get up." She smacked his ass.

"You're mean,” he grumbled.

"I'm not mean. I'm polite to our hosts. You're being a big whiny baby."

"Que mala que eres conmigo (You're so mean to me)."

"Yo tampoco soy mala en español (I'm not mean in Spanish either)."

He sighed. "Cinco minutos, por favor, mi amor (Five minutes, please, my love)."

"Bueno, cinco minutos por que eres lindo (Okay, you can have five minutes because you're cute)." The fingers on one of her hands scratched at his scalp, and her other hand rubbed over his back, a content sigh leaving him as he smiled.

She was so soft and warm beneath him, her scent filling his nose and soothing him.

Up until he met her, home was the ranch he grew up on—no matter where in the world he lived, it was always that house where his parents were, and he was welcome and loved.

Home was no longer a place.

Home was the woman he loved's arms wrapped around him; It was her grinning at him with that gorgeous smile; It was her perfect lips pressed to his; It was her delicate hand held in his larger palm; It was her beautiful eyes staring at him with all the love in the world.

Home was his Cielito, his little heaven.

And as long as he was with her, he was home.

His mind had drifted, and quickly, his consciousness went with it, too.

A loud snore erupted against your neck, the sudden noise causing you to jolt.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you whispered.

You explicitly told him not to pass out, you had even asked him after going to the bathroom if he should really go again because you had a feeling it’d put him to sleep, and he reassured you he’d be perfectly fine—the dirty fucking liar.

“Javi?” you said softly, lightly patting his back. “Wake up, babe. We have to get going, honey.”

His body tensed, and he sucked in a breath as he awoke immediately, his head raising to look at you with bleary eyes.

“Fuck.” His voice was hoarse. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Sure did, Sleeping Beauty.” You rubbed along his spine. “We gotta get up and leave. You can take a nap at the beach.”

His pouty lips were dipped low in a frown.

“With you…?”

You smiled, pushing some hair away from his face. "Is this one of those days where you can't go more than a few seconds without touching me?"

Those big brown eyes of his got bigger as he nodded.

In general, Javi was constantly touching you, but there were some days when he was practically stuck to you like a handsy octopus and went with you everywhere—except the bathroom, the one place you firmly told him, no, he couldn't come with you and hang out while you did your business.

"My cute, needy fiancé." You cupped his cheek. "I'll stay close if you need me to."

His head turned to kiss your palm. "I need you to."

"Okay, now let's get up."

A long, sad sigh exhaled from his lungs. "Fine," he said, leaning forward to peck you on the lips.

He moved then, his eyes closing for a moment as he pulled his soft length out of you, his hands sinking into the mattress when he pushed himself back and up with a grunt to kneel between your legs.

His gaze was stuck at the apex of your thighs, the lips of your sex puffy, and your hole starting to drip his come—two of his fingers scooped up what had dribbled out and pushed it back in, your mouth falling open.

His dark eyes locked on yours, his voice a deep, rough rasp when he spoke. "We don't want to waste any." He laid his other hand onto your lower abdomen, his digits spread wide to take up ample real estate over your womb. "We need to keep you full. Can you be my good girl and keep me inside?"

Pleasure zipped along your spine, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth as you nodded.

"Yes," you answered, putting a hand over his on your skin.

He picked up your smaller palm, his gaze dropping to the ring that made him smile, the pad of his thumb mapping the mountain range of diamonds before he lifted it to his lips in a kiss.

"Good," he said, setting your hand down and removing the fingers of his other from inside your pussy. You watched as he sucked the come-soaked digits into his mouth with a dirty groan at the taste. They came out licked clean from between his lips. "We taste so fucking good together," he told you, with his attention on you. "Let's shower, mi amor (my love). Then we can go and figure out what the fuck we're gonna tell Steve and Connie on the way."

"Are you saying they wouldn't appreciate us spending a dumb amount of money to fuck for a couple of hours instead of secretly getting busy under their roof?"

"They'll be happy we did it outside of their house, but it'd piss Steve off that we made them worry and didn't call to tell them we had other plans because we were too busy fucking."

You blew air out of the side of your mouth. "We just can't win with that guy."

"I told you he's fucking annoying."

"Eh—" You shrugged. "—he's just your brother from another mother, and you both find dumb shit to get annoyed about with each other. I wish I only got annoyed about dumb shit with my little brother, but he's actually an entitled dick because my parents gave him anything and everything he's ever wanted and kiss the ground he walks upon."

He was frowning now.

"Are you going to tell them?" he asked softly.

"About the engagement? Yeah, the next time my mom calls to make sure I'm not bringing any more shame on our family name—she's gonna be pissed, and I can feel it in my bones that it will cause me to go no contact with her and the rest of them."

His hand rubbed over your thigh. "I'm sorry." The remorse was heavy in his tone.

"Meh." You waved away his apology. "Nothing to be sorry about. I chose you, and I'd choose you again without hesitation. I couldn't care less if us getting married upsets them. We're happy, and that's all that matters."

"We are happy. I just feel like shit, I'm the reason your relationship with your family is so fucking strained."

"Javi, babe, the relationship has been strained long before we got together. You just gave me a reason to stick up for myself and not put up with their shit. Don't feel bad. You told me today your family is my family, and all of you is all I need."

"Promise?" he whispered.

You held out your pinky. "I pinky promise."

That made him smile, looping his around yours to make the sacred vow that he and his family were really all you needed—Javi leaning down, holding himself up with a hand on the bed beside you as he gave you a tender kiss.

Javier felt fucking amazing and exhausted.

Did he overdo it? Probably. His back was already a little achier than usual, and he imagined it'd feel even worse the next day. The fantastic sex was worth the backache and pain in his knees, especially with how his future wife had the post-good sex glow about her that made his chest puff out a little.

She had a point that a shower was needed before they left the hotel room so they didn't reek of sex, which they quickly took after getting up.

One twenty-dollar bill was put on top of the hotel notepad sitting on the desk that Javier had scribbled, 'Thank you,' as they left. The bedding had been stripped from the bed and put in one pile, while their used towels were in another.

The same person who checked them in, checked them out, and, from the look on her face, didn’t buy their lie that they were leaving so early due to a family emergency—it was probably Cielito trying to sell it by saying they had to rush to the hospital because his nephew had been viciously attacked by a… duck.

They were driving on the freeway, her hand in his, resting on her legging-covered thigh.

"A duck?" he asked. They'd been silent up until now, but he needed to know where that came from. "We're in Florida where there are actual dangerous wild animals like fucking alligators and sharks—hell, a dog woulda made sense, and you said my fake nephew was attacked by a duck?"

"Oh my god, Javier," she groaned, covering her eyes with her spare hand. "I know it was stupid, but I was super uncomfortable with the looks the employees were giving me."

He frowned. "What looks?" He glanced over at her, and her hand lowered to meet his eyes.

"The extremely judgey, disgusted looks because they thought I was a working girl—the mistaken identity was fine; that didn't bother me. It was how they looked at me like I was less of a person than them." She was frowning. "It just made me feel so bad for actual working girls who have to deal with that bullshit on the daily."

"Fuck." He focused back on the road. "I'm sorry you went through that, and I shouldn't have put you in that spot." He sighed, untangling their hands to push his shower-damp hair back with his hand. "I've been so caught up in you wearing the ring and assuming other people would notice it, too, that it didn't even cross my mind how us only spending a couple of hours at a hotel would look."

She sounded amused when she spoke. "It's adorable that you assume everyone knows we're engaged and figured the hotel employees thought we were just an incredibly horny couple instead of a lady of the night with her John."

If people weren't tipped off she was his fiancée with the ring on her finger, then he was going to start telling every person they came in contact with, so there wasn’t any more confusion in the future—giddiness bubbled up inside him over the thought of eventually getting to introduce her as his wife.

If he’d been wearing a ring, she wouldn’t have been put in that situation; it would’ve been clear as day they were married…

“Marry me,” he said, quickly looking over at her.

She giggled. “I’ve already agreed to marry you.”

“No—“ He shook his head. “—I know I said I was fine waiting a few months for our wedding, but I fucking can’t—I wanna marry you as soon as possible." His attention went forward once more, nerves fluttering in his gut.

She reached to grab his hand and held it in both of hers.

"You know there are a lot of men who dread their wedding day. They're the guys who call their wives 'balls and chains,' like being married is comparable to being in jail and an all-around nuisance even though they're the ones who proposed in the first place. The fact you're impatient to marry me makes me very happy—you're excited about our wedding day and don't see marriage as you losing your freedom; you see it as a guarantee you'll spend the rest of your life with the person you love."

He smiled. "Yeah," he said. "That's right."

"Regarding marrying me as soon as possible—my heart's set on the wedding at the tree we discussed. We can talk to your dad when we get home and see if he wants to get ordained. If he doesn't, then we'll go to the courthouse, make it official, and we can throw a party later. If your dad wants to officiate, I say we give it a month to get everything worked out with him and at the ranch."

A month at most. He could wait a month, right?

"Okay," he said, glancing toward her. "I'm fine with that."

She grinned. "Great. So, what's our story about where we've been since this morning?"

He looked at the road. "It won't be that we were viciously attacked by a duck..."

“Oh my god!”

It took them a bit to come up with something pretty believable—after spending a considerable amount of time at the beach, Javier gave her a tour of the area and took her exploring by foot around downtown. It was plausible.

They'd made sure they looked put together before leaving the hotel so it didn't raise any suspicions when they returned to their friends.

Arriving at the Murphy's, happy squeals could be heard as Javier unlocked the front door, and for a split second, he imagined a future where it wasn't his niece and nephews who were excited he was home, but his own children; the thought of his kids being unable to control their volume because they were just so happy to see him had warmth spreading through his body to the tips of his fingers to his toes.

The moment he stepped foot into the house, a three-year-old was screaming excitedly, "Tío!" and little arms hugged his legs as best they could.

Javier smiled, bending with a groan, saying, "Mi principito (My little prince)." He picked up the child, holding him in his arm while he toed off his black leather Chelsea boots in front of a shoe rack filled to the brim with children’s and adult shoes, Cielito following him inside and shutting the door.

"Are we going to the beach, tío?" Stevie asked, looking up at him.

"Yeah, bud—” He tickled the child’s belly, making him laugh and squirm. “—in a little bit."

He heard the pattering of feet before he saw the oldest of the kids running into the room they were in.

"You're back!" Olivia said with a big smile. "We can finally go to the beach!"

Steve had walked in.

"Sorry, we got back so late, mi tesorito (my little treasure)." Javier apologized to the young girl.

"And where were you?" Steve asked.

His friend’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion when their gazes met. Javier moved Stevie into his other arm so he could pull Cielito into his side, keeping his hand on her hip.

"The beach, then I gave my fiancée a tour of the city, and we walked around everywhere."

Steve's eyes narrowed further. "Bullsh—crap." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Where were you really?"

Javier's jaw clenched. "I just told you, and I'm not gonna repeat myself, so drop it."

"Olivia, baby girl, take your brother to the family room. I need to have an adult ears-only conversation with your tío Javi."

The nine-year-old looked confused but came forward and took the younger child from him.

"Come on, Stevie," she said, heading out of the room. "We'll hang out with tío more later. Let's go watch cartoons."

Their father looked over his shoulder, watching them depart, and once they were out of earshot, he was rounding on Javier.

"You asshole," he harshly whispered. "Walking around downtown, my ass." He stepped forward and tugged on Javier's shirt collar. "These hickies tell me you were doing a hell of a lot more than walking." Shit, Javier batted away his hand, glaring at the blonde man. "What if you'd gotten caught, where? In the back of that rental? You just expected I'd bail you out of jail? Were you even thinking with your brain? Or just with your dick?"

Anger was sizzling in his gut, along with shame, because they had almost gotten caught, and there was a chance Steve would’ve had to bail them out.

"I told you to drop it.” The sentence was gritted through his teeth as he seethed, his wif-fiancée putting a comforting hand on his back and rubbing circles.

"I'm not gonna drop it, 'cause what would I have told the kids if you'd gotten caught?" he asked, crossing his arms back over his chest.

That was a low blow, and it pissed him off even more.

"Well, we didn't get fucking caught, and for your information—" He jabbed his finger into the center of Steve's chest. "—I was thinking with my brain—I've been holed up in a hotel for the last two hours with my fiancée, you fucking prick."

A humorless huff left his friend, his eyes wide in disbelief. "You horny fucker—you're joking."

Javier's hand went to his waist, lifting his eyebrow. "You wanna see the receipt? You’d think we were at the fucking, uh, Ritz or whatever the fuck luxury hotel with how much they charged for one night when this place didn’t even have fucking room service."

The other man chuckled, shaking his head. He met his gaze. "You know what? I forgive you for making us worry." He clapped a hand on Javier's shoulder, giving him a beaming smile. "Congratulations, Javi. I’m happy for you guys and get it. You were excited and wanted to be alone with the woman you’re marrying. I don't blame you for spending hours in a hotel room.” His smile shifted to something smarmy. “I sure as hell don't want you doing that shit here, and it's not like you can with how goddamn squeaky the guest bed is."

Javier wanted to wipe the smug smile off his old partner’s face.

"Hey, Steve?" Cielito cut in.

His friend looked at her. "Yeah?"

"Have you seen the first Jurassic Park movie?"

The blonde man's eyebrows pulled together. "I have." He nodded. "A few times."

She smiled. "Then you know, life finds a way."

God, he loved her, and he loved that she enjoyed messing with his best friend as much as he did—Javier snorted and kissed the side of her head.

Steve looked confused until it dawned on him what she meant.

"No," he whispered in denial.

"Yes," Javier replied, smirking, the other man facing him.

"But the bed..."

It was Javier’s turn to clap a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Steve… But the fact you think a bed is the only place to fuck, tells me you’re a really boring and bad lay—need me to give you some pointers?”

“I quite enjoyed what we did on the chair,” Cielito said. “And my god, Javi is always amazing, but he brought his A-game on the floor. You put some blankets and pillows on the stone tiles, and they’re not too bad to be fucked on.”

Steve’s face had slowly gotten redder and redder as they spoke, and Javier was worried the man’s head would explode, especially with how he couldn’t say anything, his blue eyes big and mouth opening and closing like a fish in a bowl.

“What we’re saying, man,” Javier said, patting the blonde man’s shoulder. “Is when you’re horny enough, you’ll find a way.” He looked over at his fiancée, and her expression showed she was just as delighted as he felt. “From the sound of it, the guest bathroom hasn’t seen any action.”

Her eyes were on his. “A travesty—it’s a law that every room in the house has to be christened. Don’t worry, Steve—“ Her attention moved to the man in front of them, reaching to pat his arm. “—we know a bathroom is too exotic of a locale for you, so we’ll take one for the team and break it in; there’s no need to thank us.”

His former partner finally found his voice.

"Connie!" Steve yelled, his upper body turning, along with his head, to look behind him.

"Yeah?!" she answered from the kitchen.

"Everything in the guest room has to go! It all needs to be burned, and the guest bathroom is getting that remodel you wanted!”

She walked out of the kitchen with a small dish towel in her hands.

“You said we couldn’t afford to remodel the guest bath...”

“Well, I’m gonna figure out where we can add it into our budget ‘cause it’s happening, along with all new furniture in that room and linen. We also gotta have the floors sanitized.”

She looked past her husband at the two of them.

“He found out y’all messed around in there?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison.

She nodded in understanding and straightened.

“You’re so right, baby,” she said, agreeing too easily. “We have to remodel that entire back bedroom and bathroom now. It’s the only choice we have.”

“I’m happy you agree,” her husband said seriously. “We’ll toss all the bedding when they leave.”

“Except for the throw pillows. I really like those pillows and can have them professionally cleaned.”

“Of course, honey.”

Cielito leaned into him and whispered in his ear while his friends continued speaking, “Did we just inadvertently help Connie bamboozle Steve into doing a house project she’s been wanting done?”

“I think so,” he said just as quietly. “I’m happy to help after all she’s done for us.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to ask if she needs us to fuck anywhere else in or outside the house.”

“Or her van if she wanted a new one.”

“True. She just found a cheat code to get stuff she wants.”

“Will we be like this when we’re married?”

“Javi, babe, you give me anything I want if I ask—I don’t need a cheat code. It’s the same for you with me. If either of us wants anything, the other will do whatever they can to make it happen. Also, we’re equals in our relationship, whereas Steve thinks he’s the man of the house and in charge of everything, but it’s really Connie who runs the show and knows how to play him, like with this guest bedroom remodel. She’s crafty, and I highly respect her. So, no, we won’t be like this because I wouldn’t have or want to manipulate you to do my bidding.”

“Marry me.”

She giggled.

“I’m already marrying you, you goober.” She playfully slapped his arm, and he grabbed her hand, bringing it up to kiss her knuckles as he stared into her eyes.

“Marry me again.”

“Then yes, I’ll double marry you.”

He smiled. “Good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And with how she was looking at him, he knew she meant every word, and it made him feel so happy there was a chance he’d float away.

This was real love.

This was the kind of love that wraps around you tight and never lets go.

The kind of love that can handle anything life throws at it since they’re stronger together.

The kind of love that lasts forever, even after their souls leave this earth. Their story will be remembered for eternity by the stars up above.

This was real love.

It was true love, and it was their love.

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shiorimakibawrites · 3 months

Text

The Accident (Part I of Happy Little Accident)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Word Count: 7, 368 Summary: You tripped in the elevator and covered your neighbor in paint. Your ridiculously hot neighbor that you have an enormous crush on. Warning(s): Anxiety, Female Gaze, Referenced Sex, Referenced Character Death, Reference to assumed Attempted Murder, Thoughts about sex Happy Little Accident Masterlist My Masterlist Tag List: @loves0phelia

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The Accident

You were painting in Central Park when your phone rang. You let out an irritated huff as you fished your phone out of your apron’s pocket and looked at the caller ID. Abby, your boss at the Daily Grind. It was tempting to ignore the call, pretend like you had forgotten your phone. Very tempting. It was a lovely spring day, one you would much rather spend painting than working. But in the end the knowledge that Abby wasn’t prone to bothering her employees during their off hours without a good reason had you accepting the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Abby said, sounding apologetic. “Can you cover for the afternoon shift today? Peter is in the hospital.”

“The hospital?!” you repeated, feeling immediately concerned. “What happened? Is he okay?”

Peter was one of the cafe’s newer employees. You didn’t know him very well yet but he seemed like a nice kid. If a little absentminded, given how often he arrived for his shift at a rush. And possibly even more clumsy than you are since you had often seen him with bruises which he claimed were the results of tripping over things.

Assuming he wasn’t lying about how he had gotten hurt. Which you thought that he was . . . some of those injuries didn’t look like they had came from a fall . . . It worried you. It worried others at the cafe too. Abby wasn’t usually so forgiving of such frequent tardiness and absences.

“He got hit by a car. Claims that he’s only got minor injuries but the hospital doesn’t want to discharge him without running some tests first. So can you come in today?”

You suppressed the urge to sigh. You didn’t want to sent the wrong message. Because you weren’t actually annoyed with Abby or Peter but the situation. These things happen. Sometimes people got hurt or got sick. And when they did, someone didn’t get their day off. Today was simply your turn.

And well . . . it wasn’t like you couldn’t use the money.

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks! You’re a lifesaver!”

You ended the call and slipped your phone back into your apron before starting to gather up your things. Your newly acquired shift started at three. It was only a little after noon, plenty of time to get back to your apartment and get ready, but you didn’t like rush. Rushing tended to make you even more of a klutz.

You swirled the used brushes in the water jar, trying to get as much paint off of your brushes before rolling them in a small towel. A second towel, already stained with old paint, was used to wrap up your palette. The paint was thrown back into their carrying box. Which was technically a small tackle box but you had repurposed it for art supplies. The box went into the bottom of your tote bag along with the water jar, double checking that lid was screwed on tightly. You didn’t need to ruin another sketchbook. You squeezed your current sketchbook behind the tackle box. Next went your pencil case, followed by the towels and their respective cargo. Now the only thing left was your painting and the portable easel.

You removed the painting from the easel, careful to avoid the spots where the paint had spilled over onto the tacking edge. Your fingers already had enough paint on them. The painting was propped against a tree, fingers crossed for two things. One that the wind wouldn’t pick up and send your painting flying. And two, a police officer wouldn’t start yelling at you for it. You didn’t think using the tree as a momentary support while you packed up violated any park rules but you weren’t entirely sure. You had read the park rules but they were written like a legal document . . . which it probably was . . . but that made you feel like you probably weren’t understanding it right. After all, you weren’t a lawyer.

Luck seemed to be with you. You were able to get easel broken down and put away without incident. You swung your bag into your shoulder before picking up your painting. After making sure you had a good grip on the stretcher and the tacking edge, you took a quick look around to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything. Then you started making your way home.

Your lucky streak continued. You didn’t drop anything. No one dumped into the wet canvas or you while you were walking. The subway was busy as usual but not packed to the gills. Your feet resisted the urge to get tangled up in some random piece of debris. Or your own feet. Or the absolutely nothing that you somehow managed to trip over sometimes . . .

In hindsight, you should have realized that it was too good to last.

Things began to go awry when you were waiting for the elevator to arrive. You looked down and saw a tube of paint in your aprons’ pockets instead of the tackle box where it belonged. Normally, you’d shrug and try to remember to put it away later but it looked like the cap hadn’t been screwed back on correctly. Your frown deepened after you transferred your painting to one hand and realized that the cap was loose. Loose enough that it was a minor miracle that it hadn’t fallen off somewhere between the park and here . . . you hoped the paint hadn’t gotten dried out . . .

You heard the elevator dings its arrival as you pulled the paint out of your pocket. Trying to one-handedly shift the tube so its cap could be gripped between your fingers and twisted close, you didn’t look when you heard the elevator door slide open. You just moved forward. And immediately tripped over . . . something . . . you had no idea what.

You just knew that you were falling, that you had lost your grip on your painting as your hands instinctively rose to protect your head from the oncoming impact. An impact that never came. Someone caught you before you could hit the floor. Unfortunately the hand holding the paint had squeezed down, spraying paint on yourself and the chest of your rescuer.

It was like a train wreck. You didn’t want to look but you always couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. You stared in horror the giant splash in the middle, the magenta color of the paint shockingly bright against the light gray suit, white dress shirt, and blue tie . . . Your eyes darted to the array of smaller droplets that radiated outward like shrapnel . . . you raised your eyes with the growing dread. Because you recognized that suit and tie, that broad chest . . .

Sure enough, when you looked up, you were greeted with the very surprised face of Matt Murdock. You felt your heart sink. Of course it was Matt. It couldn’t have been someone else. Anyone else. Preferably a random stranger that you would never see again. But no . . . it had to be your neighbor. It had to the man you had developed an enormous crush on.

Your face felt like it was on fire. You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. You wanted to cry. Matt returning your feelings had always been a long shot . . . but now? There was no chance. You had turned out of his nice suits into a terrible Jackson Pollock . . . you were going to be lucky if he ever talked to you again . . .

You don’t know when you started apologizing. One minute, you were frozen in humiliated shock, the next increasingly frantic words started spilling out of your mouth. What words you couldn’t say. You couldn’t hear anything past your heart pounding in your ears . . .

A hand cupping your cheek was so startling that it immediately pierced the panic clouding your mind. Big, warm hand . . . you blinked and realized that someone was speaking to you. A familiar deep, soft-spoken voice . . .

“. . . shh, shh, sweetheart, it’s okay . . .”

Sweetheart?! You would hardly believe your own ears. But that was definitely Matt’s voice, his face that you were looking at, and those oh-so-kissable lips were moving . . .

This wasn’t the first time that Matt had called you sweetheart. He had been doing that since the first time you meet. If literally running into someone counts as meeting them. You would like to say no but it wasn’t like your second encounter with your then new neighbor had gone much better. You weren’t always a klutz around him but your bouts of clumsiness did occurred around him with embarrassing regularity.

And provided he was nearby when it happened, Matt always caught you when you started falling . . . so finding yourself in his arms also happened on a regular basis.

This had some upsides. For one, it gave you an appreciation for how much muscle must be hiding under those suits of his. Because he never had any trouble catching you or helping you get back onto your own feet. There was something very hot about the way he could lift you up like you weighted nothing. For another, he is very warm. Which had been especially nice during the recent autumn and winter months. And he smelled good. Like plain soap, ink, paper, and something woodsy like sandalwood with fainter notes of leather, cooper, and something else familiar but that you couldn’t quite remember what it was or where you had smelled it.

On the downside, you were never in his arms for very long. Certainly not long enough to really enjoy being held by those strong arms. He’d catch you, make sure you were steady on your feet again, then his arms would slide away and he stepped back. Taking all of his warmth and good smells with him. Which was always a little disappointing even if you did appreciated that he didn’t assume that he had permission to hold you longer than was absolutely necessary. And that he didn’t use those moments as an excuse to get handsy. Which you knew some people would have.

Further on the downside, being in his arms for any length of time made it very hard to pretend that he didn’t get you all hot and bothered. That having his warm breath brush against your neck and ear when he said something like ‘Careful, sweetheart’ didn’t make the skin there prickle and the rest of you shudder. Or, last week, when your shirt had gotten ridden up, that feeling those callused fingers against your bare skin didn’t make you shiver. Or the absolute worst, when you had to act like you hadn’t just been touching yourself while fantasizing about him, that you hadn’t just been moaning his name, that being in his arms hadn’t renewed the heat between your legs . . .

Those moments, it was really difficult to stop yourself from doing something crazy. Like ask him if you can find out if those pouty lips are soft as they looked . . . or if how much of that beautiful ass you could fit in your hands . . .

You suppressed the urge to groan. Serena, your best friend in the world, was right. You needed to get laid. Because even at the most embarrassing moments of your life, when you were half-considering changing your name and moving somewhere far away, you still couldn’t keep your mind out of the gutter.

Your imagination was out of control. It kept trying to convince you of the wildest things. Like that there was something more to the way his fingers had rubbed that little sliver of bare skin last week than just some mild curiosity when his hands didn’t encounter the expected shirt material. Or those tightening grips on your waist was anything other than making sure he wasn’t about to drop you. Those moments when his voice went deeper and huskier weren’t due to attraction but Matt was obviously coming down with a cold or something.

You ignored the grumbling inner voice that pointed out, aside from when he had the misfortune to get stuck in the elevator with that guy from the third floor who smelled like he bathed in cheap cologne, you had yet to see Matt so much as sneeze. Or that none of those moments had overlapped with the times Matt had looked ill – tired and moving like his body ached.

You weren’t going to get your hopes up. Matt was way out of your league. So far out that you weren’t even playing the same sport. He was incredibly good-looking, easily one of the most handsome men you had ever meet. You were the textbook definition of Plain Jane. Not ugly but not beautiful either. He was confident, outgoing, and charming. You were anxious, shy, and awkward. He was a lawyer with a successful law firm. You were an artist whose work didn’t sell well enough to make a living off of it. Hence the waitress/barista job at the Daily Grind.

Maybe not the most sensible job choice for a shy klutz but there were only so many options for someone with an art degree. Plus you had been working there since college and Abby had displayed remarkable patience for your clumsiness (and the periodic broken dishes that went with it). Mostly because you were otherwise reliable. And while you would never enjoy making small talk with strangers, you could do with a smile. It helped the majority of the regulars were nice . . .

“Sweetheart?”

Any blood that managed to drain out of your cheeks immediately flooded back. You were really batting a thousand today. First you spray him with paint, then you babble incoherently at him, then you stand there like a moron ignoring him for god only knew how long. If Matt didn’t already think you were awkward and weird, he certainly did now.

“Sorry,” you said, not sure of what to say.

He smiled at you. That sweet one that seemed . . . .dare you say it? . . . fond? Which did nothing to diminish the flush in your face. Neither did the little circles his thumb was rubbing into your right cheek or the reassuring squeeze from the hand at your waist.

He’s just trying to keep me calm, you told yourself sternly. It didn’t mean anything. He just didn’t need you panicking again. Lawyers were busy people. He had probably had things to do and didn’t want to waste anymore time on you.

“And to answer your earlier question, no, I’m not going to sue you.”

You had actually said that? Out loud? You closed your eyes and let out a low groan. Everytime you think this situation couldn’t get more embarrassing . . . that idea of moving some remote mountain which hopefully had no insanely hot lawyers living on it was sounding better and better. The only thing thing that would have been worse was if your word-vomit had decided to detail just how attractive you found him. Then, in addition to everything else today, you’d have to listen to him say ‘I’m flattered but . . .’ while your heart shattered into a million pieces . . .

“Sorry,” you repeated. Because what else you could you say to something like that?

“No need to apologize again, sweetheart,” he said as his hand slide off of your face before joining its fellow in helping you get back on your own feet. Then, as usual, his arms pulled away entirely and he took a small step back. As usual, you told yourself that you weren’t disappointed or felt colder. Both were a lie.

“It was an accident,” he continued. “You said you were sorry. No harm done.”

You couldn’t stop your eyes from flickering around his suit. The mess hadn’t miraculously disappeared. It was still here.

“No harm?” you repeated. “You’ve got magenta splattered all over your suit!”

“Which one is magenta?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I remember what magenta looks like,” Matt said, sounding thoughtful. “Can you describe it for me?”

“Er . . . pink?” you said, trying to think of how to describe it. “This particular shade is darker than bubblegum, more purplish-red? Like some plums just under the skin or a pomegranate?”

“Sounds pretty,” he said. “Foggy has been telling me that I need to wear more color.”

“I think he probably meant new clothes that were different colors, not paint splattered on your existing clothes,” you said slowly, unsure of what to make of this conversation. It was not turning out at all like you would have expected it to.

He grinned. “Most likely but he never actually said clothes. Just more color. He knows better than to leave the terms of a contract that vague.”

While you didn’t know Foggy Nelson very well, you had the feeling he would not be impressed. You had also seem him and Matt needling each other at Josie’s often enough to picture the irritated look he would level at his partner if he returned to work looking like this and tried to make that argument. The image was so absurd that you had to giggle.

“Not sure that is a winning argument, Mr. Murdock,” you said,

“Sure it is,” he said. “Any ambiguity in a contract favors the party that didn’t write it. Foggy wrote the contract without defining his terms. So I am free to interpret those terms as anyone might reasonably expect them to mean.”

Which only made you giggle even harder. He was being so silly. “It’s not very professional?”

“Regretfully, I have to agree,” he said, sounding almost like he genuinely disappointed about that. Provided you couldn’t see the cheeky grin on his face. “Will I need anything special to remove the paint?”

“No,” you said, silently thanking Past You for choosing to work with acrylics today instead of oils. The faded spots the turpentine would leave would be less noticeable than magenta but still probably not something he wanted. Also even the low-odor version didn’t smell good. You didn’t know if there was any truth to that whole ‘blind people’s other senses get stronger’ thing but real or not, Matt seemed to have a pretty sensitive nose. “Acrylics are water-based. As long as it is still wet, warm water and soap is enough.”

“See? No harm done,” he said, giving that flirty smile that always made your heart go pitter-patter. Even when you tried to tell yourself that it didn’t mean anything. Matt was a charming guy who flirted a little with everyone. You had seem him get a little flirty with Mrs. Gonzales, the third resident of the sixth floor. Who was, as she pointedly reminded him, old enough to be his grandmother and scolded him for shameless flattery. She had rolled her eyes a little when he retorted the truth wasn’t flattery but did seem pleased. Pleased enough to make him tamales. Which honestly made you a little jealous. The tamales you had bought from her at during the holidays had been really good . . .

Serena thought Matt wasn’t flirting with you just to flirt. That he actually liked you. But she was your best friend. It was her job to believe that you were wonderful and agree that the hot guy you had a crush on was into you. And if it turned out that he wasn’t . . . well, then he was an idiot wasn’t worth your time. You wanted to believe her . . . you wanted that to true so badly . . .

But you had seen the women Matt used to bring home. And the ones who flirted with him at Josie’s. Beautiful, self-assured women with successful careers. They were everything that you weren’t. Granted, you hadn’t seen one of his paramours leaving or arriving at the building for a while. And the only ones you had seen him leaving Josie’s with lately were his friends.

Or you. Which you refused to read anything into either. Matt just didn’t think you walking home alone at night was safe. And it wasn’t. The Kitchen might have Daredevil, its guardian in red leather, but he couldn’t be everywhere. Couldn’t save everyone through if the rumors were to be believed, it certainly seemed like he tried.

Regardless of his reason, you always ended up agreeing because you were too weak to say no to spending just a little more time with him. And it wasn’t like you were making him go out of his way since you both lived in the same building . . .

The point was that Matt would the same thing for anyone. Even someone who really didn’t need it. Like Jessica Jones. Through he claimed that was just to save himself or Foggy from needing to make another late-night trip to the police station because she had punched some creep into a wall. While he agreed that yes, they deserved it for treating someone like that but the police didn’t see that way, Jessica . . .

“As long as it’s still wet,” you repeated. “It’s harder to remove once its’ dry.”

“How does that take?”

“About half an hour.”

“Good thing I’m so close to home then.” Then he seemed to hesitate. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Absolutely,” you said, cringing a little at how eager you sounded. But you had gotten paint all over him. A favor was the least you could do.

“Can you help me get this cleaned up?” he said, gesturing toward the paint. He gave you a self-deprecating smile. “Otherwise I might miss a spot.”

“I can do that,” you said. You had been intending to offer help anyway. You had made the mess. You should help clean it up.

He frowned suddenly, his head tilting to one side. “Are you sure? I’m not keeping you from anything?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t need to be at work until three and it’s . . .”

You tried to check the time on your watch but it had a smear of paint across the face. Unfortunately the hands were hidden by said smear of paint. “Probably not three.”

Matt’s lips twitched. “Problem with your watch?”

“Paint is hiding the hands.”

He gave an amused grin as he ran his fingers around the edge of his watch. “The downside of wearing non-tactile watches. It’s a quarter til one.”

“Plenty of time,” you said. And even if it wasn’t . . . Abby was a reasonable person. She would completely understand not leaving any neighbor, let alone your blind neighbor, to clean this up.

He smiled before reaching down to pick up his fallen cane. You felt your face get warm again. Both because you just realized what you had gotten tripped over (which made you feel like a jerk) and because that action had pulled those trousers taut over his ass (which made you feel . . . other things). But you couldn’t stop yourself from looking. Not when you had a front row seat to one of the best asses in America. Possibly the world.

Matt couldn’t possibly know that you were checking out his ass but that smug little smirk that he flashed in your direction made you feel like he did. You averted your eyes and tried to find a distraction. Before thinking about his ass (or other body parts) got you worked up. More worked up. Which not only would be awkward but make you nervous and prone to say something embarrassing.

Then you remembered your painting. You had dropped it earlier. Where was . . . you let out a distressed groan as you picked it up. The good news was that your painting hadn’t landed paint-side down. Which had saved the mostly dried paint from smearing or chipping. The bad news that hadn’t escaped The Magenta. It didn’t get hit as nearly badly as Matt but there was still a giant splat right in the middle of the lake . . .

“What’s wrong?”

“There is a giant glob of magenta in the middle of the lake,” you said.

“The lake?”

“In my painting,” you said. “I was doing one of the Bow Bridge in Central Park.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Maybe,” you said, looking at the mess and trying to think of how to incorporate the random splatters into the image. You could remove some of it without taking off the underlying layers but not all of it. That would have to be incorporated somehow . . . Maybe a boat? Or a float . . . some of the smaller ones could be turned into leaves if you switched the setting to autumn just as the leaves were turning . . . or a flowering tree with pink blossoms . . .

“We don’t make mistakes, just happy little accidents,” you reminded your inner perfectionist.

“That sounds familiar.”

“It’s something Bob Ross said a lot,” you said. “He was–”

“That guy on PBS who painted the landscapes?” Matt said. “Soft-spoken, sometimes had a squirrel in his pocket and talked about happy trees?”

“That’s the one,” you said. “The Joy of Painting. I watched it religiously as a kid. How about you?”

An odd little smile spread across Matt’s face. “Not often enough to qualify as religious but you could call us regular watchers. My dad wasn’t much of an art guy but he found the show relaxing . . . and it was quiet. I could turn it on in the morning without waking him up after he had worked late.”

He sounded nostalgic, like these were fond memories but also deeply sad. Then you remembered that Matt’s father was dead. Killed when he was a little boy. Which you only knew about because you had once given into temptation and googled Matt Murdock. Most of the search results had been about his law firm and the Castle trial but further down the page, articles about the accident that blinded him and his father’s death had also appeared. But by then, you had felt guilty enough about snooping into his life that you hadn’t read any those of articles beyond their headlines.

“Did you ever try to follow along?” you asked softly.

“A few times with the watercolors from my school supplies,” he said. “I was terrible at it but my dad hung up every picture on the fridge like it was the Mona Lisa.”

“Mine did that too,” you said. “My mom might still have a few of them tucked away with the baby pictures, waiting to embarrass me with them.”

He chuckled. “Did you ever fall asleep watching the show?”

You laughed. “Yes. Usually after I had stayed up too late reading.”

“Same,” he said, then gestured to the control panel. “Shall we go up?”

“Yes, we shall,” you said, a little amazed at how well this was going, despite the mishap. And that the elevator had remained here at the ground floor for this long. Probably it was the middle of the day and therefore most of the other tenants were either at work or school right now. As the elevator rose, you tried to think of something to talk about. You didn’t mind quiet but your earlier anxiety about his reaction had been replaced by your more usual nerves at being around the man you had spent almost half a year pining over.

Nervous You tended to be a chatterbox with chronic foot-in-mouth disease. Nervous You might blurt out that you liked him. Might detail how you wanted to go on dates, snuggle on the couch, hold hands while you took long walks, call each other by cliché nicknames like honey or dear. Basically be one of those disgustingly adorable couples . . . And behind closed doors, mind-blowing sex. The kind of sex that would leave you walking funny with a big smile on your face . . .

That thought alone made your cheeks warm. Among other places. Maybe work? Work should be a safe enough topic. Nothing naughty about work . . .

“What brings you home this early?” you asked, injecting as much cheer as possible in your voice to disguise your nerves. “Does no one need lawyering today?”

He chuckled. “No, we still have plenty of people who needed lawyering. I just forget my phone this morning and this was the first chance I’ve had to retrieve it.”

You hummed in acknowledgment as the elevator dinged your arrival to the sixth floor. The doors slide open and you walked out. Or rather you tried. But apparently you just had no luck with elevators today because you managed to slip on nothing. For the second time today, you started to fall. Only backwards this time.

And despite what happened the last time, Matt still caught you.

“Sorry,” you said, feeling the earlier flush to your cheeks deepen.

“No need to apologize, sweetheart,” he said. “I like having a beautiful girl in my arms.”

Which only made the warmth in your face start to spread down your neck. Even if he didn’t meant it, it was nice to be told that you were beautiful. You couldn’t help liking it. You did your best to ignore the nasty voice in your head – the one that sounded a lot like those awful girls in high school who had bullied you – saying how would Matt even know that you were beautiful or not . . . he was blind . . .

Your more optimistic side – which sounded like Serena – pointed out that for obvious reasons, that Matt was unlikely to find someone attractive based solely on their appearance . . . so maybe he really did find you beautiful . . .

You blamed those pernicious thoughts for making you feel like there was hint of hesitation, of reluctance, in Matt’s hands as they slide back off of your waist once you were standing upright again. But not matter how many times you told yourself that it was just your overactive imagination . . . part of you couldn’t help but hope.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Matt said as you followed him into his apartment. While he disappeared down a hallway, you propped your unfinished painting against a wall before slipping your tote off your shoulder with a sigh of relief. It wasn’t very heavy but those almost falls had jerked it and its contains around, making the straps dig into your shoulder. After sitting down the tote, you prodded the area. It was a little sore but it lacked the tenderness you associated with oncoming bruises.

You walked toward the kitchen and looked around, curious. In some respects, his apartment was a lot like yours. Both displayed the buildings’ previous life as factory in the exposed brick, scuffed hardwood floors, and visible HVAC and pipes. Both had large windows that let in a lot of natural light if even the old glass was a little wavy or different colored. Both had galley-style kitchens and generally open floor plan. Both of you seemed to have opted for a mismatched collection of secondhand furniture in either earth tones or neutral colors. But that was where the similarities ended.

The first and most noticeable difference was size. His was a lot bigger than yours. Which honestly you had expected, knowing very well that your side of the sixth floor had been turned into two units whereas his was left as one. Yours didn’t have access to the roof but in all honesty, you were fine with that. You weren’t afraid of high places in and of themselves but you were afraid of falling from high places. The outside of your windows wasn’t dominated by The Billboard. Which even during the day looked rather bright.

Matt’s apartment struck you as unfinished, like there was something missing but it took you a moment to figure out what. There was nothing decorative. The walls were bare and furniture were bare. It was sharp contrast to your place where the walls had been turned into a gallery for your unsold paintings and the furniture was festooned with the efforts of Serena’s knitting or your embroidery. You wondered if this was due to preference (Matt was simply a minimalist who considered decorative items to be annoying clutter) or to circumstance (Matt hadn’t found anything that he liked yet).

Another difference was the level of tidiness. You weren’t outright messy. You cleaned up after yourself. But there was always a certain amount of controlled chaos. For example, you were just as likely to find your pincushion and scissors on the kitchen table as in the sewing bag where they belonged. Or how your books often ended up stacked on the floor by your reading chair instead of being put back on the bookshelf.

Matt’s place, by contrast, looked very well organized. Everything obviously had a place and was always returned to its spot when not in use. Which made sense when you thought about it. No one wanted to go on a scavenger hunt every time they needed something. And given how busy Matt was, he also didn’t have time to be doing that.

Plus there were things that no one would want to get mixed up. Like grabbing the shampoo bottle when you wanted the mouthwash. Yes, there were other things that would clue him in before he inadvertently washed out his own mouth with soap. But, as your grandmother liked to say, an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

“Will any soap work?”

You jumped at a little at Matt’s voice. He sounded close. Much closer than you would have thought he could get to you without you noticing. Especially on these old hardwood floors which had so many places that creaked or groaned when stepped on.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s . . .” you started as you turned toward the sound of his voice. And promptly felt your intended words get tangled up in your throat. Your heart began to race as blood rushed back to your cheeks at the sight before you.

Your eyes greedily took in his broad shoulders, then down arms so thick that you doubted that you would be able to fully wrap your hand around it. Back up and across to the well-defined pectorals, then down through to sculpted abdominals until they disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. All covered in a skin that looked like it was as soft as satin.

You swallowed hard. You had known for a while that Matt had some muscle. He had saved you from your own clumsiness too often for you not to know that. But this . . . you had no idea he was hiding all this under those fancy suits of his . . . It was like someone had brought the statue of a Greek god or Michelangelo’s David to life . . . and then someone had apparently convinced him to put on pants. Whoever that idiot was should be fired . . . because if the rest of him looked this good . . .

“Sweetheart?”

Once again, you jumped at his voice. You raised your eyes up to his face. Your breath caught for the second time. Because Matt wasn’t wearing his dark glasses. You had never seen him without those glasses. Predictably, his eyes were just as pretty as the rest of him. Big, brown eyes sparkling with amusement and confidence. It matched that cocky little smirk he was sporting. The same one he had given you earlier. Only this time, you were positive that he knew that you were staring.

But it was so hard not to . . . he was so beautiful . . . it filled with you competing urges. The artist longed for your drawing pencils and a couple of hours to sketch. You weren’t sure you had the talent to fully capture his beauty but you would love to try. The woman, however, wanted him to fuck you. For him be inside you. Cock, fingers, tongue . . . your cunt didn’t care which. Any or all of them would do.

Watching that pink tongue dart out from between those oh-so-kissable lips before disappearing back inside his mouth did nothing to quell your arousal. Nor did the almost hungry look in his eyes. All it did was make you think about all things a man could do with his tongue if he was so inclined . . .

You dug your hands into your jeans to keep them to yourself. Silently you reminded yourself why you had to control the later impulse. First – Matt wasn’t your boyfriend. He was your neighbor and maybe a friend. Second – even if you were his lover and consented to having sex, neither of you had time today. He needed to go back to his office and you had to be the cafe at three. Abby would understand you being late because you were helping Matt clean up The Magenta. She would be far less sympathetic toward hanky-panky induced tardiness. So as much as you would like him to bend you over his kitchen table, you had to ignore that particular desire.

As for the artistic urge . . . since he didn’t seem to hate you for The Magenta, maybe he would agree to model for you? And you were friends of a sort. Friends could ask friends to model for them, right?

“L-liquid soap,” you said, doing your best to sound normal instead of incredibly turned on. “I-I found it easier to work with when cleaning up paint.”

Matt didn’t look like he was convinced by your non-existent acting skills. But he went along with the change of subject. Then gave you another heart attack by revealing that his shirt and tie were silk while his jacket was wool with a silk lining. You had no idea how to clean paint off of those without damaging them . . . isn’t stuff like that dry clean only?

The answer was yes and no. The shirt was made of a type of washable silk that he could launder at home – on the gentle cycle with mild soap. The suit and the tie, however, were both dry clean only. But Matt knew how to prevent stains from getting set in his fancy clothes and you knew how to handle paint. Between the two of you, you worked a plan that should get the paint off while preventing damage to his clothes.

Using an old gift card that you used as a painting tool as a scrapper, you removed the bulk of the paint from the tie and jacket while Matt used his bottle of liquid dish-soap and water to wash his shirt in the sink. Then, you dampened a white washcloth with lukewarm water, added a tiny amount of the soap, before dabbing the affected areas. Before dabbing again with a separate cloth that was just dampened with water, then carefully blotting with another washcloth that was completely dry.

You tried to keep your mind on the task in front of you but kept getting distracted. By his . . . everything. You wanted to trace every muscle with your fingers. Or your tongue. Either would be enjoyable. Or both. Both was good . . . the only thing that wasn’t making you press your thighs together in an effort to relieve the ache in your cunt were the scars.

Not because you thought his scars were ugly. The scars were like kintsugi. The healed but visible damage made the person more beautiful, not less. But because the scars worried you. It looked like someone had tried very hard to kill Matt.

You hadn’t realized that being a lawyer was so dangerous . . . but then, Nelson & Murdock had gone up against some powerful people. People like Fisk. Had Fisk or someone like him sent someone after Matt? You glanced at his hands. He had the same calluses on his knuckles as your ex who was a boxer. Did Matt know how to box? Was that how he had survived the obvious attempt on his life?

You were curious but realized that some of the answers you wanted might require a lengthy conversation. Which you didn’t have time for. Assuming Matt was even willing to answer those questions. He might not be. Which was fine. Trauma was rather personal and you didn’t really know each other.

You returned to your task. Despite your frequent distraction, soon the clothes were cleaned to the best of your ability. All three items were hung on hangers to dry in the case of the shirt or await a trip to the dry cleaners for the other two. Something that you offered to pay for.

“No need for you to do that, sweetheart. It’s about time for that suit to go to the cleaners anyway.”

“But it’s my mess,” you protested.

You didn’t win the argument. But it wasn’t a fair fight. First, he was a lawyer. He argued with people for a living. You painted or served food and drinks. Second, he still hadn’t put on a shirt. It was very distracting. And he knew it. His opposition in court was so lucky that he had to keep all his clothes on in the courtroom. Otherwise, they’d might never win.

“Stupid, sexy Murdock,” you muttered quietly under your breath as you washed your brushes and palette. Not quietly enough because he laughed.

“I’m sexy?” Matt asked. Warmth flooded your face. Judging by that cocky smirk, he knew the answer to that question. Yes, absolutely yes. But you were absolutely not going to say that.

“I plead the Fifth,” you said. Which only made him laugh harder.

He opened his mouth, probably to tease you some more, when his phone started ringing out, “Foggy, Foggy, Foggy.”

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” he said.

“Go ahead,” you said quickly.

He flashed you a smile before answering his phone with a “What’s up, Fogs?”

You put away your things while Matt talked to his partner. From the sound of it, he was explaining why retrieving his phone was taking so long. A check on your watch – now cleaned of paint – warned you that you really needed to leave now if you wanted to be ready for work on time. You swung your tote up onto your shoulder.

Then found yourself in a quandary. It was rude to interrupt someone while they were on the phone but it was also rude to leave without saying good-bye. But it wasn’t like you could go just wave good-bye.

“Matt?” you called out.

“Hang on Foggy,” he said, pulling the phone away from his ear. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“I’ve got to go,” you said. “I’ll see you later?”

“You’ll have to. I can’t.”

For a moment, that answer confused you. But only for a moment. Blind joke. Not the first one he had made around you. It wouldn’t be the last. He seemed rather fond of them. Well, it was his disability. It certainly wasn’t your place to tell him that he couldn’t make jokes about it if he wanted to.

Besides sometimes the looks on people’s faces when he made them were very funny.

“Left myself wide open for that one, didn’t I?” you said.

“Yep,” he said. He looked very pleased with himself. “But yes, I’ll see you later.”

That made you smile. “Bye, Matt.”

“Bye, sweetheart,” he said before returning to his phone call. You closed the door to his apartment as quietly as you could, then made you way across the hall toward your own apartment. Time get for work.

Step one – a cold shower.

Notes

There are portable easels that are designed to be collapsed down and easily carried. I have one. Some of them come with an attached box that is meant to carry paint, brushes, and whatever else you need but that type is more expensive (about 70 dollars on the cheaper end) than one that is just the easel (which is about 20). Reader has a limited art budget and those fifty bucks she didn’t spent on an easel can buy a lot of paint and canvas.

I’ve found that tackle boxes and tool boxes make great carrying cases for arts and crafts supplies. The divided trays are very useful if the creative thing you are doing involves a lot of little pieces or tools like beading or jewelry making.

Reader took the subway for part of her journey because, according to what I could find, getting from Hell’s Kitchen to Central Park via subway takes about 14 minutes while walking that same distance would take about 40 minutes. So the subway it was.

Magenta is, generally speaking, purplish red color. The shades vary between more pink, more red, or more purple. Even paint doesn’t always agree. I have one set on acrylic paints that labels a color as ‘light magenta’ while a different set calls the same color ‘magenta’ and third just says ‘pink.’

Jackson Pollock (1912 – 1956) was an American artist who was part of the abstract expressionist movement. He is best known for his ‘drip’ technique where he would pour or splash liquid house-paint with frenetic movement onto the canvas which was laying flat on the floor. In some ways, his work reminds me of acrylic pouring which looks very cool but also very messy.

I mean no disrespect to those with an art degree. I started off majoring in fine arts and part of me wishes that I had stuck with it despite the challenges. One of my professors recommended getting your masters if you were going to major in art simply because then you could get teaching jobs in many places.

That contract thing is true but I’m not a lawyer and have never taken Contracts 101. Always get your legal advice from actual lawyers.

Turpentine is used to clean paint brushes and other tools when using oil paint. A low odor version is highly recommended but remember to only use it in a well-ventilated place as the fumes are toxic. It is also very flammable. You can use it to get oil paint off of your skin but it is very drying and probably isn’t be safe to use on places like your face. The skin there easily absorbs things (which is the primary reason that make-up has go through FDA approval).

For the record, blind people don’t have better senses than everyone else. They just pay more attention to the information from their other senses provide, things that us sighted people tend to ignore. And arguably have more practice identifying different sounds, smells, etc than someone who largely ignores that input.

While I cannot say that this happens in NYC, as I have never lived there, where I grew up (American southwest) and where I live now (Florida), the grandmas and aunties in the Latin community make and sell tamales during the winter holiday season. Maybe for some extra spending money for said holidays. In my experience, they are always excellent. I almost don’t consider it Christmas without some tamales.

The reason Reader feels like a jerk for tripping over Matt’s cane is that messing with someone’s mobility aid and/or not giving them enough space to use it is a dick move.

The Bow Bridge is a bridge in Central Park. You have probably seen it before since it is pretty popular for movies and television. Probably because it looks perfect for your sappy romantic moments, dramatic love confession, meet-cutes, etc. It also helps that it looks just as nice surrounded by leafy trees as it does covered in snow.

Bob Ross (1942 – 1995) was an American painter who was the host of an instructional art show called The Joy of Painting, which aired from 1983 until 1994, on PBS (public broadcasting station) in the US but also in similar public stations around the world. You can find the episodes on YouTube.

According to the internet, you can spot clean wool, silk, and other such fabrics like how Reader does without damaging the fabric. But it was the internet so take that with a generous portion of salt.

Yes, I do use an old gift card when I paint. To make smallish straight lines, very handy for fences and rain effects. I cannot speak for every artist but my painting tools aren’t limited to brushes and painting knives.

Kintsugi (“golden joinery”) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer that has been dusted or mixed with gold, silver, or platinum. The point is not to hide the damage but highlight it, to treat the breakage and repair as simply part of the object’s history. And that having such a history makes it more valuable, not less.

#fan fic #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem! reader #matt murdock x you #happy little accident series

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shelbgrey · 22 days

Note

heyyy can i request some sfw/nsfw hcs for alex karev?

thank you 💓💓💓

Dating Alex Karev headcanons

Paring: Alex Karev x Grey!reader

Summary: headcanons about dating Alex Karev -SMUT warning

A/n: I had fun writing this one :)

🩷MasterList ML2 🩷Dating Mood Board

Enemies to lovers kinda...

Your first encounter with him was your first day intern year. His locker was next to yours and you could feel him staring at you as he sat on one of the benches.

“nice tattoos” he smirked, shining a flashlight on your tattooed covered arm. Before you could replie, your Cousin Meredith pulled you away. “don't talk to her” she said a little too defensively

You and Alex butted heads a lot at first, you didn't like his attitude and you thought he was a total ass. Then you thought you were ridiculous for thinking he was hot.

After a few months you guys did become buddies. You'd make dark or dirty jokes together.

He would ignore his feelings for you. He knew you deserved better and he didn't want to add anymore darkness to his life.

He really didn't start showing his softer side until your aunt Elis came to the hospital. You opened up to him about how your aunt adopted you, but never really cared about you. He wanted to tell you about his crapy childhood, but wasn't ready to open up just yet.

He was just ready to be your shoulder to cry on.

You did ended up going to the hospital prom together. You asked him. “you wanna crash the prom together?” he down played his excitement, he was over the moon excited on the inside but on the out side he shrugged and said this nonchalantly: “sure, I guess we'll suffer together”

But that he wasn't suffering at all, he was so happy to have you in his arms all night. And for the first time he didn't care he was showing his softer side to the hospital. He just enjoyed himself and danced with you most of the night. “wow, Alex Karev can dance”

He just smirked and twirled you, he brought you back to his chest shaking his head playfully. “Shut up”

The first song you guys danced to was Jeff Healey's Angel Eyes, it would later be your guys song. At first he'd never admit out loud how much the word hit him right in the heart, lyrics like:

'There's just one more thing that I need to know, If this is love why does it scare me so? It must be somethin' only you can see, 'Cause girl I feel it when you look at me'

You weren't gonna tell him how nervous you felt to be there with him, you never went to your high school prom. It was nice to be surrounded by all the fairy lights and dance with a guy you've liked for a long time. Alex did catch on quickly and wanted to know what was on your mind. “what's wrong?”

You shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. “this is my first prom... I never really experienced my high school prom” Alex looked suprised. “why's that?”

“no guy ever really liked me or found me attractive enough to give me a chance... I was kinda of a geek back then”

“thoes guys are idiots. I would have killed to be with someone like you in high school”

You definitely saw something there in him that wasn't there before. You knew he was more than just a closed off jerk and that night only confirmed it. That same night he kissed you.

The kiss wasn't rough like you expected, it was gentle and sweet. He held the side of your face and kissed like you were the only person he wanted.

After that night he constantly flirted with you, making you blush or smirk.

Even when you started dating he would intentionally give you awful pick up lines just to make you laugh. “I hope you know CPR ‘cuz you just took my breath away”

“Alex... We're dating you don't need pick-up lines” he would just shrug and kiss your cheek. “I know, I just like making you laugh”

He's a total softy around you. He might seem like an ass to everyone else and people(especially George) might not understand why your with him, but he treats you like a queen.

Meredith did put the fear of god in him when you started dating. Like really did, Meredith and him were in a OR and she was holding a scaple and threatening his life when she found you and Alex were dating. “calm down, Mer. You think I'm gonna lose the most amazing thing in my life”

You were glad he was such a good friend to Izzie, especially when she lost Denny, but you couldn't help but be worried about their friendship later on. You and Alex had learned the hard way to be open with each other, so when it become a problem you decide to talk to him. “your just friends... Right?” you asked nervously. Alex gave a confused look and before he could awnser you talked over him in a nervous pace. “because she's a Model, Alex... She tall, blonde, and Beautiful... Any guy would want her... I'm short, I have tattoos, and dyed hair”

Alex cut you off by gently holding your face in his hands. “your what I want... Got it? I think your sexy as hell... And as for the dye job and tattoos I think is beautiful on you”

If your in the kitchen cooking he's under your feet sampling everything. It's even worse when you get a dog because you have to move around them both. “Alex, quit eating! I'm trying to cook”

“woman, I'm hungry!”

He probably didn't get decent home cooked meals till he started dating you. He loves your cooking.

When there's nothing on TV you'll watch old re-runs of Walker Texas Ranger. Which leads to walker and Chuck Norris inside jokes.

You also had conversations that's only normal to you two. Your friend learned that when you guys were in a OR gallery eating chips and ignoring the sugury. “who'd win in a fight Walker or Patrick Swayze?”

“if we're talkin' 'Road House' Swayze then, Patrick” Alex replied like it was the most obvious thing.

“but Chuck Norris knows martial arts” you reminded Alex. “but Swayze ripped a guy's throat out in 'Road house' ” Alex fired back. Alex loves 'Road house', it has Swayze and Jeff Healey(who sings your guys song).

“weirdest conversation” Izzie said, over hearing it. “always” Meredith added.

You guys stay in Derek's trailer for a bit and it wasn't a good experience for either one of you. He hates bears and you hate Snakes. “Alex! There's a fucking snake in the porch!”

“I'm not going out there! there's bears out there too, what do you want me to do about?”

You shrugged and annoyed with him and scared by the snake. “What? Are we just supposed to spend the rest of our lives in here?”

You stopped listing to the song House of Pain by Faster Pussycat around Alex because you can tell the words hit a little too hard for him and upset him.

Alex shrugged. “sounds good to me” he walked pasted you and towrds the bed. “wonder if Walker is on tv”

Since he's Evil Spawn his nickname for you is Angel.

He'd confide in you and open up to you about his past and family. He wanted to be a better man than his father was and he sure as hell wanted to treat you better than his father treated his mother.

The day his father showd up at hospital as a patient he kepted you far away from him. “that baaterd doesn't deserve to meet or know someone as amazing as you... Promise me you'll stay away from his hospital room”

He's a girl dog dad, plain and simple. He might only admit it to you though. You brought home a female Chiweenie puppy one day and he immediately fell in love with the pup. But they also have a love hate relationship. “that little bitch bit me” and then next hour their cuddling on the couch. “such a sweet little girl” he smiled scratching behind the puppy's ear.

You named her Baby after Jennifer Grey's character in Dirty Dancing

After the puppy calmed down and was more calmer, you guys got a license to bring her in for the Peds patients to see and cuddle while they were in the hospital.

Even though your an amazing cook to him, you guys get take-out alot due to your busy work schedule.

Sometimes you'll so tired to even eat something big and you'll end up sharing a large order of French fries.

Physical touch is his love language.

This man need physical contact a lot too. He's a big cuddler and just needs you in his arms, he's really just a big ol' teddy bear.

You joke about that, he can be such a cocky jerk and tough but he's really just a big teddy bear.

“I'm not a teddy bear” he said trying to not to smile. You shook your head and held him tighter. “your right... Your MY teddy bear”

He also loves forehead kisses, it's just such a soft and he loves doing gentle gesture like that to you. It just makes your relationship so much more intimate and real to him.

Alex refuses to sleep unless you have fallen asleep first, he just needs to know your okay before he can have a good night sleep. He really stated doing this after the hospital shooting.

He may be protective of you, but your definitely more protective. He finds is adorable and hot when you get all made and try to be his guard dog. “listen here Nurse syphilis...”

He calls you his angry Chihuahua just to mess with you.

He's not afraid to defend you either, he'd be damed if someone talked bad or down to you. He knows you and Christina don't get along and he's not afraid to put her in her place if she goes to far. “Back off Yang! I mean it”

He's a rough kisser, he's way taller than you so usually he hold your chin between his fingers and lift for head up to kiss you.

NSFW headcanons:

He has a tendency to grip the headboard when he's close to cumming.

He's a soft/mean Dom, it just depends on his mood. But no matter what he always makes sure your comfortable. He loves to take control in the bed but would never push you.

He loves missionary, keeping eye contact while he fucks you. He loves how you dig your nails into his back and wrap your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer.

Loves eating you out,your legs around his head. He loves your legs in general and loves leaving kisses on the insides of your thighs. He'd rather pleasure you for hours than receive.

He love getting head. I feel like he’d like having you on your knees. Plus, feeling your lips around him pushes him closer to cumming in your mouth.

Has a soft spot for sex in the shower, he loves holding you up against the wall, roughly while he drives his cock into you.

He has big chocking kink, he won't be too rough about but he loves wrapping his fingers around your neck and feeling your pulse when he's ramming into you.

He'll mark your thighs with his teeth and biting hard enough to leave a light bruise.

He doesn’t keep quiet. A good amount of teasing, dirty talk and the way he grunts...

Alex loves gripping your hips as you ride him, leaving his impressions on your thighs as you move, chasing your highs.

His favorite thing is probably you riding him. He loves gripping your hips, controlling your pace.

You may be in top, but he's in control. But that doesn't mean he loves the fact your using him to chase your high.

he loves grabbing you by the hips, literally squeezing his fingertips against your soft skin, holding you in the place or using them to help guide the pace.

One of his biggest kink is cumming inside you, seeing you filled up just makes him go crazy.

God, he loves anything to do with your breasts. He loves it when your sitting on his lap, grinding against his bulge while his face is buryed in your breasts, kissing and marking them up.

Honestly, you grinding yourself on him in someway and getting yourself off turns him on so much.

He loves using his fingers to get you to cum. “Look at you, whimpering for my fingers already”

This man is amazing when it comes to aftercare. He knows exactly what you need. After your both cleaned up, he'll pull you to his chest to cuddle.

#Alex Karev #alex karev x reader #Alex Karev imagines #Alex karev headcanons #Alex Karev smut #greys anatomy headcanons #Greys anatomy x reader

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lalachat · 6 months

Text

"And there you were..."

Author's note: Good lord did i have a lot to say in this chapter. I hope my writing is still okay and is cohesive enough... I feel like i am missing small points i made in other chapters, but as Hannah Montana once said, nobody's perfect! I'm doing my best with what has been going on in my life. I recently had to drop one of my college classes because it was getting to the point of me not being able to pass the class. Life tip: don't be a full time college student with 2 part time jobs(technically 3 if my summer job contacts me to come into work on a random weekday) or it'll catch up to you... shit's stressful maine😭 Anyways, like always enjoy the chapter!!! She's a biggen💅🏻

Summary: After being slut shamed for something you and Lucien did in the past, you decide to run straight to his house to let him know of his mate's behavior. Little did you both know that it only would make things worse, but hey, screw it right?! Or so you both thought...

This is for all my Lucien girlies❤️

Warnings: profanity, steamy make-out sesh (you're welcome<3), cock-blocked lol, slight violence

Word Count: ≈ 4,556

Chapter 6: "Hold your tits!"

And there you were in his house again but this time looking like you were going to scorch Prythian. You didn’t even have the energy to respond to his witty remarks. “Something really bad must have happened,” he thought. As he looked over you for any signs of injury, he couldn’t help but think about Elain.

Elain had lost control of her emotions and sent them full blaring at him, and yet you’re in his living room looking just as pissed off during the time of Elain’s relay. Then the realization hit him that something must have happened between you two. Would his bond with Elain cause him to take her side or would his close relationship with you rule over all? He was going to have to tread very lightly in the conversation that was about to come to light.

“You want to know who pissed in my wine? Your mate Lucien, that’s who! And mine, but mainly your mate!” You say with a bitter tone as you cross your arms and legs to lean against the wall.

“I see, guess I have been too much of a ladies' man if I have both of you this hot headed over me.” He smirked at you still trying to break your anger with humor. It didn’t work, it went right over your head. Lucien frowned.

“How can she stand there and make all these accusations about me being a slut for fucking you without hearing the explanation of it being before y’alls bond?! SHE IS RIDICULOUS!” you exclaim.

“She called you what? Are we talking about the same Elain right now?” Lucien stood there in shock.

“She called me a slut Lucien! Said that me having sex with you is the reason I have no mate, not realizing that she is the reason I don’t have one! She keeps him from me! Hell, I tried so hard to open the bond with Az in our argument, but I am still met with nothing but a big fat wall of nothing!” You slumped down.

“Let me set one thing straight y/n! Whatever she tried to pin against you is not true!” he grabs both of your hands reassuringly. “Azriel will hopefully come around one day, I am sorry it hasn’t happened yet...” he kisses the tops of your hands. However, little does he know that you are slowly losing faith in your bond ever being complete.

Lucien then looks up at you confused. “Wait how did she even find out about our previous sexual relationship?” Lucien asked.

“I let it slip to Mor at Rita’s and then Mor let it slip to the girls during girls' night, and then everyone asked about the rumor...” you admitted.

“Huh, I see.” He started rubbing his temples trying to ease his distress. His mate knows about you two, she just doesn’t know it was before they even met. Is this knowledge going to change his chances with Elain? A moment of silence passes between you, before Lucien’s face lights up.

“And what did you say about the rumor?” he smirked at you mischievously. He knew the rumor, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“Lucien why does what I said matter?”

“Because y/n, I want to know if you think I fuck with the fire in my veins?” His hands slowly trace up the sides of your arms. “Did I fuck you good enough for you to confirm that rumor?” He left an open-mouth kiss on your neck. “Or do I need to remind you?” He places another kiss onto your neck only firmer.

“Lu-” you sighed at the feeling of his lips on your neck, “Lucien what are you doing? You shouldn't be doing this right now....” He wasn’t listening to you as he sucked on the sweet part of your neck as you exposed more of your neck to him.

“Y/n you are telling me two different things right now. Your mouth says to stop but your body wants me to keep going, so which one is it doll?” He looked at you with hooded eyes, hands resting on your covered thighs after tracing your arms.

“Why does that information matter right now Lucien? You need to stop this.” You look at him with desire, completely contradicting your statement.

“Because y/n, they're upset at our previous relations a long time ago. I say fuck it and truly give them something to be upset about now.”

You both looked at each other. Tension was slowly building up between you two with every second of silence. Tension that has been building since the moment you two saw each other at Rita’s. Tension that has built up from all these years without each other. Tensions that were begging to be cut, begging to be relieved. Both of you were going through all the consequences that this could put you both in, but consequences be damned, this was worth it.

Neither of you had bothered hiding your growing scents of arousal. Your face was mere inches away from his. You could feel his hot breath against your face, and he stared down at you with desire, hands still resting on your thighs. You looked up at him and thought he was worth the risk. Whatever karma this would cause, bring it on, because his hands against your thighs was clouding all rationality in your head.

“Ah fuck it!” you say.

In an instant your lips were on Lucien’s in a searing hot needy kiss. His hands gripping at your thighs as your mouths fought for dominance. Your hands finding a home in Lucien’s hair and started pulling slightly, earning you a low groan. Your thighs clenched together which Lucien felt. He chuckled and decided to focus his heat on his hands, heating them up against your thighs. Your mouth broke away from his from the desirable feeling, “shit-”

“You like my hot hands all over you, hm?”

“Gods yes!” as you place your hands on top of his and teasingly guide them up your hips, to your waist, and stopping them just under your chest. His hands growing hotter from his desire on your sudden placement as both of your eyes locked and darkened.

“Such a fucking slut for my heat,” he said as his hands grew a mind of their own and started exploring every inch your breasts. His eyes followed every movement they made. You decided to remove your fingers from his hair and delicately trace them down his clothed back making him tremble slightly. This made you smirk. He is just as much of a slut for your touch as you were for his.

His lips were back on yours with pure dominance, making your desire grow even more as his hands never left your chest. You moaned into his mouth as you decided to be bold and reach under his shirt to scratch his bare back. His muscles tensed at every touch knowing they would leave marks. His musk grew at the thought.

Your mouths are moving more in sync than you have ever felt before. It was like both of you knew what each other was going to do next, but what you both did not know was the sudden loud knock on his front door. You both groaned in annoyance.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! This better be good!” Lucien said in frustration as he removed his swollen lips from yours. He looked at you for a second, his gaze softened as he placed a sweet kiss back on your lips saying, “this isn’t over.”

He smirked and turned towards his door fixing his hair, clothes, and evident boner on the way. You giggled as you hid from the door’s gaze fixing your own appearance. The knock was heard again but this time more boisterous as if whoever was behind it was losing patience.

“Good lord, get a hold of your tits! I am coming!” As he opened the door you heard Lucien gasp. “Shadowsinger, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He bowed jokingly.

“Where is she?” Azriel asked in annoyance.

“Where is who exactly?” Lucien asked dumbfounded as he rose from his bow.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me Lucien, you know who I am talking about. Now... Where. Is. She?!” Lucien stiffened; he was asking for you. He was not about to give you away to him after you and Elain’s argument, because he knew Azriel would take you back to the Townhouse. You and Elain needed time to cool off, he was not about to let you get called anymore names tonight.

“She’s not here.” Lucien said protectively as he slightly closed the door stopping his gaze from searching inside. Azriel picking up on it.

“That is fucking bullshit! I know she is here. Step aside Lucien or I’ll-”

“Or you will what Azriel? You and I both know I am not scared of you!” Lucien growled. Azriel chuckled.

“I knew you would protect your little play th-" Lucien’s nostrils flared as he took in a sharp inhale at Azriel’s intended vocabulary.

“Careful how you finish that sentence Azriel.” Lucien threatened.

“What? I smell her all over you! Protecting her is pathetic when you have your mate, Lucien!” Azriel crossed his arms across his chest aloof to the fact Lucien was about to snap.

In a second Lucien's hand balled into a fist and decked Azriel straight in the nose. You heard the contact from where you were standing in Lucien’s living room.

“AH! YOU FUCKING DICK!” Azriel screamed as he grabbed his nose to try and ease the pain.

“Say something like that again Az, I fucking dare you.” Lucien snarled.

Gods Lucien protecting you was hot, but no matter how hot he might be, your bond was overbearing you. You ran to the door, past Lucien, and straight to Azriel. You looked him over and gods was his nose a mess. Lucien had got him good. You looked back at Lucien who looked like he was about to light on fire. You glared at him for getting physical.

“He fucking deserved it...” Lucien said as he looked at you shaking his hand off from the impact.

You were now standing in between the two most loved males in your life right now, unsure on what to do. Do you give into the need to protect your mate, even after everything he has done, or do you give in to the male who has shown you nothing but support even though he has a mate. Not sure what to do, you decide to play both sides and ask a question everyone wanted to know.

“Azriel why are you even here?” Trying to bury the feeling of wanting to reach out to him to comfort him, you step to stand beside Lucien. Hands slightly brushing against each other, his hands still hot from your previous moment.

“To find you.” He rubbed his nose. “Elain is on a rampage trying to get to you knowing that you had run here to him.” He pointed his head in Lucien’s direction.

So, he came here not for you, but for Elain to try and make her feel better by taking you out of her mate's home.

“I am not going back there to make that bitch feel better!” You felt Lucien stiffen at your words for Elain.

“You have to y/n! Look all feelings aside, she won’t calm down. I have tried. Feyre has tried. Nesta has tried, but nothing is working. You need to come back to the townhouse now before shit gets worse!” He looks at you with pleading eyes. Gods he truly cared for Elain, didn’t he? You felt tears prick your eyes. Why couldn’t he care for you this way and not Elain?

“I am not going back there to get name called again for something that I did before their bond even snapped!” Azriel's gaze softened at your words, not by a lot, but you could see the realization hit him that Elain had gone too far earlier. Lucien finally decided to speak.

“If y/n returning to the townhouse means Elain calming down, she can go but you must take me with her. I will not stand aside and let y/n bear the burden alone for something we both did.” Wanting his mate to feel better but in a way he knows he can protect you at the same time. Lucien looked towards Az for an answer.

“I don’t think you coming would be a good idea.” Azriel deadpanned, now seeping back into his usual closed off self.

“Why? Because you’re scared that maybe the only thing that could potentially help Elain calm down is him? You’re just being jealous that it wasn’t you... set aside your pride for once Azriel and let him come with me,” you said. Azriel thought through your words, and you could tell he wasn’t going to budge. You grabbed Lucien’s hand because what you were about to say was going to hurt you a lot emotionally.

“Do not think about it for the sake of myself, but for the sake of Elain, Az...” Your tears finally spilled from your eyes as you saw Azriel’s face lighten up at the thought of it potentially helping Elain. Not even sparing a thought that returning there would only make you feel worse. Lucien’s hand tightened around yours as he thought the thought Azriel had failed to see. You smiled up at him as he mouthed, “it will be okay,” as his thumb traced the back of your hand in comfort.

“Fine. For the sake of Elain, you can both come.” Azriel takes off into the sky as you and Lucien look at each other worried.

“Y/n, everything will be okay,” he smiled at you. “I won't let anyone else shame you for something we both did in the past. It’s my turn to take on the burden. Don’t let Azriel’s behavior towards Elain stop you from trying to peruse the bond, or you’ll end up like a sorry sucker like me.” He chuckled.

You laughed at his self-defeating comment as you said, “Thank you, Lu... let’s hope you can calm the raging seer because it was not pretty earlier.” You warned.

“Yeah, let’s hope for once in her life she actually needs me for something...” He rolled his eyes not believing that this is the moment he is needed for. All this time without her and he's the last option when he should be the first. Gods, Lucien couldn’t help the bubbling anger trying to surface itself that he was her last resort, but his mate needs him! He was not about to ruin this chance for himself, as he grabs your hand and winnows you both to the Townhouse.

As you reached the front door at the Townhouse you saw Azriel landing beside you and Lucien.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Lucien looks at his imaginary watch, “just on time shadow singer!” He smirks.

“I don’t have time for your wit right now Lucien, we have better things to do. Come on.” Azriel said annoyed and walked straight into the house not even bothering to see if you were following him.

“Guess we need to follow grumpy pants over there,” You teased as Lucien laughed.

“Y/n I heard that!!” Azriel said over his shoulder only making you and Lucien laugh even louder. You both decided it was best to follow him now that you and Lucien were walking a fine line on Azriel losing his patience.

You can already hear the arguing as soon as you both catch up to Azriel. Lucien has suddenly gone cold as he hears his mate’s voice for the first time in a while. You heard his heartbeat quicken, from nerves or from longing you couldn’t tell.

“Lucien if you don’t get ahold of yourself, she is going to walk all over you! Deep breaths, I will be with you the entire time,” you smile at him.

“What if she sees me and kicks me out? What if my presence makes it worse?” Lucien was starting to panic, all he wanted was to see her and protect you from any more name calling, but this situation was just too stressful for him. Everything was relying on him calming down Elain! How can he do that when he has practically been shunned out of her life. You looked at him, clearly reading his thoughts.

“Lucien look at me,” his gaze is hazy as he glances towards you, “you are her mate! If anyone can get through to her it’s you! Not Azriel! YOU! Do not doubt your ability as her mate for a second!” You smiled at him, and you squeezed his hand gently.

“What would a male like me do without you?” He laughed as he squeezed your hand back.

“I don’t know, probably be a really lonely sorry sucker,” you shrugged your shoulders as you teased him. You have known Lucien for so long that you have picked up the best way to calm him is banter. He chuckled and kept your hand in his as he finished following behind Az.

Azriel glanced behind him to hear y’all’s exchange after he heard his name. He couldn’t help but see him and Elain in you and Lucien. Did you two like each other? He almost felt jealous, which is weird for him. The last time he felt this way was when you left Rita’s with him. What was going on with him recently?! He was going to have to investigate this for Elain’s sake... or maybe his, so he can stop this unknown and unsettling feeling that has been slowly eating at him.

“Would you two stop flirting and get a move on? They're in the library which is right around the corner,” Az said annoyed.

You and Lucien rolled your eyes playfully before you both feared the worst as you reached the entrance to the library. Elain’s rampage is evident as you hear her through the door.

“Oh, boy here we go again,” you said.

“Remember what I told you earlier y/n, I won't hesitate to fire back,” Azriel glared.

Lucien stepped in front of you and threatened, “I won't hesitate to set your balls aflame if you talk to her like that again!” You peered behind Lucien’s back and stuck your middle finger up at Az. He rolled his eyes as he opened the door letting you and Lucien walk in first.

As you walked in you saw Elain in the center of the room, pacing. Cassian and Nesta took the nearest couch. You saw Feyre and Rhys on the loveseat next to Cassaian and Nesta. Both couples are taking turns trying to ease Elain, but obviously it is not working otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Amren and Mor were sitting by the fireplace drinking from their glasses of wine in annoyance at the situation they had to deal with. Gods, you wish you could join them, they had the right idea...

“I knew you had run to him! First you fuck him and now you think you can go to him for comfort?! You are not his mate y/n!” Elain’s head snapped in your direction as you both came in. She hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge Lucien.

“Yeah, I may not be his mate, but you don’t get to call yourself that after all the shit you have been putting him through!” You raised your voice to match hers. “You are nothing but a dead-beat mate who does not deserve someone like Lucien!”

“Funny, the mother seems to think I do...” Elain snarked back.

“So then fucking act like it! Stop throwing yourself a pity party and finally realize what the mother gave you!” You point at Lucien. “He. Is. A. Good. Male! What is the issue?”

“The issue is you have fucked him, touched him, kissed him!” Elain argued back.

“Mother above Elain, I am not a disease! Grow the fuck up-” you sneered back.

Everyone in the room could tell this was not going to get any better if they kept letting you two talk. Everyone soon looked towards the two males at the entrance begging for them to do something and step in.

Lucien and Azriel were on top of it as soon as they saw everyone looking at them. Lucien was the one to step in front of you, blocking your view from Elain. His hands gripped your shoulders slightly pushing you back. Azriel was doing the same thing for Elain, only she was more resilient.

“HOLY SHIT AZ! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?!” Cassian boomed as everyone saw the lingering bruise on Azriel's nose..

“You can thank Lucien for that...” Az deadpanned as Lucien smirked. Everyone’s faces almost seemed surprised by the fact that Lucien had gotten physical with Azriel and had no bruise of his own.

“It wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t insult y/n.” He shrugged.

“You did that to protect her?!” Elain was screaming in Azriel’s arms. Lucien looked at you with an apologetic look before he turned to face his mate.

“Elain,” the sound of her name coming from his mouth had her frozen, “talk to me. No more screaming, no more yelling, just tell me your point of view on what’s going on. Okay?” he asked sweetly. Gods the dexterity of this male.

“She-” Elain had started to cry, “How could you sleep with someone Lucien?! Especially with someone like her when I am your mate?” You tensed, gods she was still on the petty bullshit.

“Someone like her, is an amazing female, but you wouldn’t know that because you are too blinded by the fact we slept together!” Lucien explained calmly.

“Is that so wrong of me to think when I come home to the girls wanting to know all the details of the autumn male rumor that she has learned from you?” Her voice was starting to rise as tears flowed down her cheeks. Lucien took a couple steps towards her, but Azriel was still holding her back afraid things would get ugly if he let her go. You were left standing alone.

“Elain listen to me, I don’t know what you heard but y/n and I’s previous sexual relations were before I even met you...” Lucien said reassuringly.

“No! You are lying! That can’t be true-” Elain said in disbelief as the wave of guilt hit her as she looked at you for confirmation.

“You would have known that if you had just let me talk instead of slut shaming me...” you sassed her. Lucien and Azriel glared at you as if saying your sass wasn’t needed right now. You huffed.

Lucien took the last couple of steps towards her and closed the distance between them as he grabbed one of her hands. This was now paining you to watch. Both of the most adored males in your life comforting Elain as you stood by yourself.

“Elain it is true, y/n and I slept together before our bond was even put in place... If you need, I will put my mental shields down and let Rhys prove it to you!” He rubbed the back of her hand.

“Hey, don’t drag me into this! I don’t want to see that; I believe him Elain! Please don’t make me do that.” Rhys begged.

Elain looked at him in sympathy, “I won’t make you do that.”

“Thank fuck,” Rhys sighed. You giggled at him as you thought to yourself that it would be a good way to show the girls the rumor. As if Rhys heard your thought, he glared at you. His voice was now in your head saying, “Don’t let them know that! I truly don’t want to see that image of you two.” His face grimaced making you giggle again. Feyre glanced at you two and looked at Rhys questioningly. You could tell they were now talking through the bond.

Elain glanced down at Lucien’s hand caressing hers. “I am sorry to have made you come all this way for something like this... I should have let y/n explain herself. I'm sorry Lucien..” She says embarrassed. Azriel took this as the queue to let her go knowing she was fine now. He was angry that Lucien was able to calm her, part of him wanted him to fail so he could get another chance. He finally stepped away from the two.

“It is alright Elain; the bond makes us do crazy things sometimes.” He smiled at her, and she actually giggled at him. He wiped away a couple of her tears, and you could see her lean into his touch. Both smiling at each other lovingly.

Fuck this was too much for you. You saw first-hand how much Lucien cared for Elain and it hurt, maybe he did still have a chance... You and Elain still had to work out the words you two threw at each other in anger, but you couldn’t do that now. Not with the overwhelming feeling of seeing Lucien hopeful again. Maybe you were being dramatic, but you seriously couldn’t look at them anymore. Seeing him hopeful again reminded you that this crush of yours was not right.

You began to not think straight. Seeking Lucien's attention and teasing him only led him away from wanting to fight for their bond. All for what? Because Az didn’t notice you?! Gods what were you even doing. You were turning into Elain... All of your threats to her were now hypocritical. Just like the wave of guilt hitting Elain earlier, yours had just come crashing down. As you realized you still stood alone, you quietly excused yourself from the room. Everyone looked at each other confused.

“I should go see what’s wrong with-” Lucien had tried to leave Elain’s grip, but she only squeezed his hand.

“Don’t go. I need you, Lucien. I finally feel at peace after hours of torment.” Elain pleaded.

“You do?” Lucien looked down at her, face red as his hair, as she nodded.

“Please stay with me for a while longer?” she asked nervously.

“Anything for you,” as he placed a chaste kiss atop her hand.

However, you were not out of the library yet as you saw their last exchange before you ran down the hall. Tears stained your face as you continued to run to the other side of the house, needing to get as far away as possible. Little did you know someone else needed to escape that situation just as much as you did. He excused himself as he followed you down the hallway, using your urgent departure as an escape for himself to leave the room.

Lucien couldn’t help but grovel that he had chosen Elain over you as he watched Az chase after you. That should be him doing that but instead he was here with his mate. Maybe this was for the better? Having both of your mates in this situation could be useful he hoped. For now, he was going to try and enjoy all the time Elain was willing to give him before she kicked him back out of her life for Azriel. He will have to apologize for his behavior later, but like he said earlier, the bond can make someone do stupid things.

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know!

Tags:

@thelov3lybookworm @justdreamstars @character---obsessed @stained-glass-eyes0708 @acourtofbooksandshadows @sourapplex @b0xerdancer-writes @fireworksacrosshorizons @esposadomd @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @mis-lil-red @fides25 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @emme-looou @bubybubsters @impossibelle @holywolfsstuff @acourtofbatboydreams @bloodicka @byyalady @thesnugglingduck @annaaaaa88

Post author's note: the smut is coming babes! I promise! I'm working on it rn and i'm screaming and kicking my feet at it. Literally foaming at the mouth 😮‍💨🤤

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #elain archeron #cassian #feyre acotar #nesta archeron #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #mor acotar

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ditttiii · 1 year

Text

lavender haze

⇢ summary: “I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?”

⇢ genre: tipsy & risqué

⇢ pairing: max verstappen x best friend reader

⇢ w/c: 1.3k

⇢ a/n: all my f1 fics have been moved onto @rosegasly. all future f1 updates will be posted onto my side only.

masterlist

gif? completely unrelated. i just find him ridiculously attractive drenched in post race sweat and disheveled

You should know by now that you are terrible with alcohol after one too many puking sessions and horrible hangovers. Still, when Max—your reigning best friend, now world champion—crossed the checkered flag in Abu Dhabi, there was no other way the night was going to end.

Feeling the burn of bile creep up your throat again, you push forward on your knees, clutching the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl with all your might as you throw up what feels like days worth of food.

The cool touch of said best friend’s hand rubbing soothing circles across your back is as much a relief against your scorching hot skin as a knife moulded with thick, unadulterated guilt that is digging into the gaps of your rib the longer you are awake and thinking. His other hand busy holding your hair back over your head. While your thoughts aren’t entirely coherent, the fact that you are ruining what is probably Max’s best night yet isn’t exactly lost on you either.

Tears sting your eyes as your stomach finally settles, only a hollow sinking feeling where there was once turbulence, and you can’t decipher if it’s the lack of food or the drunk realisation of what a shitty friend you make at the moment.

“i am sorry,” the apology comes out meek, liquid pooling into your eyes and blurring your vision.

“Schatje,” his voice is every bit the affection, love and exasperation that you don’t deserve and you tuck your face away between the protective curl of your arms over the toilet bowl. If you were a little less drunk, maybe you’d be disgusted, but all you want to do right now is hide away so you can’t see the forgiveness swimming in his gaze.

“You trying to hide the running mascara? Come on, you know you can do worse,” Max teases and the sound coming out of you is equal parts sob and snort.

Strong arms curl across your chest, resting slightly above your breasts and your heart goes into overdrive as you sit there torn between feeling grounded by his presence and your stupid crush rearing its head again to mess with you. “You gonna come out of the toilet bowl anytime soon?”

His breath tickles the shell of your ear as his chin finds home on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder and you can’t hold back the shiver that races through you at the warm sensation.

With a firm tug he pulls you back, your head lolling to the side of his chest and burying itself in his warmth and safety.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Another steady pull and he has you on your feet, guiding you to the sink nearby. The angle of your neck turns awkward as you wrap your arms around his waist, face still nuzzled against his signature white tee secured tight between the clench of your fingers.

Touch as gentle as it can be, he holds your chin, tilting your face towards the basin and you wordlessly turn the tap on. You are half tempted to drink the water but stop yourself from following through on that urge, gargling and washing the acidity from your mouth instead.

The angel of a man you blessedly call your best friend drags your ass out, giving you bottled water which you finally gulp down like the parched woman you are. Sated and no longer reeking of bile, you nuzzle back into Max’s chest, half-formed apologies spilling from you in an endless stream.

He keeps quiet, allowing you time to let things off your chest. After years of being there with the others most vulnerable, he knows you better than he does himself and as much as the sight of your pink, blotchy cheeks and drunken apologies makes his chest tight, he realises how much you need it. The weight of unsaid words always weighs heavy on your shoulders, and he has never cut you off when you open up. Instead, choosing to console and talk through those thoughts after.

What seems like hours, but is probably only minutes later you finally bring yourself to move away from his chest, the death grip you had on his shirt loosening enough to allow you to look up.

In the club’s dim lighting, out of focus, eye to eye, crystal blue spilling into the dark of your eyes, your grip on reality slips a little more.

“I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?”

Dark lashes shutter your view of the endless blue as Max blinks, a little taken aback before a smile breaks out. Rosey lips and pinker cheeks and the faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and high of his cheeks. It’s him. With every breath, you breathe him. Amidst all the cigarette smoke and stale of old carpet under your foot and the sweat in the air; all you register now is him. Max. Your best friend. The one person you would give up everything for, knowing he would do the same.

“Go ahead. Touch me.” You can’t tell if his voice has gone lower, deeper, or if you have just pressed yourself too close to him. The vibrations from his chest travelling to you through yours from where they are against each other, not a hair’s breadth of space in between as you near. The lines between close and too close blurring in your indebted state of mind.

The last thing you see before your eyes fall shut is the blue of his. Cerulean and crystal, the faintest blue in the light, edges coloured a dark green in the shadows and its endless. Their depth, his gaze, the twin pounding of both your hearts, the heavy breaths and the sweat from the humid club over your skins.

His lips are every bit as soft as you had imagined them to be. Sweet like your most beloved candy, light as a feather as they brush against you. Hesitant, then sure. Worried for what could be lost but realising what could be gained. Gentle, then a little more forceful as your back slams against the wall and you groan.

It’s relief. It’s desperation. The way you have starved to touch him, have him feel you. Breathe in his exhales; let them become one in you to make them yours. Kissing him to mark him yours, having him in your arms and knowing you could never let go.

He grinds into you and it’s dirty and messy, more the high of your hip bones and the thick of his jeans than anything else, but his fingers still dig into the curve of your waist almost painfully. His ragged breath making you shiver when his nose grazes your skin and you hear more so than feel him inhale your scent.

He bites your lip and licks it better. You tug his hair, then caress his face.

It’s sexual and innocent and when its finally too much and you can no longer hold your collective breaths, you smile instead. Your lips curled into a smile over his grin and it’s suddenly okay. Everything the night has been and every sleepless night that you two have spent tormented over unreciprocated feelings leading up to it.

You fall into his arms as much as he does into yours and it’s like the last of your puzzle pieces slot into place.

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen oneshot #max verstappen fanfiction #f1 #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fluff #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen smut #red bull f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #red bull racing #formula one #formula 1 smut

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writingmeraki · 1 year

Text

WORTH IT ?

summary : When your best friend, Heechan, sets you up with someone who he knows is the perfect match for you, you begin to contemplate his words when said perfect match almost leaves you stranded. Definitely not the first impression Guesung had hoped for.

pairing : cho guesung x gn!reader, strangers to friends to more (?)

genre : romance, humor (attempt), fluff.

warnings : alcohol consumption, cussing.

author's note : welp pretend this is not a part of a series cause i'm scrapping that idea haha anyways ! let me know what you think ? (not entirely proofread.)

word count : 3.6K

Admittedly you were pissed.

Very pissed because you were not the type to go on blind dates because for one you didn’t believe you’d ever be able to get along with someone who you’d never met in your life, not even once, a typical stranger let alone go on a date with them in your first-time meeting.

But also secondly your paranoia was on another level and you also hated to admit it, you were very nervous. Which is normal right? Yet the thing was you were feeling a little insecure. Insecure about whether the stranger who was going to arrive anytime soon now, yes you had arrived there first, would find you well…attractive.

Then again though, that is all you were, strangers, and you think you fuck it who cares about their opinions as you down your 2nd cup of ridiculously expensive red wine, it seemingly cooling your nerves as well as leaving a sweet aftertaste that complimented your slightly bitter insecure thoughts. Yet you had gone out tonight, even Heechan, your one and only best friend who was in fact the one who set you up (more like forced to be set up) on this blind date.

He did say the guy was a good friend of his and was the perfect match for you while all you had done was scoff at his words and roll your eyes at the finally finding your perfect match because in your 23 years of existence all men ever did to you was disappoint. [ Except Heechan though but you would never admit it to him.]

You took a deep breath calming your nerves and once again rose your hand up to look at the time on your dainty little watch you adored since you bought it with your very first paycheck.

‘8 :47’ it read and you could not help but frown a bit, unknowingly it had already been 17 minutes past the initial meet up time Kangin had told you on. You do think showing up ten minutes earlier was a bit extra but you thought it was better just in case but now you had been waiting for almost half an hour and you were getting even more bored.

You picked up your phone, ready to cuss at your best friend for setting you up with a no show, his good friend or not, it was still asshole behavior for standing you up. Feeling some inkling of embarrassment begin to creep up your mind as you also realized you did agree on this and skeptical thoughts regarding this Heechan’s so called friend initially agreeing thinking you were desperate and decided to toy with your agreement and not show up.

On the third ring, Heechan picked up and you could hear the slight surprise in his voice because he didn’t expect you to call so…soon.

“Yo Y/N- wait why are you calling me right now? Aren’t you supposed to be on your date?” He asked with genuine confusion and you could tell he had no idea.

Letting out a sarcastic chuckle “Well since you’re so eager to set me up with a self date, I thought why not just call you in hmm?”

“Self date wha- Hold on Guesung is not there?” He asked now with concern hinting in his shock “Trust me I wouldn’t have called you in if your Guesung hadn’t been a no show.”

You spat through gritted teeth in an agitated voice as you ran your free hand through your hair which had taken so much time to do. You were also beginning to feel hot in your coat as it had been a cold night in Seoul so you decided to leave on your coat even though you did feel like ditching it so you could do the cliché your date gives you his coat as you feel cold.

Now you just felt stupid as you wished instead of his coat or jacket, you wished he had been the one to show up. You felt stupid to feel a bit hurt over a fucking stranger but it was not like you didn’t have the right to. Heechan had given you some high expectations through his tales of his friend about how incredible he is and so totally your type. You felt obligated to tell Heechan he owed you a lot, maybe strawberry shortcake with some chocolate milkshakes would make up for it, but still you felt it was not enough.

“You so owe me for this seriously like what an assho-“

“Wait just a minute, Guesung should have been there, he literally left my place at 8 wanting to show up early even when I insisted for him to go like at 8:20 or something.” Heechan defended his teammate who was basically his dongsaeng as well.

“Let me do one thing I’ll call him yeah?” He said as he sat up from his lying down position, and just as you were about to respond him, the little bell on the door jiggled, indicating someone had walked in.

A rush of cool breeze swept in as the man quickly closed the restaurant door behind him, catching his breath as he swept his hand over his previously tame hair which had become slightly messy as though he had been running through the night as the wind tousled his perfectly set pulled back slick hair.

And that was not too far off, as Guesung looked at his own expensive watch that sat on his wrist, cursing mentally as he realized he was late.

Very fucking late.

His eyes lifted up as he tried to smooth down the imaginary wrinkles on his blazer of his Louis Vuitton Suit, fixing up his black tie properly and making sure his hair was once again set as to how it was before, or well tried to but a few impatient strands escaped and rested gently on his forehead.

He scanned the room, hoping you had not actually ditched him because that would imply you already had a judgement on him, which he knew was not a good one as it would also mean you thought you’d been stood up and already concluded him an asshole.

He mentally once again cursed at the paparazzi who had gone absolutely nuts once he had left Heechan’s apartment, following him while shoving their cameras in his face all while the bright lights almost blinded him. He knew to expect this already but he had underestimated his own fame once the world cup had ended, and alas faced the consequences on the worst possible days out of all.

Him being the gentleman he was and also just for the sake of you being a stranger as well, didn’t want them to intrude on his own privacy or even endanger your own privacy, so he stalled them, tried to stall them and shot quick texts to Kangin of help which the latter had been more than helpful as he distracted them so that Guesung could literally make a run for it.

It was good, he was an athlete and a fit one at that because holy fuck running almost 15 minutes continuously in a damn suit was very very impressive.

You had looked up the moment the bell had jiggled, stuck in your own star struck daze as you looked at the man who’d stepped in, and blinking to make sure you hadn’t accidentally fallen asleep and this wasn’t one a trick of your hyperactive imagination.

Your jaw dropped literally when his eyes locked with yours as a look of acknowledgement followed and he began making his way towards you.

Holy fucking shit, that- that’s Guesung ?!?

You whispered out your thoughts unknowingly and a static sound of a chuckled echoed in your ear as you pulled the phone out of your ear, slightly cringing at your words when you realized you had thought out loud, mentally wanting to hit yourself.

“So I’m guessing he has finally shown up huh? Well don’t forget the rules of a first date, no kissi-” You hang up as Heechan’s chuckle came through and before he could begin his teasing as you felt your own face heat up at the cut words and cleared your throat placing your phone down on the table and sat up straight as Guesung finally made his way over and stood next to his own seat.

“Um sorry, but are you perhaps Y/N? I am Guesung. Heechan’s friend, you know the one who uh- organized this whole thing.” He spoke with nervousness seemingly apologetic and it did make you think back a little on your judgment of him being an asshole but you couldn’t jump to conclusions just yet. Frankly, the man was the definition of a fucking model, the looks, the height, and everything, you’d think he would have the ego of a typical male but the apologetic look on his face and the tone of his voice contradicted your own judgment.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms, as you tried not to let your heart be biasing your angry thoughts but God it was so hard especially when his eyes twinkled with a sorriness and one of his hand raising up to fix his tie for the third time since he stepped into the restaurant (yes you kept count)

You clicked your tongue narrowing your eyes, as you leaned backwards to look into his eyes directly “Well Guesung, for your information, yes I am Y/N you know the person who you’ve kept waiting for almost an hour now.” You finished chuckling sarcastically, your last few words being laced with more spite than you intended to and you suppose it was now the hunger taking over.

You decided it was rude to keep him standing, even though you suppose he could have sat if he wanted to but you felt like he was waiting for your permission and that little thing did more to your heart than you wished it would have, you lifted one of your hands, pointing towards the seat in front of you “This table is not meant for one you know? You should take your seat since it is yours anyways.”

His eyes widened slightly, as the tip of his ears became a light shade of pink in embarrassment and you almost felt bad for being hostile towards him but it was not your fault as well because he had yet to explain as to why he was late. He sat down in front of you, even though he was nervous, he didn’t let it affect him physically as in he made sure to not let clumsiness play a part tonight, as he sat down letting his hands rest on his lap, and even when he sat down he still managed to make you look small, or maybe he was just too tall you justified your average height.

“So, why? Why were you so late?” You sat a little straighter as he cleared his own throat, running his hand through his hair once again, a habit, you noted. He let out a sigh of relief as he relaxed slightly in his seat, you eyed his frame, trying not to obliviously check him out again for the 10th time, it was just to observe his body language, you argued with yourself.

He seemed slightly out of breath which made you furrow your eyebrows, you of course could not see that when he first walked in but now you could clearly see it and wondered, unconsciously pouting slowly as you tried to think of reasons while being lost in your mind.

Guesung’s eyes moved to your lips as he scanned your face and noted the small furrow and pout, before even fully thinking of an answer, he replied “Sorry, really, I promise I did leave early but- but the media, they can’t just give me a damn break, ever since I came back to Seoul, they have been on our backs like fucking hawks, I swear I tried to come early but I had to run here and I had no other better option than that, it got really crowded and again I really am sorr-“

“Hey, hey first of all calm down.” You told as he was going to continue his ramble, placing your hand on his which were now folded on the table, fiddling clearly showing his emotions, and you placed yours on top because you could not really think of any other reason other than hoping it would somehow calm him down.

Comfort from a supposed stranger seemed to have worked.

He stopped fidgeting and took a deep breath as he looked away, his cheeks now a shade of scarlet and you really tried not to fall then and there like a shameless person because you did have some self-respect but the man in front of you was just too…too cute. You pulled away your hand quickly once he seemed to have calmed down and he continued, now a little more relaxed,

“The reason I got even more late was because I called up Kangin so that he could help me out of the whole mess and it did work but also- I had to make a run for it here…quite literally.”

You widened your eyes as he finished talking and now it made sense as to how disheveled he looked when he walked in, though it did not make him any less attractive, and were honestly impressed because running in a damn suit let alone running itself was a task, though you suppose him being an athlete of course benefitted him in that aspect unlike your non existent work out routine.

“That’s- that’s wow okay, I definitely was not expecting that I won’t lie, I think I forgot you guys are like famous now.” You told chuckling at the end, an indicator that you weren’t as upset anymore because his explanation did make sense and you also told the honest truth because you genuinely forgot these guys were actually famous after the whole world cup thing.

“Though are you alright now? Do you want some water or something? I didn’t order anything because I was waiting for you since I didn’t know what you’d like.” You asked him with ease and he nodded skeptically, unsure whether you were being sarcastic or not as you rolled your eyes seeing the skepticism on his face “Look it’s fine I guess, I forgive you for being late, it’snot your fault I suppose.”

Guesung looked at you surprised by your words but they did the work as he let out a sigh of relief, you understood more easily but then again you did already have a famous best friend so he guesses you have already experienced the tardiness of another showing up way late than you did,

“But! You still have a lot of making up to do.”

You finished with a cheeky tone to lift up the mood and with a tiny smirk which Guesung couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at which you also giggled a bit trying not to be swayed so easily but the way his eye became small crescents as his cheeks pulled up.

Clearing his throat, he gently spoke “Then I guess we deserve a proper introduction right?”

He leaned ahead, while he crossed his arms, taking in a casual stance, evidentially feeling more at ease now as the misunderstandings had been cleared, and you raised an eyebrow at his posture, wondering what he was thinking.

“So…you come here often?” He said in an flirtatious deep voice, which broke any resounding tension, that had you smiling as you leaned forward wanting to muse along with him.

“Never been here in my life.” You said whispery, as you continued smiling, his eyes now twinkling in delight which made you giggle as you put your hand to cover your mouth, you own eyes now squinting in laughter.

“Interesting, interesting…you come here alone often then? I see you already ordered something to drink huh?”

“Well…” You said trying to appear deep in thoughts for an answer “I hadn’t known I would have wait so long for you. And maybe I needed the liquid courage.” You shrugged at him and he laughed at your response shaking his head,

“Then I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” He spoke with sincerity again and even though you had told him it’s okay, you still replied “All’s forgiven but again you still have a lot of making up to do.”

He giggled at your words and then smirked slyly “Oh don’t worry darling, I promise I’ll give you the time of your life.”

“That’s a bold proposition.” You spoke, your eyes shimmering with mirth as one corner of your lips turned up, you bit your lip trying not to grin like an idiot again.

“Babe, you don’t know me just yet then but you’ll find out eventually.” He winked at you which made you slightly blush as you tried to cover up the fact that he was affecting you with nervous chuckles.

“Well then I’d be delighted to find more about you, Mr. Cho Guesung.”

And the rest of the evening went with the same ease, both of you flowing into an effortless conversation as he told you about his own life, which lead to eventually you telling about yours, what you did for a living, your friends and family, especially how you knew Heechan, which you told that he was a good friend of yours since your high school days and he paid attention to everything you told with an interest that had your heart fluttering.

Though he was shocked when he found out you barely knew anything about football, as you had always been more of the literature and music nerd rather than the sporty type which he of course did not mind, even though he was a football star, he knew it was not everyone’s cup of tea. He was delighted when you promised you would come to see one of his games if he was willing to teach you about the sensational sport to which he agreed more than eagerly which had had you chuckling.

Guesung and you had been in your own bubble, just talking and the apparent chemistry between you both seemed to worked well. So, when the time came to eventually end the evening, the tiny disappointment was something inevitable and to your unknown surprise Guesung felt the exact same way.

Gosh Heechan was right…for once. Why does the evening have to end so soon?

You both thought as you exited the warm restaurant now the cool Seoul breeze passing by making you rub your hands over your arms, even though your coat did sit comfortably on your arms, let us just say you felt extra sensitive to the entire winter season no matter how much you’d think you layered up.

Guesung saw your smaller form shivering while your teeth chattered, a habit you had whenever the weather got too cold even by a little, unknowingly smiling gently as he began removing his blazer. You noticed this and widened your eyes,

“Oh no Guesung, it’s totally fine, you’d be cold and anyways I already am wearing a coat-”

Before you could argue more, he had already placed his larger blazer over your shoulders, now it completely draped over you while masking you in his cologne.

It smelled…nice, just as he did of course.

You looked at him and grinned, your eyes shining under the soft moonlight and Guesung felt his heart skip as he got lost into the stars they held. And under the moonlight, he too looked like a prince, his features delicately standing out as your eyes traced his angel kisses.

“Thank you. And actually thank you for showing up as well…for a second there I thought I was stood up you know ?” You spoke jokingly as you slipped your hands through the blazer, now fully enveloped in it, letting it fall till a little below your waist. It seemed like a perfect as though it were meant for someone your size.

You continued to smile even though you now jokingly narrowed your eyes, your cheeks pulled up, indicating you were messing around with him, not meaning that you were upset now, well you were before he had his explanation but as the evening passed by, time felt unreal as you spent it more with the man who had a charming smile and an equally charming personality. The whole evening was indeed worth it when you realized the grin on your face refused to remove itself in his presence.

Guesung rolled his eyes as he clicked his tongue, trying to not smile widely at your cuteness but he failed to do so as he bowed his head in a fancy way “My deepest apologies, your majesty, is there any way to possibly earn your full forgiveness?”

You giggled gently at his accent, playfully putting your finger on your chin as you stared of seemingly in deep thought “Well, I do know one way?”

You bit your lip as you stood in front of him, trying not to burst out laughing at the way his eyes shone with curiosity and eagerness at your answer.

For a man as tall who one would think would be intimidating, he was not definitely playing the part, you thought.

And in a moment, you stood on your tip toes and placed your hands, gently on his shoulders as you raised your head and placed a soft peck on his cheek. You stood back at your place, now bursting out in laughter as Guesung looked taken aback, his face now feeling warmer despite the harsh winds, because he was, out of everything, not expecting that.

“I think all is definitely forgiven now.”

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong topri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

💗 tags : @alotofrandomfangirling

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#cho gue sung #cho guesung #cho gue sung fanfic #cho guesung x reader #cho guesung fluff #cho guesung ff #cho guesung imagines #south korea nt #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #reader insert #[ pri works ]

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lunalockley · 2 years

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3. The confession

Masterlist

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, sort of sub!Steven, oral male!receiving, just Steven being a hot mess

Summary: Steven blurts out so much information at once that your mind is clouded enough to think straight

Words: 3.2 k

Notes: Thanks again for all your support! Your comments make so so so so happy. I hope you like this one, we are getting into it! Comments or suggestions are always welcome <3

Previous chapter

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You sat on the sofa with damp hair.

Now, after what feels like more than fifteen minutes, your hair is already dry and Steven hasn’t said a word yet. Every time he opens his mouth he shuts it a second later, frustrated. You try to remain patient but the worry is winning you over.

Your body is slowly tensing as you watch him shift in his position, adjust his clothes and hold his hands on his stomach over and over again. He keeps glancing at your doorway almost like he had lost the courage and was ready to physically escape this conversation any minute.

Soon you realize he’s not just nervous about what he has to say, he's anxious.

You want to break the bubble he’s in, kiss his cheek and massage the tension away but you don’t want him to feel pressured or rushed. You want to respect his own time to open up.

Yet curiosity is eating you alive. What could he have to say to be in this state? That he doesn’t even know how to start? Is he married? Is he a fugitive? Is he in danger? Is he scaping someone or something? In which case, would he be the good guy or the bad guy?

Even when the image of your cute neighbor purposely hurting someone seems completely ridiculous to you, it takes you by surprise the thought that comes next.

Would that make any difference to you and how you feel about him?

It shocks you that, even now, you’re just… intrigued, not afraid. Whatever is tormenting him you want to help, not run away.

The acknowledgment illuminates feelings you’re not ready to name.

You intervene when his breathing quickens, he’s getting more and more disturbed with every passing second.

“I wish I could follow wherever you go when you get lost in your mind” you whisper, moving the soft curls away from his face, catching the attention of his eyes.

Steven immediately stops the whirlpool he’s in, melting at your touch. The emotion produced by your words echoes inside him, in hearts still fighting not to let you in completely.

“I’m looking a bit dodgy, aren’t I?” He asks, concerned.

“Just a little bit,” you joke with a soft smile.

He leans in to steal a kiss from your lips. Then he inhales and, finally, speaks.

He starts with the history of Egyptian Gods, he tells you about The Ennead, about Taweret, Ammit and Konshu, the God of the Moon. How he intervenes in human lives, protecting the travelers of the night through his avatar.

And you are completely lost, trying to follow the completely unexpected path his rapid babble has taken through ancient names and beliefs until—

Until Steven says he was an avatar himself for a brief period of time.

He tells you about the things that happened in Egypt, about why he had to go so urgently. How he went inside the pyramids and discovered the tomb of Alexander the Great. How even when he experienced things he couldn’t ever imagine existed he was relieved he wasn’t Konshu’s avatar anymore.

You are trying to make sense of the things he’s saying but it’s too much information to take all at once. He’s jumping from one thing to another. Just a few minutes ago you weren’t even sure you believed in god, much less in the plural sense of the word.

He’s talking about things your brain is struggling to accept.

But you see truth in his eyes, in the way he’s telling you all this. He believes what he’s saying.

Making you, somehow, believe it too.

So when he meets your eyes, expectantly, all you can say is:

"I don't understand—I don't understand most of it… or any of it. But I believe you."

Your words seem to reassure him because just when he hears them he tells you about Marc.

Marc.

Marc and their little brother.

He talks about the accident. About Marc being Konshu’s avatar. About how during all these years he didn’t even know about Marc until just a few months ago.

“I was afraid, I couldn’t tell the difference between my waking life and my dreams. I would go to sleep, then have these violent nightmares, then wake up in the middle of my life without remembering how did I get there,” he keeps blurting out, a little bit calmer this time, with your interlaced with his. “And—and Konshu terrified me the first few times he appeared in front of me, searching for Marc. Seeing him I thought I had lost my mind”.

He explains to you how he feels him, how Marc lives in the silences between his thoughts. How he knows he’s there even when he’s not speaking to him.

And how Marc didn’t want Steven to tell you all of this.

“Marc was constantly reminding me that I shouldn’t get too attached to you, that I shouldn’t let my hopes up because you didn’t know about Konshu, about what had really happened in Egypt and about him, about his existence. So every time I would try to tell you he would talk me out of it saying that you might not be ready yet. That it—that it might scare you off. And I tried making him understand that you wouldn’t but he just repeated that I would lose you over and over and it started to get into my head. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner but I didn’t know how either. The whole thing sounds taken out of a bloody weird-magical-ancient-creepy Disney story, doesn’t it?”

It kind of did.

You get that part. But why did he start the conversation with all The Moon God thing? It would have been easier to explain and follow if he had started telling you about Marc first. Was he —or were they— more concerned about your reaction to Marc’s existence than about them being some sort of god’s incarnation? Those times you've seen Steven lose himself in thought was he actually talking to Marc? Was Marc the one in the elevator and was he earlier in the bathroom when you felt Steven’s demeanor change? Had he been around more than those two times and you didn't realize it?

“Is he with us now? Listening to the conversation?” You hear yourself ask out loud.

You have so many questions and all of them are forming inside your head at the same time.

“No, no… He left when I started talking because he didn’t want me to.”

Has he been forced to spend time with you? Is that the reason he didn't want you to know about him? Because you might want to meet him? Or maybe it's that Marc doesn't trust you? Steven said he had taken care of him since they were little. Maybe he didn’t approve of you?

“Was he right?” he asks with a softer voice and a harder grip on your hand.

The vulnerability behind his eyes blanks your mind for a moment.

“What? Sorry, was he right about what?”

“About me losing you.”

He’s looking at you as if he is waiting to listen to a death sentence and you know him enough to see he really believes that you are going to reject him, that you are going to run away. A part of your heart breaks with the idea of them believing they have to hide themselves to be loved. You want to hurt whoever has hurt them before. And although right now your head is not working well with all the information you just received, knowing that you need to process it all, you are sure that both now and tomorrow, a week or a month later your heart will feel the same way for him.

“Why would you? You are still you.”

A thousand different emotions and thoughts pass through his face, but instead of trying to vocalize any of them, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you in a way he has never done before.

Strong, passionate, as in a form of recognition: you may feel for me the same as I feel for you.

And although the lack of air is clouding your head more than already is, you kiss him back with the same intensity. Telling him without words: I do, I do, I do.

All of your senses are soon overtaken by him. And even when the last functioning part of your brain is telling you that you probably shouldn't be doing this right now as soon as he’s moaning in your mouth your reasoning is walking out of the room, leaving you alone with Steven and his lips on your skin, and his hands on your hips pushing you against him, and the heat of his body warming yours, and the smell of his essence making you want to be closer and closer, and the feel of him already hard under you.

“Love, you’ll have to guide me through this,“ his mouth whispers against your ear before devoting itself to spread eager kisses throughout your neck. You’re not sure if the goosebumps that take over you are induced by his lips or his words. Or by the low hum he gives you when you throw your head back to give him more space, unable to resist him. Or by how his hands keep holding your hips, slowly grinding you into him. Probably all of them.

But when he reaches your clavicle you hold his face between your hands to stop him. As much as you want to take off his clothes and just jump into him you want to be loving and gentle, just like he’s with you. You don't have to go all the way in tonight, you can show him other things.

“We’ll take it slow. You can change your mind any time, ok?”

You wait till he nods in understanding to begin unbuttoning his shirt, following the new path of exposed skin with a racing heart and shaky fingers. You never thought skin could be attractive, but his is. It’s inviting even, all velvet soft and golden dim glow under the faint light of your bedroom.

When you finally reach the last button, you take a moment to run your palm from his lower stomach all the way up to his cheek at an unhurried, steady pace. Your fingers tingle as you get a better feel of his smooth skin and strong muscles and your poor heart contracts hearing how his breathing is altered just by the light touch of your hand.

“You are gorgeous, in every way,” you can’t help saying, meeting his eyes when he huffs in response.

“Now you’ll have to prove to me I’m not dreaming 'cause you’ve said things like that in my dreams before.”

So you do.

You prove to both of you this is not a dream by pushing him into the mattress to have more room to leave gentle kisses on his chest, above his hammering heartbeat; tender bites on his shoulder, his ribcage, and his hand when he moves your hair out of your face to have a better look of you; licks that instantly flex his muscles every time you get close to the beginning of his trousers; the mere trace of your lips over his heated skin just to feel him shiver underneath.

And he just takes anything you give him, accepts anything you do to him with shaky breath and devoted eyes.

You back up to sit on his lap again and can’t help but run your nails over his smoothly muscled chest while making eye contact, inviting him without pronouncing a word.

In a second he gets up, eager to take off your shirt and turn you around, mirroring your actions and adding up his own.

First, he approaches the exposed skin with his fingertips, almost as if he still wanted to check the reality of the situation, of you under him, half-naked, flushed, happy, and willing.

The soft sighs his touch coaxes out of you must be credible enough because then he’s caressing you with his mouth. Leisurely tracing the curves of your shoulder, your ribcage, and your stomach, stopping at the cup of your bra.

“Can I take it off you?”

His breathless voice never so dark before, clouds your mind and exposes you.

“You can do anything you want to me, Steven.”

His shocked gasp it's the last thing you get before you feel him cupping one breast and sucking the other. Your stomach clenches as his hot tongue traces your nipple and he moans against you, delighted by the way you’re arching under his touch.

His eyes don’t leave your face, memorizing every single one of your reactions, as he instinctively develops a pattern of softly biting the tip just to soothe it with tender licks and soft kisses afterward. It’s glorious. But the sensations are too strong to remain still anymore, you need to touch him too.

You take advantage of the fact that his mouth is making its way to your other breast, leaving small kisses on your sternum, to hold his face and guide him to your mouth and kiss him fervently, confessing to him things you don’t dare yet to say in words. And he answers to all of them, with every vehement move of his tongue against yours.

You slip one finger inside the edge of his trousers, tracing the skin under the fabric. Involuntarily, his hips thrust into you at the motion.

“Can I take them off?” You ask over his mouth.

He backs up to look at you, giving you one of those soft loving smiles you are always craving so much.

“You can also do anything you want to me, love.”

Love, love, love.

He doesn’t have any idea the power he holds on you every time he calls you love.

A little bit more desperate than you would like to recognize and faster than you thought possible, you get rid of his pants. And now you’re attacking him all the way up to his thighs, caressing his skin until he’s breathing ragged and harder than ever under his boxers.

His neglected erection getting all of your attention now, unable to even try avoid it anymore.

You ignore the primal impulse to beg him let you touch him, waiting to move only after you get his confirmation.

“Please.” It’s all he says.

You slowly palm him through his underwear, savoring the feel of him.

“Please,” he whimpers once more and all pleasantries are pushed aside as your hand finds its way to hot naked flesh.

Dear god.

He’s thick, silky, and perfect. And so ready for you.

He throbs under your touch as you get him out of his underwear. Once it's free you can’t help but stop for a moment to take him in. How can he be so pretty? Everywhere, every part of him, he’s gorgeous. Your heart hammering faster than ever under your chest and your mouth watering just by looking at him.

You move tentatively one finger over his tip, brushing the precum all over his length. Slowly, you start adding fingers, tracing his figure making him get used to your touch. And stars, the way he reacts to your caresses is everything.

Seeing him this wrecked, this hot and desperate just by your hand is making you so wet. You wrap your whole palm around him to jerk him off with harder, but longer motions watching the muscles under his slight stomach flex.

“Please, more I just—Please,” he begs again, his raspy tone seeping deep inside you, adding up to the warmth on your lower belly. He whimpers, watching in awe as he thrusts himself rock-hard and pulsating into your hand, unable to hold still any longer.

You’re not trying to tease him, you’re just figuring out what he wants. Does he want it faster? Does he want your mouth?

You lean in to kiss his hipbone and then—

At the first touch of your tongue, Steven is overwhelmed with the need to confess he loves you, the urge to cry, and the fear he actually might pass out. The contact is enough to send all the blood in his body rushing to his dick making him lose all sense of gravity. As if it wasn't enough that every one of his senses —overflowing with the feel of you— had him already dizzy now your mouth is making him feel in ways he didn’t even think were possible to feel.

So he raises his head to at least try to express one of all the things he's feeling, but then he sees you taking him all the way into your mouth, feeling you moaning against him, and all he can do is choke at a sight he knows it will haunt him in every dream and fantasy from now on until the day he dies.

Your body fills with fire at the taste of him and you can’t help but take as much as of him as you can into your mouth. Your now unoccupied palm finds its way down to massage his balls, desperate to feel him.

And god, his broken panting must be the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Wa—wait! Stop. Please, wait,” he calls and you instantly stop taking him out of your mouth. “Sorry, love. I just—I was about to come in your mouth and I—”

“I want you to come in my mouth, baby. Don’t you?”

The ragged cry he gives you as an answer as he throws his head back against the mattress is enough for you to take him back into your mouth again.

His body is now covered in a thin sheen of sweat and impossibly rigid, you notice he’s still holding back. That won't do it.

You take him as far as your throat lets you and run your nails from his lower tummy to the very base of his cock. His stomach flexes under your touch and then he’s cumming, throbbing inside your mouth just like you wanted him to.

You drain him until he’s just a beautiful trembling mess that repeats your name in choked whispers without stopping.

You pull up to take a better look at his stunning body completely relaxed on your bed, but then the whole picture, the way his eyes meet yours with more love and devotion than ever feels so domestic and intimate, more than everything you’ve done today, has a full-force impact into your heart.

You lower your head again to kiss his hipbone, humming happily thinking about how much you enjoyed this even if you didn’t come yourself. Satisfied with how close you feel to him right now.

You are kissing his lower stomach when his fingers brush your hair away from your face.

“Is my turn now, isn’t it love?” he asks, still panting underneath you.

Wait, what?

———————————————

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cameronspecial · 9 months

Text

Thorn In My Side, Rose In My Hand (Part 4)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Under Age Drinking, and Swearing

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: Everyone in her life is finally back on the island and she finally has her date with Wilson. But what happens when things don’t go to plan and she starts questioning her feelings.

A/N: This was way longer than I though it was going to end up being because it was honestly supposed to just be a filler chapter but I honeslty just couldn’t stop myself.

Masterlist

Y/N and Wilson had been texting for a week before he finally asked her on a date for tomorrow night. She isn’t sure what he has planned, but he said the dress code is formal so maybe they are going to a fancy dinner. Not exactly her favourite idea, she could live with it though. Lacey returned back to the Outer Banks yesterday, so Y/N is going over to her house to cook brunch together. Even though Y/N and Mason picked Lacey up from the airport, the girls need some quality time together. Well, Lacey would do most of the cooking while Y/N snacks under the guise of quality testing and making smoothies for them.

“I’m here,” Y/N sings as she waves the bag of smoothie mix she brought. Knocking is no longer in her vocabulary in regard to her best friend. “I missed you so much, Bitch! The men in Paris may be hot. But they got nothing on being with you,” Lacey screams as she blindsides Y/N with a hug. Y/N laughs and wraps her arms around the other girl, “I missed you too. But I literally saw you yesterday, babe.” “Yeah, but we spent so long a part for my month-long summer internship,” Lacey complains, “Let’s get cooking. Mama is hungry.”

Y/N moves toward the blender to begin mixing the smoothie blend. “So a little birdie told me that you and Rafe are actually starting to get along with each other,” Lacey teases her friend.

“Yeah… He’s been acting like a totally different person lately. The teasing is mostly just verbal and he can actually be helpful.”

“Awwww, Y/N/N. It sounds like you have a crush on him. Should I start planning a wedding?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Plus, I met someone last weekend.”

“Ohh, tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s sweet, funny, likes to read, he really likes doc-”

Lacey interrupts her, “I don’t want those details. Show me a picture.” Y/N giggles and pulls up a picture on her phone to show her friend. Lacey also notices how similar Rafe and Wilson are but bites her tongue.

“He’s totally cute, but he looks like he has a stick up his ass.”

“LACE! He does not! Although, he doesn’t use contractions and goes to sleep at like 11 P.M., but I promise he is funny.”

“Okay, but how is the sex?”

"We haven’t gone on a date yet. We have our first date planned for tomorrow night.”

Before the conversation could continue, the oven timer goes off and Lacey goes to take out the chocolate chip scones from the oven. “So what are the plans for tomorrow? Do you need help getting ready?” Y/N nods her head, “Yeah, could you help me curl my hair, please? He said to wear something fancy so I was thinking of wearing that black dress that I wore to my cousin’s wedding last year. You know the long one with a spaghetti strap kind of style.” “Ooh, you’d look so cute in that. I can definitely curl your hair. Maybe, I can braid it back like a little crown on your head,” Lacey gushes as she stirs the omelet in the pan. Y/N smiles at the girl and starts playing some music on her phone.

Brunch is finished quickly and the girls settle in the breakfast nook to eat. “So let’s get back to the topic of Rafe Cameron because we both know you haven’t told me everything, bitch,” Lacey bugs with a shove of Y/N’s shoulder with hers. The slight blush on Y/N’s cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed by Lacey. “There isn’t much to say. I mean…” Y/N stops not wanting to admit what she felt last week after having lunch with Rafe, Mason, and Wilson. “Girl, you better continue or else I’m gonna make you cook for us next time,” Lacey warns as she knows where her friend is going. “Fine, last week, after I had lunch with the boys and Wilson, I thought maybe… Maybe Rafe and I were going to kiss.” Lacey beams with excitement at this revelation. “No way! What happened?” “Kie and I jumped into the pool to sink the guys and… when it was just Rafe and me, he teased me about always getting him wet. He took my hand and we got closer, but I got a text from Wilson before it went any further,” Y/N wouldn’t admit it but even she could hear the slight disappointment in her voice.

“You totally should’ve let him kiss you!”

“No, it was a mistake for us to even have gotten that close. He may be sweet today, but it doesn’t mean I can just forget about him being a jackass. Plus, he is Mace’s best friend. It would be awkward.”

“That’s true, but I’ve always thought there was something between you and Rafe. And I think if you guys really like each other, Mace will accept that and be happy for you.”

“Maybe. Let’s not talk about this anymore. I have a date with someone else tomorrow anyways.”

———

“So how many parties did you throw and drag your sister to, Mason?” Cassie questions while she sits in her newly claimed passenger seat. Mason groans, “I was only able to convince her to let me throw one and even that was cut short. Not that it was your fault Y/N/N.” Mr. And Mrs. Y/L/N didn’t mind their children throwing parties as long as the police didn’t show up, everyone had a designated driver and nothing was broken. They’d rather be realistic about their children’s activities and ensure they do it safely.

“Why? What happened?” Marvin looks up at his twins through the back mirror. “Owen was being an asshole when I went out to the gazebo. Rafe and Mace found me before anything serious could happen. Although I did punch him for insulting them, so I might need your help untangling that web.” Marvin shakes his head with a light chuckle, “Like that knucklehead’s lawyers can beat the Y/L/Ns. I swear that idiot’s parents were just as bad as he was when I was in high school.” “How was Bali?” Mason asks. “Amazing. You guys would love the beaches, we’ll have to go back with you guys sometime,” Cassie gushes to her children. “That’s a great idea, my love. Just, kids, remind me to put sunscreen on. I fell asleep on the first day when your mom was at pilates, I woke up three hours later as red as a lobster,” Marvin chimes in. This causes the whole car to laugh.

———

Y/N is getting ready for her date with Wilson. She does her makeup while Lacey lightly curls her hair and braids the front pieces back to create a crown. “Has he given you any hints about where you are going?” Lacey inquires, returning to sit in the bed after finishing Y/N’s hair. Y/N pauses with her makeup sponge in hand and turns towards her, “Nope. If it’s just dinner, it should be fine.”

“It’s basic though. You hate those types of dates. You need more excitement.”

“Yeah, but at least it’s not like dumpster diving.”

“I mean he could still do that. Maybe he just wanted it to be fancy.”

“Oh my god, could you imagine?”

Both girls fall into hysterics at the notion, which catches the attention of a certain boy passing by the open door. Rafe pauses as he walks past the door and upon hearing the laughter, stops. He wants to go inside to investigate the reason behind it. He quickly starts to walk again toward Mason’s room, “Where are Y/N and Lace going?” “Oh, they aren’t going anywhere. Lace is just helping Y/N/N get ready for a date with Wilson. Can you believe she actually wants to go out with him?” Mason states without so much as looking away from the video game he is playing. “A date? Really?!” “Yeah. Now, dude, hop in before I get creamed by these guys.” Rafe does as he is told but he could not stop thinking about what Mason said. Y/N has been on dates before, but something about Wilson screams bad news for Rafe. All of Y/N’s other dates were obviously not serious about her. They just liked the novelty of dating a Y/L/N and were not into dating men. Wilson seemed too serious at lunch to want to date around like the other boys Y/N has dated.

“I have to go, my dad wants to go to the country club for dinner. Bye, love you.” Rafe hears Lacey say from down the hall. The sound of her footsteps and the front door opening prompts him to say, “I actually forgot to get some snacks while I was downstairs. I’m going to go get some now.” “Okay, dude.”

Rafe makes his way to Y/N’s room and leans up against her door frame to watch as she looks at herself in the mirror. “Well, don’t you look like a disaster, Y/L/N,” Rafe teases. “Haha, very funny. But seriously. Does this dress look okay?” Y/N asks timidly. Rafe wanted to say that it doesn’t just so that she would take more time looking for something else to wear and miss the date, but the look of uncertainty on her face makes him forgo that tactic. He also wanted to be honest with her; the truth is the dress she wore wouldn’t be the dress he’d want to see her in if he took her on the date. “While you looked amazing in that dress at your cousin’s wedding, I think this dress would be much better,” he answers as he walks towards her clothes and takes out her long black dress with a column skirt and halter top. He had seen her wear it last year to her dad’s 45th birthday bash. Rafe remembers having some inappropriate thoughts about the dress for a family event. Y/N nods at the suggestion and goes to try the new dress on in the bathroom.

She comes out with a smile on her face and does a little twirl for him, “Rafe, this is perfect. Thank you!” She gives him a hug, which he returns. He was correct; she looks like an absolute vision and it kills him that he isn’t the one taking her on the date. That he was honest with her and now Wilson will get to see her in Rafe’s favourite dress for a date. Although, Rafe wouldn’t take her anywhere fancy on their first date. He knows it would make her nervous if he did, so he would take her to the bookstore first and buy any book she so much as glances at. Then he’d bring her over to his house to bake some cookies for their dessert after dinner, which would be a picnic on the beach at sunset. He would make sure to bring a sweater and an extra blanket for when the night breeze sent goosebumps up her arm. He has to shake himself out of his daydream before he stares too long, “No problem. Have fun on your date. Be safe and I’ll probably see you when you get back because I’m too lazy to go back home.” Rafe makes a quick exit back towards her brother’s room.

Y/N notices the upset look on his face and assumes it is because of the thought of his father being home, the most likely reason why he is sleeping at her house again for the fifth night in a row. At this point, he might as well just move into their guest bedroom. Everyone in the Outer Banks knew that Ward Cameron had a favourite child and her name was Sarah Cameron. This caused Rafe to constantly try to get Ward’s approval so he could feel the same paternal love his middle sibling got, but no matter what he did it still led to arguments between the father-son duo. It didn’t matter that Rafe had continuously dominated the breaststroke events in swimming, he still wasn’t good enough in the eyes of Ward Cameron. She would be wrong though; the reason why he is upset this time is the fact that she is going on a date. Before she knew it, a knock was at the door and she heard her father answer the door.

She walks towards the landing overlooking the front entrance. “Hello, I am Wilson Porter and I will be taking Y/N out on this fine evening. I hope you are in accordance with this idea, Mister …,” Wilson greets while holding out his hand for her father to shake. She realizes she still hasn’t told Wilson her last name yet. Her father takes Wilson’s hands and shakes it, “Hey, it’s Mr. Y/L/N. And I am fine with you taking her on a date as long as you have her home by one.” Y/N hopes Wilson doesn’t make the connection to her mom. Y/L/N is a common last name. “Of course, Mr. Y/L/N. punctuality is my specialty. Ah, there is the woman of the hour. She looks radiant.” Y/N is surprised she doesn’t blush at Wilson’s compliment; she could’ve sworn she was on fire when Rafe was raving about how she looked, “Thanks, Wilson. Are you ready to go?” “I absolutely am. Right, this way,” Wilson leads Y/N towards his car and goes to the driver's side. She thought he would open the door for her, but when he doesn’t, she quickly scrambles to get in so it isn’t awkward.

———

The car ride was filled with pleasant conversation. Wilson mostly talked about Cassie’s books, which doesn’t surprise Y/N considering she knows he wants to become a writer as well and some of her mother’s earlier works are his favourite books. They arrive at La Fleur Bleue, an expensive French restaurant. She isn’t thrilled to be here considering the portion sizes are so small. They enter the restaurant and are led to their table. They look at the menu, when Wilson speaks up, “Do you think I could order for us? I think I have you figured out and can pick you something you love.” “Sure, I’m not too sure what I want to get anyways.” “Great,” Wilson waves the waiter over to order, “Hello, we are both going to have the quiche loraine with a bottle of champagne, please.” The waiter nods, takes their menu and goes off to put their order into the kitchen. “How did you get them to not check our id?” Y/N is astounded at the strings he could pull or hopes she isn’t dating someone who is 21 without her knowing. “My dad is a silent partner here, so they generally look the other way as long as the restaurant isn’t busy,” Wilson explains.

At least, she knows he isn’t dating her for her money. While waiting for the food to come out, Wilson starts up the conversation again, “So have you had the chance to read The Wisp of Forever? Is it not a literary masterpiece? I mean hardly say this but Conan Austin’s work could rival Cassie’s”

“No, I haven’t had the chance yet because my tbr is so long. But also, it doesn’t really seem to be my type of book.”

“You should stop filling your time with Book’s Instagram and Young Adult Fiction. It’s all nonsense you will grow out of and look back on with disgust. The books I read help fill you with knowledge and enlightenment. They are also realistic.”

“Well, I like YA and Bookstagram. I actually enjoy the books I read from there. Also, it’s nice to read about people going through similar issues as me,” she says as nicely as she can. She is used to this response from most adults in the Outer Banks community, so she has the response memorized. Before Wilson could retort, the waiter comes back with their food and champagne on a tray. The first thing she notices is how tiny her quiche is. It definitely will not be enough food for her, but she doesn’t want to complain about it because of how expensive the food is. Even though her parents have generational wealth, Cassie and Marvin raised their children to be cautious of pricing and that just because they have the money now, doesn’t mean that it can’t disappear with one bad decision. She’ll just make grilled cheese when she gets home. As she eats, she notices she is shivering. The AC is on so high right now. With nothing to cover herself with, she tries to continue eating.

Dinner went and passed with pleasant conversations about themselves. “Would you guys like to look at the dessert menu?” The waiter offers after clearing their plates. Y/N is about to speak up, but Wilson beats her to it, “No, we actually have somewhere else to be, so just the check, please.” The waiter returns with a check and places it on the table between the pair. Wilson pushes the bill close to Y/N. She isn’t one to expect the man to pay for the first date every single time, but she thinks that whoever asks the person out and chooses what to do should pay for the date. Or at least split the bill. She doesn’t want to make a scene, so she pays the bill without a word. Maybe, he just wants to reverse the unfair expectations of men always paying, which she could get on board with. Wilson gets up in a hurry and makes his way toward the entrance, leaving Y/N to run after him. He opens the door for himself and walks through. This causes the door to shut in her face. Y/N awkwardly opens the door for herself and gets into Wilson’s car.

“So where are we going to now?” Y/N asks to break the silence. “We are going to a showing of Hamlet at Kildare Theatre. I hear it is an amazing performance.” Y/N is a little disappointed at the notion. She has nothing against Shakespeare and actually enjoys reading his comedies, but she finds watching the actually plays boring and can’t remember the last time she could stay awake through one of them. “Oh, cool. Sounds fun.” They arrive at the theatre house and settle down into their seats. As she watches the play, she has to gently pinch herself every time she nods off to keep herself awake. By the time the play finishes, Wilson takes her home and she gives him a peck goodbye before going inside.

———

She enters her home and looks at the grandfather clock in the front entrance to see it is 12 A.M. At this realization, she notices how her stomach grumbles. She goes to change into Rafe’s Led Zepplin shirt and comfy shorts. She puts her hair up into a messy bun then makes her way downstairs to make a grilled cheese. “Did you have fun on your date, Y/L/N?” she hears from behind her while she is turned toward the counter wall. She jumps out of surprise, “God, Rafe. We need to tie a bell around your neck. And to answer your question. Yes, I did have fun.” She lied because although he planned a pretty boring date, she didn’t mind Wilson’s company. Rafe is wearing his light gray zip-up swim sweater on top of his salmon t-shirt with basketball shorts. His hair is all messy, he probably just woke up. She wishes she could just reach up and run her fingers through his hair. “I smell lies. If you had a good time, then why are you here making a grilled cheese in the dead of the night?” Rafe points out. “Even if the portion sizes are small, I can still have fun on a date, Rafe,” She argues. “Whatever you say, Y/L/N,” Rafe comes over and takes the pan out of her hand, “Come on, let’s go to McDonald’s instead.”

He takes her hand and gently guides her to where he keeps his keys at the front entrance so he can pick them up. Once he has his keys, she opens the front door for them to head to his car. He jogs ahead and opens the passenger door for her. She whispers her thanks and takes the hand he offers her to help her get up into the high jeep. Wilson didn’t open the car door for her.

Most of the car ride was spent making fun of Mason and singing along to Rafe’s playlist. She notices most of the songs are her favourites. When they get to McDonald’s, Rafe is quick to help her out of the car and open the entrance door for her. She has to admit it is nice to not have a door slam in her face. They pick a seat near the back close to the window and Y/N tries to get up to go with Rafe to order, but he stops her, “I’ve got this, Y/L/N. Just stay here.” Y/N listens to what he says and watches as he orders the food. She’ll have to remember to pay him back on the way home. A few minutes later, he returns with the food, “Ten piece chicken nuggets with fries and Sprite for you. And a BigMac with fries and a coke for me. I’ll get our ice cream after we finish,” he recites as he places her food in front of her.

“Thanks, this is honestly exactly what I need.”

“No problem. Couldn't have you go hungry. So where did you guys go?”

“He took me to La Fleur Bleue, then we watched Hamlet at Kildare Theatre.”

Rafe chuckles at the look of slight disappointment he saw in her eyes, “I swear that place has the smallest portion sizes. It’s where Rose likes to eat when she wants to diet. However, you must’ve loved the play. You always looked so cozy taking those naps whenever we go to one for school.”

“Oh, it was so fun. I think I still have an imprint on my arm from every time I pinched my skin to wake myself up,” Y/N jokes back, showing him her arm to further the joke. The belly laugh that Rafe lets out causes heat to reach Y/N’s cheeks. She likes making him laugh like that. “I’m going to go get the ice cream now.” Rafe gets up and walks back to the counter to order. Y/N once again notices a chill overcome her tonight and sees how her arms are covered in goosebumps. She should’ve grabbed a sweater before she left.

Rafe makes his way back to Y/N, noticing the bumps on her arms. Either she always forgets to bring sweaters with her or she is stubborn enough to not wear one to not disturb her aesthetic. He places the ice cream on the table; quick to remove his sweater for her. He hands over the sweater to her without saying anything. How come Rafe noticed she was cold and Wilson didn’t? She takes it and shrugs it on, “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” Rafe watches as Y/N happily takes a bite out of the Oreo flurry he bought her, “Why don’t you eat any other flavours other than Oreo? Even when we get Dairy Queen, it is always an Oreo blizzard.” She is shocked he pays enough attention to her to notice it, “Oreos remind me of the one time when we were little that you, Mason and I would get along. Our moms would always bring us Oreos after soccer practice. It was the one time we could share without trying to kill each other. I loved the cookie part and you loved the filling, so I would always let you eat the filling from my Oreo and vice versa.”

Rafe is a tad saddened by the mention of his mother; however, the fact that one of her favourite ice cream flavours is in relation to a memory of him makes him glad. “I didn’t know you remembered that. I have to confess though, after like the second time of us doing that I was sick of eating just the cream filling. The only reason why I kept eating the filling is because you were always so sad about wasting the filling if you didn’t eat it,” he confesses. “No way! Rafe, you didn’t have to do that.” “It’s okay. It made me sick, but my mom would cuddle me after to make me feel better so it was a bonus.” At the mention of his mother again, a comfortable silence washes over the pair. If she was with Wilson, she’d probably feel the need to fill the silence in a way that would prove her intelligence. They finish eating and head back to the car.

“How should I pay you back? Do you want me to e-transfer you or I could get you the cash when we get back home?” She offers, pulling out her phone in preparation to make the transfer. “What? You don’t need to pay me back, Y/L/N. I asked you to come out with me, so I pay.” It looks like Y/N and Rafe are on the same page about who should pay when going out. Y/N begins to protest; however, Rafe speaks up again before she could, “I’m serious, Y/L/N. I won’t accept anything you try to give me, so don’t even try.” Y/N nods and looks out the window of the car. She turns up the car radio, beginning to sing along to the music. Rafe glances over at her and starts to sing with her. Much like their drive to McDonald’s, it is filled with laughter and music. Y/N can’t help but wonder why she can’t feel this way when she is with Wilson. She is dating Wilson and is supposed to hate Rafe, but why are they making it so hard to feel the right way about each one of them?

Taglist: @itsalexwin @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

#thorn in my side rose in my hand #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron series #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks x reader #outer banks x you

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gosmigenergy · 3 months

Text

DANCE PARTNER

( Francisco ‘Fish’ Morales x F!Reader )

Summary: You begin to wonder why the hell Frankie would take you here until you find out that he has a hidden talent.

Rating: Fluff but like hot fluff?

Warnings: No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 2.1k

It was always hard to resist holding the guys’ hand when you walked down the street, you continuously had to remind yourself that you and Benny were the ones who were ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’.

Frankie’s broad hands were the most tempting.

He could sense you staring, he turns his head so he could question you.

“What’s wrong, Bunny?”

“Nothing,” you fluster, “just really want to hold your hand.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, “Now you can’t.”

“You’re so mean.”

“We’re almost there,” he says, “and then you can hold my hand as much as you like.”

That brought the smile back to your face and that was something Frankie always liked to see. He was hesitant to ask you to come with him tonight, not many people know that he goes here though when he said comfy clothes and shoes you can move easily in, you didn’t sound so pleased.

Still, he had yet to tell you where you were going, the four of them seemed to do it all the time, they were lucky you were so willing.

It didn’t look much from the outside.

The building was a little run down and didn’t seem to have any visible signage, the windows mirrored to a view of the outside. Normally, you would try peering through even though you wouldn’t see anything, instead you decide against it, mostly to save the person opposite getting a ridiculous sight that they probably see all too often.

He knows that you’re trying to figure it out. Strolling to the door, he pulls it towards him before gesturing for you to go in.

Of course, you’re hesitant, practically tiptoeing to him with a furrowed brow. You lean to glance through the door and see nothing untoward but it doesn’t mean you don’t look at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t be scared.”

He follows you in and you stroll down the corridor before he tells you to take a right, you do so and go to the door at the end. Your hand hovers over the handle as you have a final glance at Frankie, who’s expression is soft and unassuming. A swift nod brings you to open the door and step through the threshold.

A woman squealing greeted you.

“Oh, a new face!”

You freeze.

The room is simple, red brick walls with a light wooden floor, fluorescent lights to make up for the slim windows that lined underneath the ceiling. There were maybe eleven or so more people there in a mixture of age ranges and you notice the woman speaking was wearing what appeared to be dancing heels and a light ruffle hemmed skirt.

Oh no.

“Francisco,” she glides over elegantly.

He places a hand on your lower back, guides you forward, into the room. All your instincts are telling you to run but there’s comfort in how he holds you, it’s either that or he knows you’re about to pass out.

“Hi Carmen.”

They lean in and she gives him an air kiss on each cheek.

“So nice of you to bring a friend,” she’s beaming at you.

“This is Bunny.”

“Bunny, Carmen.”

You go for a handshake however she takes it and pulls you close, giving you a similar greeting to Frankie. The temperature rises in your cheeks as you retreat to him, trying your best not to get as flustered as you do.

“Hi,” you squeak.

“Is Bunny your real name?”

“No, no,” you waves your hands, “just a nickname.”

Her eyes flit between you and Francisco, her one eyebrow arching before her lips form into a knowing smile.

“You two are going to make perfect dance partners,” she points a single finger to the two of you. “I can already feel the passion.”

You giggle nervously, “I hope so.”

Carmen gets distracted by the next person who comes in and Frankie guides you away to a set of chairs lined up against one wall.

Your palms are sweaty, heartbeat starting to quicken. Someone once told you that your feet were like a dancer’s feet, your immediate response was that you wish you had because in reality, you had no rhythm.

“Sorry I didn’t tell,” he fiddled with the brim of his cap sheepishly.

“That’s ok, just didn’t realise you danced.”

“How’d you think I wooed my ex?”

“I thought you just showed her your pilot wings,” you shrugged.

He burst out laughing, the type that shook your whole body, almost brought tears to his eyes.

“Only Pope can be that smooth.”

You smile, “I wouldn’t put yourself down.”

The tips of his ears go red and he changes the subject, “So?”

“When were you going to show me your dance moves?”

“The opportunity has never arisen.”

You tilt your head to one side, “What about that night in the bar?”

The first night you met all four boys together, the shots Benny bought definitely went straight to your head and you found yourself on the dance floor for what felt like hours. Benny was your main partner, Will joined in once or twice but he stayed on the sidelines. Santiago ribbed him for it, Frankie merely wanted it to be a better scenario.

This was it.

“It wouldn’t have been my best.”

“What dance is this anyway?”

He cleared his throat, “Tango.”

Tango? He knew how you danced, loose limbed and swaying hips was as best you had, this was going to be intense. The groan you released was somewhat pained, this was not going to end well.

“You’ll be fine, cariño…”

That was new, it made you blush.

“Just follow my lead.”

Carmen clapped her hands to draw everyone’s attention to the front.

Frankie took your hand and guided you into the centre, nestled in between the lines that had already formed. You were grateful he hadn’t positioned the two of you at the front, in the line of fire for demonstrations or audience participation.

The lesson started with a warm up, some stretches to loosen the body where your muscles protested with being elongated to the floor and your bones cracked in some questionable places. Then the class moved onto practicing the basic steps, slowly at first before she picked up the pace and played some music to match. However Frankie was the perfect distraction, your steps falling out of time with everyone else as your eyes drifted to how his hips seemed to move in ways you hadn’t noticed before.

“You doing ok there, Bunny?”

Carmen’s gaze found your face amongst the throng and you blink at her, nodding feebly when you realise she’d caught you.

When you look back to him, he’s already checking you out, his feet still moving with precision. You pierce your lips as his smile widens and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Shaking your head, your eye line returns to your feet as your mind tries to count yourself back in.

“Alright, it’s time to nab yourself a partner.”

His hand instantly enveloped yours.

“Ready?”

“No,” you laugh nervously.

“Like I said earlier,” he smiles, “just follow my lead.”

He pulls you further to the side so the pair of you take up your own space, just on the outskirts of an unevenly distributed circle. His right hand wraps around your frame and he flattens his palm against your back before drawing you closer. You place your left hand on his shoulder and you breath, trying to slow down your heart rate. He squeezes your hand three times as he searches your face, your expression relaxes when you meet his big brown eyes.

All of you run through the steps and your eyes flick to the floor with every one.

A hand coming to your chin made you jump, Carmen had snuck up behind you and lifted your head back up, Frankie tried not to laugh.

“With such a handsome man in front of you, why are you looking at the floor?”

The question was rhetorical, she disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived. Instead of relaxing back into it, your limbs stiffened and he began to struggle to guide you.

“Bunny, you need to relax.”

You let out a held breath, “I’m trying.”

The hand on your back gently rubs up and down.

“Close your eyes,” he said calmly.

“I’ve already been told off once for not looking at you.”

“If you trust me, you’ll let me lead.”

You take a shaky inhale and allow your eyelids to flutter shut, breathing out as Frankie hugs your frame nearer.

“Now,” his voice is low, “Focus on me.”

Your face scrunched for a moment as you tried to concentrate. It was the hand you were holding you that caught your attention, with it’s light embrace as it steadily hung midair, skin slightly rough after years of heavy use. The other that was pressed firmly on your back, warmth spreading through the fabric of your top, the taut shoulder muscle under your own.

“If you want to add a little something, remember you can shape the lady over your leg.”

Carmen’s voice caused you to misstep.

“Block her out,” he whispers into the shell of your ear.

His breath teases your neck, the whiskers that line his jaw grazing your cheek as he pulls back and you swallow as the saliva builds. The temperature between you rises and you can see the sweat building on his chest where his collar bones meet in the middle.

Was it supposed to be this hot?

The two of you continue like this for a few more steps before he lunges back and instinctively, you lean your shoulders and neck back to hold yourself strong. He straightens up and carries on with the basics.

“That’s my girl.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing.

When he decides to do it again, you open your eyes, lids heavy as you attempt to come back into the room. You allow him to keep moving you, bending you in ways you only had done when you’d had sex with any of them. Though you were sure he was stretching you just to show off, the wink he gave cementing the fact.

“Are you allowed to spin me?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he clocked where Carmen was in the room and noted how distracted she was by a couple who couldn’t get in sequence. He’d been to enough classes to know how to spin you, knew it would take about nine seconds at the most. It should be a quick enough in and out that she wouldn’t even notice it happened.

“Take another two steps back, I’ll do the rest.”

You do as he says, arm stretching your body away from him. He gently tugs your arm and you do a spin, giggle as he coils an arm around you and leans your frame back. Quickly, he returns you both to the original position and carries on as before. He tries to ignore the two star pupils who were rolling their eyes at you.

“Right! Time for a cool down.”

The last ten minutes was a free for all, Carmen put on music, there was no steps to follow, no necessary partners, everyone was just expected to dance.

For you and Frankie, it wasn’t much of a cool down.

The pair of you used it as an excuse to get as close as possible, he pressed his chest against your back and moved his hips in tandem to yours. Your hands roamed what part of his body they could reach, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist, his palms smoothing over your hips.

If he wanted you to always focus on him, you would do gladly.

You were aware of judgemental eyes but you’d reached a point where you didn’t give a shit. This whole lesson was too formal for you, this was the kind of dancing you could get on board with and it made you wish Frankie danced with you that night at the bar.

He practically growled in your ear when the music stopped.

Unravelling himself from you, he pluck his hat from his head and ran a hand through his curls.

“So,” he fixed the cap back into position, “did you enjoy yourself?”

You hum, “Kind of forgot how much of a turn on it was.”

Grabbing your arm, he stops you in your tracks to turn and face him.

“Are you saying —“

He watches your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

Carmen was the type of dance teacher who prided herself in ensuring all who students left satisfied. She talked to each individual and listened to them until they had nothing more to say before moving onto the next person. It was only after a few conversations that she realised she was two people down.

“Have any of you seen Francisco and Bunny?”

#triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier fanfic #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #fluff #valentines fic #actually remembered to put the read more link in this time #sorry about that

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isawthisangel · 2 years

Text

Professor (Steven Grant x reader)

word count -> 5.2k

plot summary -> your egyptology professor is HOT

a/n -> i finally got round to writing this, as requested by @propertyofkingvalkyrie , hope you enjoy the shameless unedited indulgence that is this fic <3 (also my new @ is isawthisangel, changed from isawanangell)

Autumn. The start of term, the start of your final year at university in London.

You walked into the lecture hall and cast about the room for your friends, your gaze falling instead on the man stood at the front of the room. He smiled at you, and immediately your heart shot up into your throat. He was gorgeous.

You’d flashed him a smile in return, praying that your expression was one of utter neutrality, and made your way to the left-hand side of the room where a few of your friends were sat huddled together, your thoughts still very much with the man at the front of the lecture hall. Who is he?

‘Hey. You look like you’ve taken something. Have you taken something?’ Annabel asks you, by way of greeting. You hit her lightly with your bag as you sit down.

‘I haven’t taken anything. Don’t be stupid,’ you reply.

‘She looks fine to me,’ Monica comments, squinting across at you.

‘Nah, she’s all glassy-eyed.’

‘She is fine. Shut up,’ you say, pulling your laptop out and opening it up, using it as an excuse to peek over the screen at the man again. He’s still handsome.

‘Oh Lord, she’s got a crush on the professor,’ Annabel sighs, and you flush red before her words actually sink in.

‘I have not – wait, what? Did you say profess-’

‘Okay, let’s start. Good mornin’ everyone, I’m Professor Grant and I’ll be your Egyptology professor for this term.’

Even his voice was attractive. You sank a little lower in your seat, and Annabel raised an eyebrow next to you. How were you supposed to concentrate now? You were going to fail the unit for sure.

You’re hopeless, Annabel typed on her screen.

What’s that supposed to mean?, you typed on yours.

Crushing on the professor two minutes into the lecture, she typed, and you could see her annoying smirk out of the corner of your eye.

I’m not crushing on anyone

Sure.

I’m NOT, and besides

‘Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N, Miss Clarke.’

The name of your last name in his mouth made you jump almost violently, and your finger flew to the backspace button on your keyboard.

‘While I appreciate the enthusiasm, there’s no need for notetakin’ quite just yet,’ he told you, his gaze fixed so directly on you that you felt as though you were about to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Willing your face not to go red, you tried to remember how to form words with your mouth. Everyone was looking at you.

‘Sorry, Professor,’ you said, mortified. Annabel stayed silent next to you.

He continued the lecture, and you sat very still, practically buzzing with embarrassment. Half an hour later, when notetaking was apparently now acceptable, you heard a muffled giggle from Monica, and turned to look in her direction.

Written on Annabel’s screen: Bet you £20 Y/N tries to come on to him by the end of term.

You aimed a kick at her under the table.

September passed in a daze of auburn leaves swirling in the wind and thinking about Egyptology a lot more than was maybe necessary, and by the time October arrived the course was really getting underway.

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t let your stupid crush get in the way of your course; the thought of doing badly on assignments because of your feelings was just ridiculous. That didn’t stop a small firework display from going off in your stomach every time your professor made eye contact with you for more than five seconds, though.

One week you’d worked up the courage to ask him a question at the end of class (‘Oh, yeah? What about?’ Annabel had smirked), and it had taken every ounce of concentration you possessed to speak to him coherently without losing your train of thought.

‘Thanks, Professor,’ you’d said afterwards.

‘Call me Steven,’ he’d told you, offering up a small smile, and you swear you’d forgotten how to breathe for a full minute afterwards.

It’s not that you were trying to sabotage your grades, but you got it into your head that maybe, just maybe, he was looking at you in the same way that you were looking at him.

The days were drawing in, the clocks went back, and it rained almost every day. The Friday before Halloween you walked into class in a pleated skirt, platform boots, and polo neck jumper, shaking out an umbrella which dripped all over the floor, raindrops clinging to your bare legs.

Chancing a half glance at Steven as you walked by, you caught his gaze flying away from your legs as your head turned. You spent the rest of the day feeling quite giddy with satisfaction.

November arrived alongside an onslaught of assignments, which required more time spent on campus, something which might have annoyed you if there wasn’t a chance of seeing a certain professor at any given time.

In lectures, you were finding it increasingly hard to concentrate.

He’s not even that good looking, Annabel typed on her screen one day, and you had to supress a snort of derision.

Seriously?, you typed. You could look at him for hours. You did look at him for hours, fighting to absorb the information he was relaying to you, to not get lost in the way he would sometimes push a hand absentmindedly through his hair, leaving it perfectly tousled.

Everything about him was distracting. The way he was almost constantly frowning slightly in concentration, his brow furrowed as he read or listened to someone speaking. His glasses, which when he put them on shouldn’t have made him better looking but somehow did.

Even the way he moved, the way he stood, drove you to distraction. He’d ask a question and then stand, his feet slightly apart, arms crossed over his chest waiting for raised hands while you concentrated on not watching the way the fabric of his shirt strained across his biceps.

One time he’d rolled his shirt sleeves up and you’d almost imploded on the spot. Monica had offered you some paracetamol, asking if you felt okay, while Annabel rolled her eyes in exasperation.

‘Oh, come on,’ you’d said quietly, nudging your friend. ‘Tell me that’s not attractive.’

She’d been silent for a second.

‘I think that vein in his arm is looking at me.’

You’d accepted it as a win.

Winter. It snowed, and you had to stop wearing skirts so often. The end of the semester loomed, and Christmas lights started appearing around campus.

Steven called you Y/L/N, instead of Miss Y/L/N, in a lecture, and your friends started accusing him of favouritism. Not to his face, of course, just to yours. Their accusations filled you with an intense sort of pleasure.

During your last lecture before the Christmas holidays you’d been invited to a Christmas party right after class, and decided, against Annabel’s advice, to wear your outfit to Steven’s lecture.

It was nothing overly special, but the dress was nicer than anything you usually wore to class, and quite a bit lower cut. Not that you had taken this into consideration, of course. Heads turned as you walked into the lecture hall; one of the guys you’d worked with on a group project gave an appreciative whistle, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit.

‘Goin’ somewhere nice, Y/L/N?’ Steven asks you as you sit down. You hadn’t looked to gauge his reaction when you’d walked in, and you’re regretting it now. The use of your last name by itself sends a thrill through you, even though he’d addressed another girl in the class in the same way last week and it had made your blood practically boil with jealously.

‘Christmas party,’ you reply with a smile, shrugging your bag off of your shoulder. The guy who’d whistled at you is still looking your way; you can feel his gaze on you. You get your laptop out, and when you look back up Steven is looking at the guy, who is now chatting with his mates.

It might be your imagination, but you’re sure you can see a muscle going in Steven’s jaw as he watches him. Your breath comes short for a moment or two, but then he’s starting the class and you’re almost certain you had imagined it.

An hour and a half later you’re faced with the prospect of not seeing Steven for three weeks (he’s taking your class again next term - thank God, you’d thought when you’d found out) as people begin packing up and filtering out of the room.

‘I might ask him to come to the Christmas party,’ you say to Annabel at the end of the lecture. She turns to you, an expression of muted disbelief on her face.

‘Are you mad?’ she asks politely.

‘Well… probably. But I-’

‘Don’t. Please, God, Y/N, do not do that. I’ll pay you not to. How much do you want?’

You laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. ‘I’m going to do it.’

‘Right, and what happens when he turns you down and you have to come back and sit here next term knowing what you did?’

‘But what if he says yes?’ you ask. Annabel throws her hands heavenward and stands up.

‘Please allow me to escort you from this room.’

You sigh, and let her, fully aware that you would most likely get rugby tackled to the ground by her if you tried to break away. Just before you follow her down the steps, you drop your jacket surreptitiously on to the back of your seat.

‘Have a good Christmas, girls,’ Steven says to you as you’re practically dragged past him and out of the room by Annabel.

‘Thanks. You too,’ you manage to smile, and then you’re in the corridor.

‘Right. Do I have to escort you to the party as well? Or can you be trusted by yourself?’ Annabel asks you.

‘I’m fine. Thanks for looking out for me,’ you say begrudgingly, and receive a rare smile from your friend.

‘You wouldn’t last a day without me.’

You say goodbye, wishing her a merry Christmas, and start heading across campus to where your car is parked. It’s snowing gently, and you’re beginning to regret your little plan. Now you have no jacket and pretty solid confirmation that you’ve been making everything up about Steven.

‘Y/N!’

Your heart skips a beat as you hear him calling your name, and suddenly you’re not at all cold anymore. You pretend not to hear him and continue walking.

‘Y/L/N, hey!’

A small smile creeps across your face; you force it away as you turn and pretend to look confused. Steven is striding towards you through the snow, clutching your jacket.

‘Oh, thanks!’ you say, retracing your steps to meet him and taking the jacket from him. He’s frowning.

‘Aren’t you freezin’?’

‘I don’t really feel the cold,’ you lie blatantly, hoping that he can’t see the goosebumps which have erupted across every inch of your exposed flesh. Which is quite a lot of flesh.

‘Well, don’t get ill. Enjoy your party,’ he says, taking a step backwards. Before you can stop yourself, you say, ‘Thanks. Are you doing anything nice tonight?’

‘Yeah, actually I – have a date.’

The air turns to solid ice in your lungs, rendering you unable to draw a breath. You are frozen, unable to do anything but blink. Smile, Y/N. Smile!

It only takes a split second for your face to catch up with your thoughts, but you’re certain the crushing disappointment you’d felt had been clear to see all over your features. The thought makes you want to bury yourself under the snow and stay there forever.

‘Oh, that’s great! Have a nice time,’ you smile, gripping your jacket hard. There’s snow in his hair and a few days’ worth of stubble on his face and he’s frowning at you in that way and he just looks so, so gorgeous.

And he’s going on a date.

For a few seconds he doesn’t speak, and you stand looking at each other in the snow, him frowning, you trying desperately not to shiver. Say something, you find yourself silently begging, suddenly feeling warm rather than cold as he holds your gaze.

‘Thanks,’ he finally says. ‘Merry Christmas.’

And then he turns and walks back the way he came.

Much to your surprise you don’t die from either embarrassment or heartbreak over Christmas, and come January you’re so stressed about assignments that Steven is the last thing on your mind. Well, maybe not last. Maybe second. Or joint first.

You get through January’s lectures mostly by telling yourself that he’s probably now in a relationship, which actually does nothing to help and makes you quieter than usual. To make matters even worse he’d started growing his beard out; you’d decided that he was doing it specifically to torture you.

January rained its way into February; you got ill and were forced to stay in bed for just under a week, missing your lectures and having to rely on Annabel’s sparse notetaking to keep up with your studies, and when you were feeling better she came to visit you.

‘I swear he kept looking at your empty seat.’

You rolled your eyes, ‘Yeah, right.’

‘Like, you know I don’t condone this weird thing you have for him, but it was like every five minutes.’

‘He’s definitely got a girlfriend, Anna,’ you told her, wiggling the mouse around in circles on your laptop as you spoke.

‘How do you know?’

‘Well, how could he not?’

‘To be fair, he’s definitely hotter now he has a beard.’

‘Hey, back off. I saw him first,’ you grinned.

‘He asked where you were, as well.’

Your heart did a sort of weak bellyflop.

‘Did he?’

‘Yeah, after class. He looked proper concerned and everything.’

‘Only because I’m top of his class and he doesn’t want me falling behind.’

Annabel erupted into cackles.

‘If you’re top of the class then I’m a PhD student,’ she chortled.

‘Well I’m not bottom,’ you protested, feeling quite put out.

‘I’m kidding, you’re doing great,’ Annabel said, getting to her feet. ‘You’ll be back next week? I can’t stand another two hours of him gazing forlornly at your empty chair.’

‘Shut up. Yes, I’ll be back next week.’

Annabel had reignited a spark of hope in you; maybe he wasn’t with someone after all.

Spring. Slowly but surely, the temperature began to climb, however the rain stayed relentless. You started wearing skirts again, not really knowing what you were hoping to achieve by doing so but wearing them all the same.

You managed to sit through a one-to-one meeting with Steven to discuss your dissertation without breaking out in a sweat, which you viewed as a win. There had, however, been one moment where he’d handed you some paper across his desk and your fingers had brushed together.

You’d felt the contact like an electric shock, a tingling sensation shooting up your hand. Steven had flinched as though he’d been burned, a movement so minute that afterwards you’d decided, again, that you had imagined it. The meeting ended quite abruptly after that.

April arrived and the downpours finally ceased. Your exams loomed, and a sort of quiet dread had descended upon you and your classmates in lectures.

There was little time for distraction anymore, even when Steven called you by your last name or stood behind you to read your work over your shoulder to offer advice. Even Annabel had stopped teasing you.

That eighth month of university was lost to you through your enormous workload; you lived, breathed, and slept assignments and essays.

Suddenly it was mid-May, and Steven was wishing you luck with your exams.

‘Not that you need it,’ he added, and everyone had smiled sort of grimly. You got the sense that, much like you, everyone was ready for this to be over.

You had a final one-to-one meeting with Steven after class, and walked with him to his office, Annabel staring after you. A few months ago this might have had you breaking out in a sweat, but the stress of your exams was leaving you little room for any other emotions.

‘Will you wait out here for a second? Won’t be long,’ Steven asked you as you reached the door to his office.

‘Sure,’ you said, moving to lean against the wall.

You wait for a minute, then two, and it might be your imagination but you… can you hear him talking in there? You’d been certain there hadn’t been anyone else in the room when he’d entered.

Another minute passes, after which the temptation to move closer to the door and try to hear what he’s saying grows too strong. You strain your ears, trying not to look too conspicuous.

‘Can’t,’ you hear him say, and he’s speaking too quietly for you to make out full sentences. The only other thing you hear is, ‘Don’t you dare,’ about another minute later, and then footsteps. You slide quickly back against the wall, positioning yourself as you had been when he entered his office.

The door opens.

‘Come in,’ he smiles, and you tell yourself, yet again, that you must have imagined him speaking, because there’s no one in his office.

The meeting goes quickly; you have ten minutes to ask him a million questions about your papers, and you’re so focused that you don’t notice the whiteness of Steven’s knuckles on his left hand, which grips a pen in danger of snapping in two.

You do however notice his voice, which sounds slightly hoarse.

‘Are you… okay?’ you ask him once your ten minutes is up, putting your papers back into your bag and standing up.

He seems to relax, his features softening as he looks at you.

‘Yeah, just… it’s been a long week,’ he says. You smile and sigh, tilting your head in sympathy.

‘Tell me about it.’

And then there’s a moment where you’re not entirely sure what happens. Steven tenses suddenly, his smile vanishing, and he closes his eyes, bowing his head. But before you’ve even had time to frown in confusion, he’s looking back up at you, and your heart launches itself against the inside of your chest as though it’s trying to throw itself at him.

Because all of a sudden he’s looking at you like you’ve wanted him to look at you since September. Like he wants you.

He looks the same but… different, somehow. His eyes are darker beneath his hooded eyelids, and when he stands up it’s not with the careful composure you’re so used to, but with careless abandon, as though he means to go somewhere and is not planning on letting anyone get in his way.

You’re frozen as he comes around the side of the desk and settles just in front of you, sitting back carelessly against the wooden surface and crossing his arms slowly, still looking at you like a man starved.

You swallow nervously, and then realise that you have stopped breathing, taking in a sudden breath of air which mortifyingly sounds like a small gasp. A smile begins to spread across Steven’s face, slow and almost contemptuous. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

‘Was there… anything else?’ he asks you.

A small part of your brain registers that he speaks with a deep, American drawl instead of the English accent that you’re used to, but it’s buried too deep for you to hear it at the moment. There are more important matters at hand, like the way he continues to look at you.

You open your mouth to say no, but find that you’re physically unable to form words, and shake your head slightly, lips parted, instead.

His gaze falls from your eyes to your lips, and if possible, darkens even further. For a few blissful seconds you really think he’s going to do it, that he’s actually going to kiss you.

And then, then, his eyes continue downwards, almost excruciatingly slowly, and it’s like you can feel his gaze on you as it moves south, carving a searing line of warmth down your skin. He stops around your shins, before his eyes make their way back up, if possible even slower than before, and you feel suddenly actually lightheaded.

When your eyes meet his again, you feel almost faint, your ears buzzing with shock.

‘Off you go then,’ he tells you, tipping his head towards the door.

For a few seconds you don’t move, can’t move, before wrenching your gaze away from him, turning on your heel and walking out of the room. Chest heaving, you walk-run down the corridor, and don’t stop until you’re in your car, where you allow your head to fall into your hands.

Steven’s POV

It’s so very frustrating wanting to hurt someone who lives inside your head.

‘She’s about to start her exams, she doesn’t need her professor comin’ on to her!’

You won’t be her professor in a few weeks, Marc replies, in that stupid, haughty tone he uses when he knows he’s in the wrong but won’t admit it.

‘That’s not the point!’ Steven half shouts, collapsing on to the sofa and imagining how mad he must look, yelling into the reflection of the TV screen.

It’s exactly the point. You don’t have to wait anymore.

‘It’s not about waitin’, Marc. We’ve been over this; I’m not goin’ to ask her out, student or not.’

Oh, come on. You know she wants-

Steven turns and walks away, flicking the kettle on so that he doesn’t have to listen to Marc’s voice anymore. This would have worked if not for the fact that he was literally inside of his head.

You need to hurry up and do it, or I will.

‘If you so much as go near her you can say goodbye to frontin’ for the foreseeable future,’ Steven snaps. He hears Marc laughing.

As if you could stop me. I managed well enough earlier without you giving me control.

Steven puts his head in his hands when he thinks about earlier. He’d had to watch, in utter, agonising helplessness as Marc had looked at you like that, as you’d gone the most perfect shade of pink, eyes wide, lips parted, looking so ridiculously kissable…

He groans quietly, and can almost feel Marc smirking in his mind.

‘Shut up.’

I didn’t-

‘Yeah, well don’t,’ Steven growls, preparing to make the angriest cup of tea ever. To Marc’s credit, he does shut up after that.

Later that night, Steven says, ‘Two weeks, and then her exams will be over. Maybe, then, I’ll say something to her. If I see her again.’

The thought of not seeing you again, ever, is sudden and unpleasant.

We will, Marc says, and Steven doesn’t ask how he can be sure.

Two weeks later you’re still the first thing on his mind. Some students have been coming to see him before and after exams, but you’re not one of them, and he can’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed about it.

He’s in his office the day after the last exam, marking some second-year papers and resigning himself to the fact that you’ve forgotten about him, and that Marc had been wrong, there was nothing to it apart from him pining after you.

A knock on his door startles him out of his brooding, and he realises that he’s been staring at the same sentence on the page for over a minute and not actually taking any of the words in.

‘Come in,’ he calls wearily. He’s going to have to do this later, at home.

The door opens slowly, and when he looks up and sees that it’s you he’s instantly on his feet without remembering deciding to stand up.

‘Hi,’ you say, and Steven’s heart starts beating double time, despite his best efforts to stay calm.

‘Y/N, hi. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

And a pleasure it was; you were wearing a summer dress which barely reached your knees and no jacket, with boots and a bag slung over your shoulder. You stepped inside the room, leaving the door slightly open, looking… nervous?

Marc was suddenly front and centre in Steven’s subconscious; he could see Marc watching you in the reflection of the tinted glass in the window behind you which looked out into the corridor. He was looking at you the same way he’d looked you at last time you’d been in his office.

‘I just… wanted to talk about – before,’ you said, and he could now hear the nervousness your voice carried.

‘Before?’ Steven asked, and caught sight of Marc rolling his eyes.

You took a few slow steps closer to his desk, hovering nervously before him.

‘When I came in here before. I heard you talking when there was no one in here, and then you seemed… different,’ you told him, looking almost apologetic.

Great. She thinks we’re mad.

‘Different, how?’ Steven asked you, feeling Marc virtually vibrating with tension, and watched as you practically squirmed under his gaze.

‘Well, you… you looked at me like – like you wanted to…’

Steven had had his chance. You were all but throwing yourself, verbally, at him, and he was just stood there like a lemon, doing nothing, saying nothing. Marc was at the end of his tether. You were struggling, it was plain to see, and Marc was loathe to sit by and watch a damsel in distress.

He took the body so abruptly that Steven barely had time to look surprised, and then he was finally, finally walking around the desk towards you, eyes fixed on you like you were the only bright point in a room full of darkness.

The door, he heard Steven saying, panicked, as if from down a very long tunnel. The door was still slightly open, and Marc almost scoffed at the thought of that getting in his way.

He reached you and, instead of pulling you to him and kissing you like he wanted, he took hold of your waist and without breaking his stride backed you up against the door, using you to push it firmly shut, a small gasp of an exhale escaping you as he did. Then he locked it, without breaking eye contact with you once.

Your pupils were blown wide with want, your lips parted slightly in that way which had driven him crazy last time, which had been keeping Steven awake for the last two weeks. And now he was inches away from them.

‘Can I?’ he asked, and didn’t even think to be embarrassed by the way it came out as a hoarse, whispered plea.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly before dropping to his lips, and then you lifted your face a fraction of an inch and it was enough for Marc, who instantly, almost frantically pressed his lips to yours, kissing you hard.

You immediately turned pliant in his hold, kissing him back readily, your hands coming up to his arms, sliding up his biceps to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you while his hands gripped your waist, his thumbs pressing against your hips in the most intoxicating way.

He feels your hands carry on up meet at the nape of his neck, and then your fingers are in his hair and he’s in heaven, he’s actually in heaven. It’s better than he’d imagined it, your lips are so soft and fit perfectly against his, just like your body between him and the door.

Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, and all of a sudden you make a fist and tug gently, and it feels so delicious that Marc can’t help but let out a quiet groan against your mouth. You react with a small gasp, pressing yourself further against him, and it’s all Steven needs to take control, taking advantage of Marc’s stunned mind as he manages to front.

He breaks away from the kiss just to look at you; your lips are swollen from the kiss and your eyes have a slightly glazed quality to them, as though you’ve been stunned. Your faces are just inches away from each other, your body still pressed between him and the door.

‘…like you wanted to do that,’ you finish your sentence, breathless, and then you’re kissing him again except for Steven it’s for the first time and you feel so good. Your fingers in his hair are making his brain short circuit and he slides his hands up from your waist so that they’re flat against your back, pressing you to him as though he can’t have you close enough. Which he can’t.

He could kiss you forever, and truly thinks that he would have carried on for days if not for his need for oxygen.

‘Remind me why we didn’t do this months ago?’ he asks you when he pulls away. You giggle and blush, and maybe it’s not just lust because something warm bubbles up inside Steven’s chest when you look back up at him shyly.

‘I didn’t want you to think I might be doing it for the wrong reasons,’ you say, and all of the reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this rush back into Steven’s mind. You must see his change in expression because a small frown appears on your face, and your hands leave his hair.

He lets go of you, despite all of his bodily instincts telling him not to, and takes a step back, leaving you stood, flushed-looking, in front of the door.

‘You’re still my student until you graduate,’ he says, hating himself.

‘But you just kissed me,’ you reply, a small smile playing on your lips.

‘I know,’ he says, running a hand through his hair. Your smile vanishes.

‘Do you want me to go?’ you ask, your voice suddenly sounding very small, and abruptly he wants you close to him again, pressed flush against his chest.

Steven, Marc says, and it sounds like a warning.

‘No, no, that’s not what I meant,’ Steven says quickly, taking a step back towards you and taking your hands in his. ‘I’m just - if we get caught…’

‘So we’ll wait,’ you say, and he’s shaking his head before you’ve finished the sentence.

‘No, enough waiting,’ he replies, and you look visibly pleased as he says it.

‘We should just maybe… not meet here again,’ he continues, and you nod.

‘Fine. I won’t be here from now on anyway.’

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and it seems to snap you back to reality.

‘I should go,’ you say, and Steven nods, letting go of your hands.

‘Here, take my number,’ he tells you, casting about for some spare paper and a pen on his desk. You take the piece of paper and fold it, putting it in your pocket.

‘So can I kiss you again, or..?’

His lips are on yours before you can finish, and you smile into the kiss, which makes Steven’s heart feel like it swells to twice its usual size. You break away reluctantly, and then you’re saying goodbye, smiling, and disappearing around the door.

Steven sits back down behind his desk, and tries to find it in him to be angry at Marc for kissing you first. He can’t.

You’re welcome, Marc says, irritatingly.

‘Shut up,’ Steven says.

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