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wandasfifthwife · 12 days

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patience is a virtue₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺

—wandanat x fem/afab!reader

༺ tw || SMUT MDNI, dom/sub dynamic, dom!wandanat & sub!reader, top!wandanat & bottom!reader, strap (r receiving | w giving), grinding, praise kink?, some impact play (one spanking lmao), overstim, packing (w), giving head (w’s strap | r giving), reader’s described to be shy, not proofread

༺ a/n || I’ve never personally been in a dom/sub relationship, so if I get things wrong that’s why! If you’re getting into one— don’t use this as a guide/reference

— masterlist ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ 2.6kwords₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺ next part —

It was dark in the room, a light blue light peeking in keeping it every so often from the curtains being blown around by the AC. You were wide awake, having squirming around for maybe twenty minutes. Neither of them had work, and neither did you. It was a Saturday, a holiday weekend. None of you had work today or tomorrow for that matter.

Wanda was incredibly quiet, the position she’s in extremely similar to the one she had fallen asleep in. Natasha’s the opposite; breathing heavily into the bed with one limb touching you or Wanda at all times. Meaning, most nights you slept behind Natasha, her back facing you so you’re not getting forcefully wrapped. Her embrace is lovely, but not when it’s making your temperature rise over 90° degrees.

She’s still somehow found herself curling around you, her leg resting above yours; the second you’ve begun to pull your leg free, she’s pushing off the bed. She’s obviously half asleep, but her eyes brows are furrowed, concern laced in her expression.

“Why’re you up so early, Kit? It’s like 6:30.”

You check and she’s right, the clock reading 6:27. She’s waiting, eyes heavy but still trying to stay open. You’re not sure why. Too much time goes by, her arms pulling you down into her hold.

“Go back to sleep.”

“But I’m not tired—“

She shushes you, “sleep. It’s too early.”

You try to knock her arms away, growing fidgety when her fingers inch closer to where you’re ticklish. It turns into a bit of a brawl, unfortunately with Natasha winning despite being half awake.

“Why’re you guys up,” Wanda asks, exhaustion seeping into her tone, “if you’re going to be loud, take it into the living room.”

You begin to feel bad, understanding that she had gotten back late last night. Natasha had set a bath after your little event yesterday morning. The only time you saw her was when she had come to say her goodbyes and when she crawled into bed.

You don’t remember much of the day, having fallen asleep an hour after your warm bath. The excessive sleep might be why you were up so early on your own.

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine, just keep it down.”

Natasha ends up staying awake, sitting dazed in the living room. Her hair, usually set in a braid when she sleeps, was unraveled; the wavy hair framing her face also fell into yours from where your head rested on her shoulder.

“I still don’t forgive you for this,” you emphasize your words, sliding your finger down your neck to press on the darkened mark.

“Good.”

You laugh when she noses at your neck, pressing a light kiss to the opposite side of where the mark lay. You can’t help but to shiver, the feeling of her lips and the cold affecting you.

“Aww, are you cold?”

“No,” you mumble, but accept her tighter hold with greed, fingers gripping into her sleep shirt. It was then that your stomach decided to break the moment, embarrassing you.

“We could grab breakfast while Wanda finished sleeping in. There’s a restaurant Wanda and I like just down the road.”

“Oh, sure, I’d love to.”

It was even colder outside, the lack of sun causing the cold to manifest its self everywhere. You had Natash’s coat wrapped around you, given to you by her since she fretted over your less than warm coat.

The wind blew, making you shiver and push faster to keep up with Natasha. Her ability to exude warmth even in 50° weather amazes you. She holds the door for you, slipping a hand by your waist once you’ve entered. The gesture making you nervous, focusing entirely too much on her hand’s placement and not the menu in front of you.

It was cute inside, the menu written in chalk behind the counter. Small plans lined the counters and walls, creating a honey vibe. All of these details went unnoticed to you until Natasha’s fingers pinch at your skin.

“What’s got you so spacey, hm?”

“Sorry,” you turn your gaze away, the puffy fabric of her coat ruffling with your movement.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Oh look! We’re next to order.”

Natasha glances forward, “there’s two more people.”

“Oh oops, I haven’t decided what I want yet.”

She lets it go, moving in front when your time to order comes. You pull at her shirt after, feeling the need to get the guilt off your chest after seeing her pay for your food.

“You don’t have to keep paying for me, I really am thankful but I have my own job for a reason.”

She’s putting her wallet back in her pocket, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “and there’s also a reason why I’m here with you. Let me care for you.”

“I know,” you lead on, “but this is money you’ve worked hard for. It’s not free like everything else.”

“Am I going around kissing everyone on the street?”

“What? No.”

“Exactly.”

You huff, a smile on your face when though you wish it weren’t there. In response to her buying, you offer to bring it back. She denied at first before letting you help seeing as it brought a smile to your face.

Wanda was in a similar state to how Natasha looked when you came back, eyes half lidded when you both enter. She smiles at the sight, “you two are cute, did you go to that breakfast place?”

“We did, I got something for you to.”

She places it front of her before walking by towards the shower, leaving you with Wanda. She gestures for you, showing you the screen on her phone. An event at a nearby art center, where they were displaying an exhibition.

“I can buy tickets if you’d like to go, I remember you mentioning art school when we first met.”

It was crazy that you first met them just over a week ago when the moments you had with them lately felt like you’ve known them forever. They walked with you back to your house, stopping by momentarily for you to pick up a few things seeing as you’ve all decided you’ll be staying the weekend.

The event wasn’t until later, around dinner time. When the sun had begun to set you three left from their apartment seeing as it was closer to three museum. Wanda’s shadow stands above you, grabbing your attention.

“At the museum there’ll be some ground rules, alright?”

You glance up from putting your shoes on, “okay.”

“Look at me. Don’t run off without at least one of us beside you—there’ll be a lot of people.”

You nod and she continues, “and I know you’re good for us, but if we ask you to move somewhere, I advise you it’s best to listen and not talk back.”

You welcome the kiss from her after, leaning towards her when she pulls away. Her thumb rubs your cheek, “later, if you’re good.”

Her words are a faint whisper, eliciting a response from you. She smiles at your compliance, calling out to Natasha.

It wasn’t difficult to stay close to them, the large crowds making you anxious. The exhibit was beautiful, the paintings and art pieces a contrast from the cream colored walls. Some were simple, paintings showing a lovely landscape. Some were abstract, multiple colors and shades painting a vibrant picture. Wanda preferred to read the manuscript beside each painting, taking her time throughout the exhibit. Natasha was more intrigued by your conversations, learning about each painting through audible description.

There was a section you hadn’t visited, the one on the third level. It was the one you were most looking forward to, the main room you were looking forward to. With how slow Wanda was navigating the room next to the exhibit, you were being driven up the wall. You wonder if she knew. The speed she had feeling like it was slowing down as you got to the end of the room. That’s when you’ve begun to grow impatient. You tried to be appreciative, but you were burnt out and your back was beginning to ache from standing so straight. Wanda had been keeping a hand on your back throughout the night, tapping when she felt you’ve started to slouch again. A faint whine reaches her ear. The expression on your face tired but guilty once she’s looks over at you.

“Hmm?”

“Can we move faster?”

“No, lm having a nice time looking around this room.”

“Then can Natasha and I go together?”

“To that one,” she asks, pointing across the hall to the room you’ve been eyeing the past twenty minutes, “that’s what we came for, kitten. Wait until I’ve finished so we can all go together.”

“No,” you whine, but it’s cut short immediately.

“Do you want to go home?”

“No.”

“Then cut that out now.”

You stop whining, but your impatience still makes its appearance in other ways. You try to distract yourself by talking with Natasha, pulling on Wanda’s arm to make her move faster once she’s reached the last artwork in the room. Each work she reads off the plaque felt like it’s being read in 0.25 speed, not a single word went unread. Your nails were pushing into Natasha’s arm, plastering a smile on your face when Wanda looks back at you. There’s a knowing look on her face; the pained look on Natasha’s face and your tense body language says everything.

“I’m ready to move on,” she finally says.

You and Natasha both sigh in relief for different reasons. Wanda laughs, patting your back as she walks down the hallway.

Your nails unhook themselves from Natasha’s arm, feeling guilty at the nail prints.

“Sorry,” you mumble, rubbing at the marks, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s fine,” she brings a finger to rub at where you’ve attempted to hide her mark, the faint touch making you shiver.

It seems nice at first, getting to the exhibit you’ve been waiting for. You have had a lovely time, but everything faded away after Wanda had praised you. Her words were spoken close to your ear, words laced with lust, stating how she’s going to reward you. This time you were squirming for something else, impatience burning inside you along with something else. Curiosity.

The second their apartment door was opened, Wanda was on you. She had you up against the wall, the one directly across from the front door. A hand was holding your thigh, hooking it around her waist, allowing her to push further into you. You find it was all intentional when she grinds her hips against yours, pulling a gasp from you when you realize.

“Wands—“

She cuts you off with a slap your thigh, “try again.”

“Mommy,” you say and she nods, willing you to continue, “is that—?”

Her smile is an answer, cold fingers slide under your shirt, circling around to squeeze your ass. You keen, body sliding against hers.

“Get on your knees,” she breathes, pulling away from you.

The sight of looking up at her is pulling the air from your lungs. She’s silently demanding you keep your eyes on her with how tight she’s holding your chin.

“Pat my thigh twice if you need to stop, alright?”

“Yes mommy.”

She moans, making quick work of undoing the belt wrapped around her waist with one hand, her other leaning over you. Her belt falls to the floor, the clanging noise making you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling of her tapping the tip against your bottom lip brings a blush to your cheeks.

“Open your lips, kitten.”

You do, the feeling of her pushing in has your head hitting the wall behind you. She’s enjoying the sight of you, eyebrows tied together, hands shyly hovering over her thighs. She keeps a hand on her waist, pushing and starting a rhythm that has you moaning. You’re a mess under her, head resting against the wall, jaw relaxed to take her comfortably. Your sounds are muffled around her length, choked and gasping.

She’s deciding it’s enough when tears spill from your eyes. Your chin glistens, lips swollen from her ministrations and it’s all driving her crazy. She’s helping you off the floor, dusting your knees off before carrying you to the bedroom. You’re in a koala hold, legs wrapped around her waist.

“Feel how wet you made it,” she sweet talks, pulling your bottom half off the bed, “it’s all because of you.”

You whine, gripping onto her wrists that lie beside your head. She pecks your lips, “please tell me you’ll say whenever you feel in pain, or uncomfortable, or if you need to stop?”

“I will,” you breathe, “I promise.”

She lines up before pushing her hips forward, eyes growing cloudy at the sounds you make as she bottoms out. You wince when it pushes up, her size stretching you out still.

She runs a finger around where you meet, “you’re so tight around me.”

Her hips jerk unexpectedly, pressing against a spot that makes you see white. You’re whining, begging her to move with a push of your legs around her waist.

Your moans echos throughout the room, loud and airy. Natasha’s been in the shower long than usual, fingers moving in circles around her clit at your pretty sounds. Unbeknownst to her Wanda’s doing the same for you, a thumb rubbing against your bud until you feel you’re about to blackout.

“Mommy—please can I?”

“Yes,” it’s a simple response but it’s all you’re needing to hear, a choked whimper bubbling out from your throat as you’ve been brought to the edge.

Wanda flips you over, not giving you a moment and pressing your face into the mattress with the force of each thrust. You couldn’t help but to cry out into the sheets, the pleasure she brought on overwhelming you.

“Mommy!”

“Mm, you’re taking it so well. I’m so proud, you want to make me proud, right?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you gasp, reaching a hand to grip at the sheets above your head, pushing back against her. The pleasure from your orgasm before increases each time her tip presses deeper into you.

“Please, please—I’m going to again.”

“Beg.”

“Mommy, please let me come. I’ve been good.”

Natasha comes to sit by the edge, a towel thrown tied across her body. She’s thankful for leaving when she did, it was the perfect time to watch you come a second time, body writing from the pleasure overwhelming your body.

Natasha brushes the tears from your eyes, hoping to distract you from Wanda pulling out.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Hold me?”

She complies, not caring about the thin shine on your body despite having just finishing a shower. It was only a “shower” anyways.

She’s holding you until Wanda’s finished throwing on a large shirt, clothes from before thrown into the hamper. Natasha passes you over so she can do the same, leaving to step inside their closet.

“Shh, you did so good.”

She runs a hand down your arm, smiling at the goosebumps forming from her touch. You’re out of breath, forehead leaning against her cold chest to fight the heat wrapped around your body.

“Would you like to take a shower, a bath?”

“A showers fine,” you respond, voice raspy.

You both actually ended up taking a shower because your legs shook when you tried to stand. Wanda was concerned you’d slip, especially seeing how your hips swayed. She spares you any teasing, carefully walking you into the bathroom.

“People are going to know you two mess with me,” you speak up from your place in the bathtub, watching Wanda brush her hair in front of the mirror.

“They might. Is this something you’re worried about?”

“Yeah,” you circle the water around your finger, “I love it, I’m just shy showing it to others.”

“And that’s alright. Not everyone will get it as good as you do, you don’t have to be shy.”

“Oh. Okay well that’s—“

— masterlist ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊taglist below₊✩°｡⋆˚ ⁺ next part —

@simpforlizzie @maggieromanov @angelbeingatitspurest @cerberus-spectre @olicity-boo @huggingkoalas @wandasbunnyy @babykingslayer @marigoldenblooms @godhatesgoodgirls @evmaximoff @tobiaslut @lzzysfreak @caporaI-nino @mommysfavouritegirl @gemz5 @dorabledewdroop @foxherder @madamevirgo @natashaswife4125 @peaceitsnaee @radcherryblossompainter @sagesayshi @andersonsprincess @wandanat01

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ludwig-van-gaythoven · 15 days

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Cabin Fever - (Regina George x F Reader) Part 2

Fandom;

Mean Girls (2024)

Pairings:

Regina George x Reader

Summary:

The students of Northshore go on a school trip for a week in the forest. You end up getting to know the apex predator in a way you’d never seen her before.

Warnings;

Underage smoking, underage drinking, ED mentions.

Parts

Part 1// Part 2//

Regina doesn’t say a word to you, or even glance your way.

She storms in and throws her bag down onto the bed next to yours, sweeping your clothes onto the floor with her hand. You open you mouth to protest but she cuts you off.

“Not a word, loser.”

Loser means she hasn’t got anything specific against you. No blackmail material, no weird rumours. Loser is a good place to be.

You sit on your bed and watch in silence as she starts to replace the pillows on the bed with her own pink pillows and satin blanket. She takes up over half the drawers for her own clothes, moving yours into a single pile at the bottom of the shared wardrobe. She puts her makeup and toothbrush, both varying shades of pink in the bathroom. She’s marking her territory.

“Don’t touch my shit.” She scowls, flips her hair and swiftly leaves the cabin. Her faint vanilla scent lingers in the air. It’s both intoxicating and sickly.

You wait a few minutes before you leave too, just to make sure you don’t accidentally bump into her and make yourself a target. The last thing you want is to be Regina’s plaything of the week.

Todays activity would be orienteering. You stand around the campfire pit, avoiding the crowd, waiting for instruction on where to go.

“Please stay in your room groups, follow the map you’ve been given. You’ll be taken to where your group will be starting, just follow the map back to camp. Everyone understand?”

There are excited chatters as everyone groups up with their friends. Unfortunately for you, the crowd parts to reveal Regina who’s giving you a look like she might murder you in the woods and leave you there.

You wait, in silence, next to Regina, for a camp member to pick you up in a jeep and drive through the forest to your particular starting point.

“Please don’t make me, don’t leave me here. I’m too pretty for this” Regina whines as the keep drives away, leaving you both stranded in a clearing.

Against better judgement you decide to speak. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go with Karen and Gretchen.”

“Whatever, just give me the map.” She snaps and snatches it from your hands. Wordlessly she stomps off through the trees. You have no option but to follow like a lost puppy.

As it happens, Regina isn’t a great map reader. And lots of the forest looks identical which makes it even harder. Your feet start to ache, you feel like you’ve been walking in circles for the past couple of hours.

“Can I please just look quickly, I trust you know where we’re going but I think I should still just look at the map” you try to reason which was clearly an awful move because she starts to turn around slowly to face you.

She moves,she’s stalking you like prey as she comes towards you.

“Are you calling me dumb?” She growls.

You shake your head, suddenly unable to speak, afraid that any sound past your lips would make her pounce.

“I’m reading the map, loser. I don’t want to be stuck out here any longer than necessary.” She spins around and continues her forward march through the forest.

This is going to be a long day.

It’s been hours since you or Regina said a word to each other, and hours since you started walking. You hadn’t stopped for a break. You managed to eat an apple while you walked, throwing the core into a bush but Regina hadn’t taken her hands off of the map to eat, drink or give you a look at where you were going.

You felt for your box of cigarettes in your pocket. Regina probably wouldn’t turn around or notice, and you needed one now, Regina is really starting to test your patience. Just as you put the cigarette to your lips ready to light ,Regina’s knee buckles and she trips slightly, heading straight for the ground.

Instinctively you go to catch her, both hands under her arms.

“Get off me weirdo.” She barks but it comes out a little more strained than usual. She’s gone pale and there’s a sheen of sweat across her perfect forehead. Somehow she’s still effortlessly beautiful.

She pushes herself up and tries to keep walking but her legs start to falter again and you rush forward again and catch her as she faints.

You try calling her name, shaking her gently, offering her water but nothing brings her round. Her hands feel cold.

Fuck.

In a panic you call the emergency number a teacher had given you and someone says they’ll come to collect you both in a jeep and administer first aid.

Regina comes round before the jeep arrives and you can feel the anger and embarrassment radiating off her. You try and think of something to say. She doesn’t speak to you the entire way back.

Everyone stares as they see you both come back to camp after being picked up but Regina plays it off well, bragging that she even gets treated like royalty here. You admire her ability to make quick excuses, and to be honest she still looks like royalty. Beautiful blonde hair cascading past her shoulders, icy blue eyes, sweet vanilla scent, outfit still perfect. Only you noticed the lingering sweat, the nervous look in her eye and the slight grass stain on the back of her jacket.

When the car stops Regina gets out and immediately goes to find Gretchen and Karen to sit together for dinner. Half of you is glad she’s gone, she was starting to get irritating, but you also want to make sure she’s okay. You go back to the table you were at before, you can’t help but watch her again.

Just making sure she’s okay, you repeat to yourself.

This time you watch her eat closely, notice she picks up food and when her friends aren’t looking and drops it under the bench onto the dusty floor. You wonder if that’s why she fainted earlier. You’re not sure why the thought of that makes you angry, and a knot forms in your stomach. It makes it hard to finish your food.

When dinner is over the teachers watch the three girls closely, making sure they go back to their newly assigned cabins. All three comply which means there’s a moody Regina heading your way.

You sit on your bed and pretend not to hear the door open, and keep your eyes fixed on your phone, pretending to read or maybe scroll social media.

The giveaway is that you forgot to let out the breath you were holding.

“If you tell anyone what happened I will ruin your life.”

You just nod, not daring to look up at her until you hear her lay on her bed and roll so she’s facing the wall away from you.

Then you allow your eyes to look at the sleeping lioness, her breathing seems slow. Maybe she’s asleep.

Your eyes trace down her curves- that is dangerous territory. You look away sharply just incase somehow she knows you’re looking.

She’s probably asleep.

You reach over to your bag and try and pull out your switch as quietly as possible. Mario kart, that’ll take your mind off of Regina.

You’re on your third lap when you feel the bed move and smell that addicting, warm vanilla scent.

“What is that you’re playing, dweeb?” It’s like she can’t even ask a normal question without it being insulting.

“Mario kart? Have you never played Mario kart?” You question her, meeting her gaze which seems slightly less intense than usual. To be honest, you can’t really picture someone like Regina playing a dorky game like Mario.

You disconnect the joy cons and throw one at her. She gives you a wary, icy look and picks up one of the controllers, scooting closer while still maintaining a large gap between you both.

You’re disappointed for some reason.

She obviously picks peach, and the pinkest cart, completely ignoring its stats which makes you giggle to yourself. You play as Bowser.

The first race you explain the controls to her, she picks it up quite quickly but you have years of experience on her and win.

She pouts and sends a glare your way. You stick your tongue out.

She giggles, Regina giggles and it might be the best sound you’ve heard. You definitely want to hear more. She doesn’t seem threatening like this. How much of Regina was an act?

The second race, she loses again, you win but not by too much, she’s definitely getting better. When you look over at her, her brows are furrowed and she’s completely lost in the game now, determined to win. The way she licks her lips when she’s concentrating makes you blush, and you’re glad she doesn’t look up.

The third game is nearly neck and neck but you beat her again. She finally snaps.

“What the fuck, you gave me a shit controller! I could have beat you!” She yells.

“Not my fault you suck at Mario kart.” You quip back bravely. She also sucks at losing apparently.

Suddenly she springs up and pounces, desperately trying to grab the controller off of you, but you hold on. You nearly forget why you’re holding it, mostly you’re squeezing the controller to distract yourself from Regina’s hair tickling your face, her lips being so close, her knees either side of your thighs.

She puts up a good fight but you start to see that familiar sheen of sweat and she seems cold and clammy all of a sudden. She must notice this because she huffs out a whatever and gets up, wobbling to her bed.

You miss everything about her suddenly, that one hit of the real Regina was enough to have you addicted.

She lays again, but this time face up, trying to control her breathing. You realise she’s on the verge of passing out again.

“I have a cereal bar in my bag, I don’t want it, you’re welcome to have it.”

She huffs and looks at you.

“I’m not accepting food from anyone after that stunt Cady Heron pulled. Who knows, you might be giving me a bar of lard.” She spits, but you can tell even speaking is hard for her now.

“It was just an offer.” You reply quietly.

Once she’s steadied herself again she stands and rummage through her bag, pulling out a half empty bottle of vodka and 2 plastic cups. She pours 2 shots worth into both and fills it with a fizzy orange mixer. She hands you a cup.

“You better not get too drunk and puke and get me into trouble like Karen.” She says as she takes a sip.

You both drink in silence for a while. The alcohol makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and a little too calm in Regina’s presence.

“Why don’t I know you?” Regina suddenly breaks the silence.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re not a new student, so why don’t I know you, I don’t know what you’re about.” She leans towards you like she’s inspecting you.

“I don’t know I just stay out of the drama.” You answer truthfully.

“Huh, boring answer.” She says taking another drink. “You’re friends with Pyro Lez though, that’s not exactly staying out of it.”

You shake your head “I only started hanging with them after that whole mess. Me and Janis have a mutual interest.”

“Is it girls?”

You stutter for a moment and see a glimpse of intrigue flash across Regina’s face.

“It’s art.”

You haven’t lied. That’s what connected you and Janis in the first place, it was a lucky dodge to the question.

She’s staring at you with an unreadable expression and you decide to stand awkwardly and get your cigarettes. You need a break from Regina, this feels all too much like she’s trying to uncover your weak spot.

It’s hard to tell what’s genuine or not.

You sneak outside to your spot from last night and light the cigarette, inhaling deeply, mostly from the butterflies in your stomach, bouncing around your rib cage.

Obviously you noticed Regina at school, who didn’t? But you’ve never had this much interaction with her. You can see why people fall victim to her so easily, there’s a side to her that seems so real, Is this part of her trap? Maybe you’re just easy prey but the chase is feeling all too thrilling.

Everything about her draws you in, golden hair, soft lips, even her scent. Are her lips as soft as they look?

Before you can register, the cigarette is pulled from your lips as you see Regina take a drag and then place it back between your fingers.

You skin burns where her hand brushes yours.

Suddenly she reaches to grip your hand, steadying herself. She clearly feels faint again. She’s swaying slightly and she looks like she’s losing focus.

“You need to eat something.” You state bluntly.

“Whatever you don’t know me.” She spits back, but she’s still gripping your hand. She starts to lean a bit too much.

“Fuck, Regina. Okay we’re going back inside.” You have to half drag her back inside the cabin and prop her up on the bed.

You check the cabins mini fridge, you brought enough food to sustain you that week. You didn’t know if the camp would have vegan food so better safe than sorry. Luckily the cabin had a mini fridge, probably for drinks but you stored some meals in there to keep fresh, and there was a microwave in the small kitchen.

You grab a pot and throw it in the microwave. Hopefully Regina doesn’t mind mushrooms.

She’s still laying on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get the room to stop spinning. You feel momentarily guilty for drinking with her, you knew she hadn’t eaten, it was a bad idea.

The microwave pings and you grab a fork and take it over to Regina.

“I’m not eating that, it’s probably processed shit.” It comes out as a defeated sigh.

“I made it, just eat something please, passing out wouldn’t be a good look” This makes her think, and she picks up the fork and takes a bite. The whole time she’s glaring at you so you decide to sit on the bed and play on your switch again.

You don’t look up for a good half an hour. Worried that Regina will stop eating if you so much as move. Clearly the whole thing with Cady has made her wary of food. The thought makes you feel sick. The plastics may rule the school but the constant insecurity that seems to come with it is too big of a price to pay.

A quiet voice breaks the silence.

“Thank you.”

You smile slightly but still don’t look up from your game until you hear shuffling and Regina is holding your sketchbook before you have time to snatch it back.

Your heart is in your throat, you’re not sure why her possible criticism of your sketch bothers you so much.

“This is beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, you idiot why don’t you see it, you think, but don’t say it out loud.

She tears the page from your book. Great, Back to cruel Regina, tearing up anything she doesn’t see as worthy.

What you don’t expect is her folding and placing the sketch under her pillow.

“I’m tired now.” She yawns and climbs into bed, flicking the lamp next to her off.

You’re left in the dark, confused, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps across your lips.

#regina george fanfic #regina george x you #regina george #regina george x reader #mean girls fanfic #mean girls 2024 #mean girls #wlw #renee rapp

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erwinsvow · 27 days

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YOU LOOK SO SWEET — RC.

“i can’t believe you made out with sarah’s brother,” your friend comments. you choke on your water.

it had been an hour or so since your friends had dragged you out of the bar, bringing you home with them for the pre-planned sleepover that you had been ready to ditch for rafe. in that time you and your friends had taken off your makeup and changed into pajamas, munching on pizza on the floor of your bedroom while discussing the night’s events like you always did. you wipe your mouth, looking up at them incredulously.

“what?”

“you didn’t know that was rafe cameron? shut up.”

“he’s a psycho, that’s what she always says-”

“he was really nice to me,” you defend, not liking the way your friends sound right now. the rest of the night goes like that—you trying to counter and justify everything rafe did for you last night with your friends telling you it’s a good thing they dragged you away.

they fall asleep shortly after, but you lie awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering what time your friends will leave in the morning. you’re making plans to go to tannyhill.

normally breakfast the morning after going out is a sacred ritual between you and your friends, which is why they’re extra surprised when you usher them out without any real reason. you hurry back to the kitchen after their car drives away, getting everything ready to make cookies and wondering which kind rafe likes best.

rafe sees it from inside tannyhill—the white bike with the wicker basket pulling up the driveway, the tiny figure dressed in pink parking it next to his truck. you climb off your bike and even from up here he can appreciate how short your dress is, how you almost gave the gardeners a show. he's gotta teach you to be more careful.

you reach into the basket to pull out a matching pink container, walking up to the front door. he’s down the stairs and opening the door before you’ve even had a chance to ring the doorbell.

you beam at rafe, hoping he remembers you and wasn’t drunk during that entire encounter. you smile brightly, offering the pink box of cookies to him.

“sorry to just drop by like this. i made cookies for you. um, to say thank you.”

“yeah, kid? that’s real cute.”

“oh. thank you.” he looks down at you, leaning against the door frame.

your chest is heaving, material of your tight dress moving up and down while you keep your gaze fixed on him, eyes big and blinking fast. you don’t even realize how you look right now, trusting and innocent and staring up at rafe like you’d do whatever he asked. if you looked like prey yesterday night, you’re the definition of an offering today, walking straight into the predator’s den.

“i didn’t know what kind you liked, so i made a whole bunch.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” you stare back at rafe for another few seconds, then tear your eyes away. you think he wants you to go, and as much as you like him, as much as you feel a little brainless around him, you’re not stupid—you can tell when you’re not wanted. “well, i should go. thanks again for last night.”

“stop thankin’ me. it was nothin’.” rafe steps out of the house, just a foot from you on the porch now. his hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you nearly jump at the touch. “come inside. can’t eat all these myself.”

your pretty smile comes rushing back, following him inside just like you had followed him to the dance floor yesterday, looking around at the walls of tannyhill. you’d been once before, years ago for a party for sarah’s birthday that the entire class had been invited to, but you hadn’t admired it then. nor did you realize what other treasures laid inside.

“want milk?” rafe questions, opening up the fridge while you rest your hands on the marble island in the kitchen. you nod your head, still looking around and taking in the new environment. rafe comes back to you with the jug of milk and two glasses, pouring you a cup first.

“how was the rest of your night?” you ask tentatively, breaking an oatmeal raisin cookie in half and offering rafe the other piece. he accepts it with a grin. you’re nervous—scared of the answer, wondering if another girl took your place after you left.

“boring. i left after you did.” he bites into the cookie, and then takes a sip of milk. if he thought you were beaming earlier, you’re radiant now—looking up at him like he’s hung the moon for you. your laugh—and even that’s pretty—fills the room.

“that’s not how you’re supposed to do it, rafe,” you giggle, dipping your own cookie into the milk first to demonstrate. “see?”

it’s quick. rafe takes your wrist into his hand, guiding it up to your mouth, making you take a bite. he doesn’t let go while he speaks, either.

“now it’s soggy. see?” you nod, watching where he’s touching you with big eyes. if you’re this reactive to a little skin contact, he’s dying to see what you’ll be like naked in his bed. he reminds himself to be patient.

“i didn’t realize i was doing it wrong,” you comment, picking up another cookie, this time snickerdoodle, to break in half. he’s half surprised at your compliance, half wondering what else he could convince you of with a little manhandling and kissing.

“don’t worry, kid. i’ll teach you right and wrong.”

#part 2 to down on me!#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #yes rafe eats cookies like that. monster!

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wreckedandpolemic · 1 month

Text

white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life.

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan.

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back.

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess. Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips.

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.�� At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly.

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly.

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides.

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour.

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

#the instalove is instaloving STRONG here loool #why is this longer than my Actual Novel that im writing so far #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #writing #smut #white and gold

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helluvapoison · 1 month

Note

4. Trying to hide your injury from them, but failing miserably once you faint right in front of them, "5. Where does it hurt the most?" with Lucifer and reader

Injured Prompt

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Did you know when you roll your ankle you’re not supposed to walk on it? You might’ve known that if the Pride Ring’s hospital ever answered the fucking phone!

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

If your boyfriend Lucifer wasn’t out and about today, making up for some odd months of meetings, he could’ve teleported you there in no time. Then again, if he was here he might summon Belphegor themself. Not wanting to bother anyone, you told yourself it would be fine. Besides with Hell’s “no checking out early” healing abilities, it would right itself on its own by tomorrow! That continued to be your mantra but as the day got away from you it became harder to ignore that stabbing pain in your foot.

It certainly didn’t help that you’d overexerted yourself by helping Charlie move things up and down the hall because Nifty had clogged the pipes (again) which resulted in minor flooding damage. The whole time it felt like Vaggie’s suspicious stare saw right through your poorly worn mask. Charlie asked no less than 22 times if you were ok to which you waved off her concerns. It took a few hours but the furniture was moved out of the room, leaving only a mushy carpet to deal with. Neither Kiki nor Alastor could be found and since Lucifer wasn’t there to snap the problem away, the princess attempted herself. However her powers were still a bit… undisciplined. The best she could do to try and evaporate the water had actually set the carpet on fire.

Vaggie rested her hand on Charlie’s shoulder with a soft smile, “It might be time for a break, babe. Don’t want you to overdo it.” She pointedly shot that part at you.

With a sigh the blonde conceded and allowed Vaggie to usher her out.

Simultaneously grateful but cursing the downtime, you waited a minute before leaving yourself. Now that you've slowed to a stop your ankle throbbed with vengeance. Peeling your sock back to take a peek, you gasped. Your foot was definitely not purple this morning! Shit shit shit, it was definitely time for a break!

You limped to the elevator, using the wall for support when Lucifer rounded the corner. Like the wall had tried to bite you, you yanked your hand from it and forced both feet flat on the ground. You grimaced, poorly trying to conceal it with a smile.

“Duckie!” You greeted through a wheeze. Has breathing been this hard all day?

With much more enthusiasm in his voice, he sang your name and rushed over. Lucifer lifted you off the ground to spin with you in his arms, unknowingly providing momentary relief. His laugh and smile were infectious. Just a second with him had swept you into the world you shared and washed away your troubles. Unfortunately they returned once he set you down and despite how gently he did, you hissed when you touched the floor again.

“What was that?” He asked with a tilted head, holding onto your waist.

“Oh, uh, I’m practicing my Sir Pentious impression!”

You’re unsure why you lied. Maybe a part of you wanted to pretend for a little longer. You think back to the time you got a paper cut and he forced you into bed rest for three days. Once he found out about your ankle nearly snapping in half, you would, inadvertently, send him spiraling into his mother duck state of mind! And the poor man never seemed to catch a break! You didn’t want to stress him out over something that would heal.

He seemed to believe your fib.

At least someone did because it was getting harder to convince yourself.

“It’s good, it’s good!” Lucifer nodded thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes. You instantly knew he was trying to recall just who the serpent fellow was. “Anywho, I ran into Charlie just now. Heard this place almost fell apart without me, huh?”

He nudged your arm with his elbow, prompting you to laugh instead of focusing on the pain. You forced the sound out a bit too much to try and make leaning against the wall look natural. It didn’t. You almost collapsed against the surface, sliding down as your leg began to give. Lucifer slipped his hands under your arms, doing the majority work of holding you up. Your head began nodding off and you realized you were face to face with him. Not a good sign considering your height difference. He was wearing his nervous grin that you knew all too well he only put on before he started panicking internally.

“Darling, is this part of the Sir Pina Colada impression? Starting to, uh, worry over here.”

“Nothing, nothing. I think… I just… nee..”

The last thing you see is Lucifer’s smile dropping entirely, pupils shrinking to worry-filled slits.

Then black.

There’s a moment while waking up where it’s pure bliss. You’re not you; you’re not anyone. You barely exist— and then you do. The worries, memories, pain; it all comes rushing up on you like a train and hits you just as hard. You scrunch your nose and pull your eyebrows together as you attempt to sit up. Silk under your palms have you acutely aware that you’re not in your bed, but Lucifer’s. And you know what they say about speaking of the devil.

“Oh no! Nonononono, I don’t think so,” He sings, gently pushing your shoulders back until you’re flat against the plushy pillows, “You’ve got some explaining to do. ”

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” You groan, “I thought I had it under control! I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Au contraire, darling, I want to worry about you! Just maybe not that much next time, alright? I think I had a heart attack! If that’s what those feel like… Ech.” Lucifer was wracked by a shiver, shaking off the final wave with his head.

You let out a breathy laugh.

The man smiled at the sound and honed his full attention on you, forcing a serious, but soft, tone, “Now! Doctor Morningstar is here to help, so tell me, where does it hurt most? ”

“My ankle.”

You recoiled when he attempted to peel away your sock. He muttered an apology, studying your foot rather unfazed. As interesting as it was to watch him get truly somber about something, you couldn’t appreciate it right now. The fire spreading from your ankle stole all your senses and he wasn’t even touching it anymore.

“It wasn’t all purple-y yesterday right? We might have to amputate.”

“Lucifer.” You growled through grit teeth.

He chuckled. “Sorry. That one killed when Charlie was younger. Ok, ok! Pain management first, jokes later.”

There was a heavy knock on the door that made both of you turn your heads. Your eyes narrowed while a bright grin spread across his porcelain face.

“Are you expecting someone?” You asked suspiciously.

“Belphegor, of course!”

Of course.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #injured reader #poiboiwrites

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teabutmakeitazure · 9 months

Text

Dissimulation

>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (Modern au)

>Word Count: 11.6k words (slow burn)

>a/n: my offering for best boy's birthday

Warnings: coercion, Childe doesn’t know how to flirt, blood is finger licking good, panic attack

An unwelcome customer turned into an unwelcome acquaintance has been terrorising your life starting from your minimum wage job. Perhaps your flight back home is your only way out.

Continuation

Patience is a sign of virtue. Or at least that’s what your mother taught you when you were growing up. No, it’s all just some elaborate scheme for the notorious members of society to make others more docile and submissive to them.

Regardless, you don’t say anything, tired already as it is and just wait for the month to be over so that you can get your pay and go back home.

Even if he seems to like you, you would rather not push your luck. Despite only being in this city as a student, you’ve picked up that it’s best not to engage with the local mafia members, even if they seem friendly. Just keep your head down and return the greeting if given one. If one of them comes to your shop, treat them as a regular patron, and if a fight breaks out somewhere with one of them, do not take sides. Simply leave as quietly as you can.

Unfortunately, you have no such choice or opportunity to keep contact to a minimum. That is why you opted to bide your time and sneak out as quickly as you can and never opt for minimum wage jobs again. Maybe you could get a paid internship next time. You’ll probably meet the course requirements.

The dreaded convenience store you are currently walking to is situated a ten minute walk away from your campus dorms. Having to stay there and beep items all day was its own form of punishment as it was, but with the crowd that had recently started to come in these last few months, it started to seem more like a form of purgatory.

You still remember the lecture your friend had given you on how to act normal around the mafia community. The fact that they recently got active in this neighbourhood is simply an added bonus. Honestly, you’ve been counting the days when your incarceration will end with your flight. You just want to go home and hug your cats first, family members second.

The bell chimes as you walk inside, and you sigh when you see the mess of ginger hair and a dangling red earring already waiting for you. At least this time his back is turned while he scrolls his phone even if he is sitting near the register.

About that, where’s the manager? He should be at the register right now since your shift just started.

“You’re late,” the dreaded man scrolling his phone points out, eyes not leaving the phone screen.

Keeping your friend’s advice in mind, you decide to reply before twisting the knob to the employee room. “Sorry. I was doing laundry.” A lie but you aren’t going to tell him that you got distracted watching cat videos.

No greetings were exchanged and he didn’t even look up at you. Strange, but it’s best to only reply when talked to. Getting too friendly might backfire.

Still, you decide to say something just for good measure.

“Is the manager in today?” you ask, eyes on him while your hand remains on the knob.

All you receive in response is a shrug.

Thus, you enter the employee room, and there you have it! Mister manager sits on the desk in all his white polo shirt glory.

The door hinges squeak loudly behind you when you close the door. Stepping to the desk, his head slowly rises to look at you when you greet him, but he doesn’t respond. After you’ve slipped on the employee uniform jacket and pinned your nametag, he speaks.

“I may have made a mistake.”

That causes you to frown. “What happened?”

“The guy outside… I… I didn’t realise he’s a high ranking member. I may have asked him to leave because he’s been here for half an hour already and… well…”

“Well, what?”

He shakes his head. “Well, he sort of jokingly said that the building belongs to his division and that the store could close if he wanted it to.”

“...”

“Look. I know you’re a student, so I promise I’ll pay you somehow, but please! He listens to you, right? Try to appease him!”

You groan. “I’m sure he meant it as a joke.”

“Please!”

“Alright alright. I’ll… try.”

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re going to do. He’s a higher ranking member, you know that much, but why he even bothers to be so friendly and chatty with you is out of your scope of understanding. At least now those tough looking ones that drop by in the evening don’t test your patience anymore.

Cautiously, you open the employees room door and head back outside. There’s still no one in the store, but you know that afternoon rush hour is about to start. With you on the register seat, the dreaded man who will stay with you on another shift turns his body to face you, phone immediately slipping into his pocket.

“So,” he drawls, “was the manager inside?”

You put your phone on the little shelf underneath the cash drawer. “Yes. He was inside.”

“Was he mad?”

“Um no.” You look at him questioningly, brow raising when he just smiles. “Should he be?”

“Who knows?”

“Right…”

Silence ensues and you briefly ask yourself why he’s less chatty today. You can’t believe that it’s concerning you. Sure, he’s a very dangerous person if he’s so young and in the mafia of all things, but dangerous people are downright terrifying if pissed. At least you’re not the one at fault. Besides, three more weeks and it will be time for your flight.

You just hope you make it.

“Something on your mind?”

He’s looking at you now, cheek resting in his palm. He’s even gotten closer, next to you to be precise. You don’t think you heard him get closer.

Nervously, you give a little laugh. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Dull blue eyes bore into yours, gently forcing you to answer truthfully. The lack of vitality in them unnerves you but that is precisely what compels you to answer.

“Well… the manager said that you might get the store to close…”

“That? I didn’t think he’d tell you. Anyway, I was messing around,” he smiles. “You’re a student, so it would be unfair to you to suffer in consequence to him.”

The statement doesn’t make you feel any better. “Ah, you’re too kind sir Tartaglia.”

Like before, the way you addressed him makes him frown. “Just call me Childe. Tartaglia is only for my men. Though… if you would prefer…” he leans in, hand that was previously holding his face now gripping the edge of the table as he whispers dangerously close to your ear, “I’d gladly tell you my birth name.”

He backed away again, a smile on his face. “And I know you wouldn’t tell anyone haha.”

How do you even reply to that?

Scratch that, should you even reply to that?

He’s looking at you again, that smile that doesn’t reach his eyes gracing his lips and impatience oozing from his face. You sense that he’s waiting for an answer so you try your best to comply.

“Understood... Childe.”

The name feels foreign on your tongue, and you blame the unfamiliarity on the nervousness that comes with being near him. Thankfully your answer seemed to appease him and he happily nodded.

Okay, one problem solved. You’ll get your minimum wage salary. Another problem. You’ll have to endure the awkwardness because you don’t have it in you to call him out.

As if on cue, your employer exits the employee room and heads for the exit without even looking at you. The fast walking didn’t make his exit any graceful, but it did make it seem important with how Childe eyed his movements.

Silence settles again as you blankly stare at the empty store in front of you. Regrettably, you’re a little worried about what might happen when you’ll be back after summer vacation. You never told him that you’re leaving for home and the white polo dunce of a manager has been sworn to secrecy about it after he flat out told Childe which institution you study at right in front of you.

Protecting your personal details is your job, so you’ve taken it into your own hands. It isn’t wise to tell a mafia member who obviously pines to be more than just acquaintances about your personal life and details. Thus, you will slip away to home on a weekend flight.

What happens after you’re back is something you didn’t consider.

Well, almost two months would have passed by then. Surely he wouldn’t care anymore… right?

You hope he doesn’t. Perhaps it would be best to avoid this neighbourhood. Maybe even look into school transfers to be safe.

“Something’s on your mind again.”

His voice cuts through the air like a dart and lodges into your head. Is it so wrong to simply want some peace? No wait. Peace is bad. If he's quiet then that’s bad. You’ll have to humour him.

Thus, you take a deep breath. Act normal, you tell yourself. You aren’t the criminal here. You’re a humble student trying to earn some money. Relax.

“Well,” you drawl, “I’m just spacing out.”

You don’t even look at him, eyes still fixed on the empty store.

“You must be thinking about something.”

Grumbling, you internally curse your luck. Patience is running out and you don’t know how long you can remain civil with him breathing down your neck like this. Maybe he had a bad day and that’s why he’s more inquisitive than chatty.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “I’m not thinking about anything. Just waiting for rush hour to start so that my shift can go by quickly and I can go home and sleep.”

“Hm.” He’s closer now, and you can see him in the corner of your eye. “So you’re tired of this job?”

“Tired of the people that come here actually. Most of them are so shady it’s unreal.” Now that that’s said, you hope he doesn’t realise that the jab is actually at him.

“I realise that. I saw what kind of crooks used to come here. They mostly thought they could intimidate the people working here, but all that’s in the past now.”

Well, you do owe him the credit of straightening them out. If it wasn’t for Childe, you’d still have to endure taunts from those weirdos about how they can take anything from the store and you can’t do anything about it. Regardless, you can’t be certain whether his presence is actually good or bad.

“Anyway,” he’s behind you now, hands suddenly on your shoulders, “you’re not from here, right? Any plans to visit home for the summer?”

Well… shit.

How do you go about this…

You never told him that you’re not from this city, so that can only mean that white shirt dunce did. Great.

“I’m not sure,” you reply. Would it be wise to ask him how much he knows? Childe does seem to be friendly in all the weeks you’ve known him. Ah. You’ll take that chance. Slowly turning around in your chair, his hands remove themselves from your shoulders when you face him. “Did my manager tell you anything?”

Now you’re looking into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem affected at all.

“I asked him about it. He told me that you might go home for the summer if you can afford the ticket.”

Okay so maybe the manager saved you a little there, but you still need to answer him. So, you settle with going with what he said.

Nodding, you look at Childe standing in front of you again. “I'm planning to decide by the end of this month. If I do go home, I'll put in a one week notice. Hopefully it isn't a problem."

He smiles. "Don't worry. It won't be."

You can't tell if he's comforting you or making notes to assist you. Either way, he doesn't know about your flight. Figuring out how to get him off your back when you come back for the next semester will be for when you're home.

"Anyway," Childe says, breaking the silence, "are you doing anything after your shift?"

Where did that come from?

Tilting your head a little, you act innocent in hopes he gets the hint. "Depends on what I'm asked. I do have some pending work. Why? Do you need me for something?"

"No. Just asking. What about tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure about tomorrow yet…"

Childe chuckles. "Then how about you make a reservation for the evening, with me?"

"W-why?"

"I just wanted to take you out for dinner. Is that alright?"

Did… did you just get asked out on a date?

Seeing your confusion, Childe chuckles again. “I promise I’m not going to kidnap you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll just take you out, treat you to dinner, and drop you home. No shady stuff.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, tongue teasingly peeking out.

You suppose there’s no way out of this, but still try nonetheless. “What if something important comes up? Would it be okay to… cancel…?”

His hands go back to his hips. “Important? What could be more important?”

“Um, my summer courses? I still get assignments for those…” You hope that doesn’t offend him, but judging from his face he looks more confused than angry.

Childe clicks his tongue, a scolding look on his face. “You can’t get an assignment with a same day submission date, so that’s out of the question. But hearing your response, it’s alright if you’d rather not go.” He sits back down, arms crossed. “I would prefer it if you'd be honest with me. Prevaricating with lies is more than just annoying, you know.”

In the silence of the store, you can feel your heart beating loudly in your ears, the thump a scolding sound for your stupidity. If he’s angry with you, who knows what could happen. “No! Not at all. That’s not what I meant.” Your patience is still being tested but at this very moment you’re more fearful. “I’m just worried because those courses are counted in my cumulative GPA, and I can’t afford to let it drop!”

“So you’re only worried about your grades?”

“Yes!”

“And you’re not opposed to getting dinner with me?”

“Yes! Wait…”

He smiles. “Go on~”

You narrow your eyes at him, fear all gone and annoyance taking its place. “I sense I’ve made a mistake here.”

The teasing smile turns into an encouraging one and with a sigh, you surrender. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

He gives a little celebratory ‘yes’ but you cut him short. “But I need to be back home by ten max.”

“Wait… your shift ends at seven…”

You cross your arms, finally getting back at him. “And what about it?” Seriously. Was he planning to hog your entire evening?

“That’s way too short!”

“I have a curfew placed on me by my mother back home. If I phone her any later than ten pm local time, she loses it. I would rather not be screamed at.”

“Alright. That’s fair.”

Now that that’s done, you still can’t believe you just agreed to a date with him.

However, Childe looks more than just ecstatic. He’s practically jumping in his seat, leg bouncing up and down and a wide smile on his face. When you raise a brow at that, he just smiles at you, practically oozing happiness.

He stays the same way, quiet and happy and fidgety as customers start to come in. As usual, he doesn’t say anything while you’re ringing them up and just stares. It’s when the rush dies down a little and only one guy is in the store that he speaks.

“Don’t you ever get tired of working so hard?”

You look at him from the corner of your eye. With his face in his palm, he’s staring directly at you. “I’m beeping items with a barcode scanner. I don’t see why it’s hard.”

“It is actually,” Childe says, firm in his statement. “I think you’re just used to the extra work so you don’t find it bothersome.”

“Maybe,” you shrug.

“Hm. You deserve better. Perhaps… someone who would take care of you, no questions asked. Someone… who would treat you as you deserve, cherish you, and make you happy.”

The way he speaks makes you uncomfortable, but you don’t let it show. Patience, you remind yourself. A few more weeks and you’ll be gone.

“There’s no need for others to look at you like this.” He sighs, “I hope that changes soon.”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, so you’re grateful the guy who was browsing the drinks for the last five minutes finally came to the counter. You busy yourself with billing him, but Childe just… stares. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second.

Now, the regret of agreeing to dinner seeps in.

The customer leaves, and as soon as the door closes, you hear a phone buzzing. Before you even look at your phone, Childe has already pulled his out of his pocket and answers. He doesn’t give a response to whatever was said on the other side, brows furrowing as he cuts the call.

The chairlegs drag against the floor when he stands. “Sorry but I have to go.”

You don’t dare question the oddity despite your surprise to him leaving before your shift ends. “Alright.”

“I’ll pick you up outside your dorm. Is that okay?”

“Okay but what time-”

“I have your number. I’ll text you, don’t worry.”

With that, he’s out, leaving you confused inside the store. Considering the lack of smile and the fact that this is the first time he left before seven pm, it must have been something work related.

You just hope nothing advances after the dinner tomorrow.

He really does have your number. You don’t remember ever giving it to him, so you don’t dare question how he got his hands on it. At exactly 8: 06 pm he texted you that he would pick you up at 7: 30 pm outside your dorm tomorrow. That means that you would have around ten minutes to get ready.

Ten minutes are too much. You’re only going to change, maybe put on some lip gloss if you look too dead. No makeup and no accessories that could possibly make you look more attractive. Simple and plain is the goal.

Speaking of dinner, you’re going to have dinner with a mafioso. Perhaps you really should look into school transfers during the summer.

This sort of vicissitude was not welcome in the slightest, but you’ll have to work around it. If nothing else, you’re thankful that Childe is respectful of most basic boundaries and hasn’t attempted anything yet. Maybe if he wasn’t working where he was, you would’ve given him the time of day.

At 8: 19 pm, he texts you again. ‘Make sure to dress well :) I’d like to see you in a dress if you have any.’

Dress? Does he mean a fancy one? You send back a message asking for clarification, but he only replies with, ‘Anything casual and cute would work.’

Casual and cute… is he really bluntly asking you that?

7: 17 pm. You kick off your shoes and head inside, dashing straight to the bathroom to wash your face. You’re less tired than usual because of Childe’s absence at the store today, something that made the manager anxious, but you didn’t dare tell him about the date.

7: 23 pm. You change into the baby blue Gingham maxi dress you bought a week before finals. It flows just fine, and you grace the look only with pearl studs. Wallet and phone are shoved into the pockets of the dress, and to not look soulless, you apply some lip gloss. The gloss is also stuffed into your pocket in case you want to reapply it later, which you would rather not but you never know.

7: 28 pm. You set your hair again and slip on your sandals. One last look in the mirror and you give yourself a thumbs up. The look is something you would wear to a casual hangout with friends. Doesn’t look very try-hard or date-like. Perfect.

7: 30 pm. You open the door and head out. Pushing the elevator button, you check your phone for any messages while the elevator reaches your floor. Sudden nervousness makes you a little nauseous, but you breathe in slowly, telling yourself it’s no big deal.

The elevator door opens and as you step in, you collide with a very firm body. One look to the face of this body, and you’re frozen.

“Going somewhere?”

You nervously chuckle. “Childe. What’re you doing here?”

He ushers you both inside the elevator, pushing the ground floor button. “I’m here to pick you up? Did you forget about dinner?”

“Ah, no… it’s just… they don’t allow outsiders without a resident escorting them. I was going to wait in the lobby.”

“Really? The watchman let me in pretty easily.”

You don’t even want to know what that means.

“Anyway,” Childe says, voice louder than the gentle elevator music, “you look lovely.”

You glance at his maroon button down and roman silver dress pants, eyes resting on his earring. “Thanks. You look… fine as well.”

“Fine? I only look fine?” He’s leaning towards you now, and the elevator suddenly feels too small. Before you can be pressured into a reply, the doors open and you hastily step out into the lobby.

A chuckle comes from behind you, and soon you’re following him outside to a black car parked a little farther from the dorm entrance. With every step you take, you pray that no one left in your building for the summer catches you.

The car is unlocked with a beep, and though you’re a borderline broke student with no knowledge of expensive things because you can’t afford them so why bother, you can tell that the car is expensive. Or maybe it’s just polished to perfection, but it looks expensive.

Regardless, this is the hard part. Do you sit in the front seat or the back seat? The back seat would be rude but the front seat would be too straightforward. The front seat is too intimate and close but the back seat is too alienating. Shit. What do you do?

You leave your choice to luck and close your eyes, reaching for a door handle. Whichever you grab will be where you sit. Upon grabbing one, you open the door just to hear another one open as well. You open your eyes and a car speeds by at the same time.

Childe stands next to the open front seat door, a brow raised as he looks at you incredulously. You look at him, then to the door you just opened, then to him again. The door you opened is graced with your gaze once again before it’s Childe’s turn.

It’s silent, awkward, and you can’t shake the feeling that you messed up before the date even started.

“Would you… prefer the back seat?”

You blink at him, courage all gone when you reply. “Ah, no! It’s not that. I-I just wasn’t thinking. Sorry…”

Childe’s brow is still raised. “Okay. I’m not your driver. I’m your date. So, I’d like it if you sat in the front.”

Shit. Everything has gone to shit. You agreed to the dinner just to appease him and leave things on a good note instead of a sour one, yet you’ve already made things bad. Great job, [Name]. Aren’t you just wonderful?

Awkwardly, you close the door you opened and get in, allowing Childe to shut the door next to you before slipping into the driver’s seat. He starts the car, puts on his seatbelt, cracks his fingers, and folds his sleeves to the elbow before exiting the parking and going onto the road.

Your seatbelt feels uncomfortable in the heavy silence. Thoughts of what Childe might do if displeased swirl inside your mind but you frankly don’t know what. He seems to like you. He has never mistreated you besides being creepy a few times. Perhaps he’d forgive you. He always says your airheadedness is cute.

The pounding heart inside your chest gets more aggressive when Childe clears his throat, lips parting to give you another mini heart attack. “Aren’t you going to ask where we’re going?”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a secret.”

The pounding heart quiets down a little, confusion kicking away some of the anxiety. “Then it’s good I didn’t ask out of my own accord.”

A secret? What does he mean by that? Scratch that, is the location being a secret a good thing or a bad thing? Should you text your live location to someone? But all your friends are gone for the summer. That one girl you’re acquainted with on one of the upper floors might help if you disappear. At the very least, your jokes in the conversations you’ve had might at least let her sympathise enough to report your status to the police.

“Are you scared?”

Childe’s question makes you look at him, your heart going back to pounding crazily upon seeing his smile. “S-should I be?”

“No. You should never be scared when you’re with me.” His eyes are still on the road. “I realise you have a negative impression of me, but there’s no reason for you to be scared. Well, not you but others should be, but that’s besides the point.”

“Ah. I see.” No. You don’t see, but just go along.

“Mhm. That dress looks amazing on you.”

He takes a right turn at the green traffic light, and you briefly glance at his flexing arms as the steering wheel turns. “Thanks,” you reply. “The dress has pockets.”

As a demonstration, you pull out your phone and show it to him. Childe chuckles at that, calling it cute and you find your heartbeat growing tamer. The phone is shoved back inside and pleasant conversation fills the car on the way.

Childe asks about how university is, how your finals went, and how you’ve come to find the city. You answer the last question truthfully, hands fidgeting as you tell him about your reservations with the ‘law and order’ situation and how you’ve been begged to steer clear of the mafia. The statement is followed by a joke of you doing a horrible job at that, and Childe laughs, saying that you don’t have to be afraid of anyone in the city anymore.

The comforting sentence doesn’t comfort you at all.

The car stops in front of a restaurant and Childe opens the door to allow you to step out. Keys are given for valet parking, and Childe takes your hand as he leads you inside. Thankfully, it’s not as fancy as you thought. It’s not even as expensive, the kind of restaurant where you could arrange a fancy friend get-together.

The not so high end restaurant doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but sitting across Childe does. He apparently made a reservation for the rooftop, so here you are, wind gently blowing in your hair as he unbuttons another button of his shirt.

“Do you like it?” He’s looking at you now, eyes briefly going to your phone when you place it on the table.

“It’s… nice.”

“I didn’t choose somewhere any fancier because I figured you might get uncomfortable. Next time though.”

Next time? Good God what is he planning?

Your face may have given it away because he's tilting his head at you, earring dangling in tandem as he acts coy. "Is something wrong? Do you not like the idea?"

"N-no. That's not it…"

"Hm?"

You gulp. "Ah it was just a little sudden. That's all."

"I'm glad." He's back to smiling now, face resting on his palm. "I'll make sure to treat you like how you should be next time."

Again, next time? Not happening.

Childe grabs the menu, requesting that you let him order for you both. He says something about the taste of home and this restaurant being the only one able to recreate that, but you don't bother. You simply brush him off, telling him he can go ahead.

It's when a few minutes have passed since ordering that he speaks again. Luckily, the clanking of plates and chatter helps tone down your nervousness.

"I come here whenever I miss home. This restaurant actually originated from my homeland, so I thought I'd bring you here. It's not high end as well, so that's an added bonus."

You nod. "Interesting."

Elbow on the table, he rests his chin on the back of his hand, blue eyes studying you carefully. The observant gaze makes you feel small, and you end up clearing your throat when his gaze drops to your collarbone.

You look him in the eye as you speak. "It's a little awkward, isn't it?"

He tilts his head like earlier again. "What is?"

"The silence."

"Ah. Sorry. I just couldn't help myself. You look stunning."

Unlike the previous times, the compliment makes your cheeks heat up. It's probably because this time he's looking right at you with the faint hint of red on his cheekbones. Seriously. He's so human. You wonder how he ended up being in the mafia.

Childe doesn't allow silence to settle again, chatting away about his homeland and how he misses the snow. He says it's easier to go outside in this city's climate, but the memories and people back home make living there worth it. During his rambling, you simply nod along, only adding in a comment wherever you deem necessary.

Patience, you tell yourself. This'll pass. At least you're fortunate in the sense that Childe is accommodating and nice.

He continues rambling, telling you about his younger siblings. Fulgent expression and energetic voice, you lean forward to give him your attention, content that he's making good conversation. As you listen to him, your fingers start fidgeting with the cutlery set in front of you.

Your eyes remain on him as he recounts a story where his youngest brother Teucer refused to acknowledge his sister Tonia after she got a haircut. Hearing about the young child's inability to recognise his sister makes you chuckle which in turn makes Childe pause to look at you with widened eyes.

A smile stretches on his lips, and you trace the edges of the knife when he resumes.

"Mama was pretty concerned about that. It took Teucer a few days to accept that his sister looks different now. Ah. I miss them. They're a lively bunch and I miss being with them."

Your thumb runs up and down the edge of the knife while it's clutched in your hand, face resting in the palm of your free hand. "You can visit them if you miss them that much."

Childe gently shakes his head, hair swaying with the movement. "It's not possible at the moment." At your confused expression, he clarifies, "I can't tell you why. It's confidential information."

"That's fair."

"But I am glad I still get to be here. I got to meet you, after all."

"Oh. That's… nice."

"Mhm." He's leaning towards you as well now, both arms resting on the table. "Any development in your plan to visit home? You should go. If you're having any problems with the plane ticket or something then-"

"Ouch!"

The knife drops from your hand, clattering dully on the table. Blood oozes from the pad of your thumb as your hands shake from the startle. It doesn't take Childe even a second to be on his guard.

"You cut your thumb?" He gets up, drags his chair beside you and sits, knees brushing against yours. "You were fidgeting with the knife… well, no matter."

Instead of grabbing a tissue, he takes a hold of your hand and stares at the bleeding cut. More blood oozes out of it the longer he stares and one drop even reaches your palm. However, that isn't what's bothering you. It's the fact that he just licked that blood trail.

He licked it. And now he's sucking on where the cut should be.

The feeling of his tongue is what brings you back to your senses, confusion and panic overtaking your senses and overwhelming you. Pulling your hand away does nothing because his grip is too strong. Goodness, at least the few tables around you are empty and no one else seems to be looking.

"Childe."

He doesn't let go, pressing your thumb down against his tongue instead.

"Childe. Let go-"

A trail of saliva joins your thumb and his mouth. The two of you make eye contact and you notice a slight blush on his face. Childe then manoeuvres your hand, his lips on your palm as he tenderly kisses the skin messily.

The action gives you goosebumps but you remain quiet, still confused about what's going on. It's when he finally lets go and presses a tissue to the cut that he speaks.

"Be careful."

You remain frozen, hand in his while the tissue remains pressed over your thumb. You can no longer hear the faint background chatter or feel the gentle breeze in your hair. In your senses are dull blue eyes, freckles dusted across cheekbones and nose, and warm breath fanning over your ear when he leans in.

Childe's voice is a whisper, the edges of his hair tickling your cheek as the chair quietly croaks. "You shouldn't be playing with dangerous things."

He leans back again. With a smile, Childe gets up, drags his chair back to where it was, and seats himself. The air surrounding you both is casual, light, like something completely out of the blue didn't occur. This gives you the hint that it's best to not talk about it.

Elbows on the table, both his palms hold his face as he looks at you with a smile. The skin under his eyes crinkles slightly, freckled cheeks squished, and long auburn eyelashes framing the deep blues. You sit there puzzled and feeling slightly violated while Childe continues staring.

It's honestly a little funny.

Right when you concluded that Childe was nice, he does something completely uncalled for. You remove the tissue that was pressed to your thumb, pleased to see that your blood cells have done their job and the platelets coagulated. It'll probably turn into a scab by the time you get home.

Dammit, now you're nervous all over again. Curse you mass of neurons floating in cerebral fluid! Be useful! Sure, he just sucked on your thumb, but keep it together.

When you look at him again, he's still staring. With a sigh, you ask him about his job, what kind of work he does, but Childe only shakes his head, refusing to answer.

His excuse smoothly exits via soft, pink lips. You didn't know you were looking at them until you heard him speak.

"I don't think you'd enjoy hearing about my job. Plus, it's all confidential."

You will yourself to look back into his eyes no matter how difficult eye contact may seem. "Shady? Is that what you're implying?"

"Hm." He hums. "Let's just leave it at that."

So he admits it? Great. You can't wait for the evening to be over. The bag of chips sitting at home sounds very comforting and appetising right now.

When he continues talking again, you start fidgeting with the edges of your sleeves under the table. You need a distraction. Using your phone would be rude, so you figure abusing the fabric of your sleeves is a better option. It takes a little while for your food to be here, but when it is, you compliment his order and ask him about his choice.

The question serves to keep the conversation easy and light while allowing you to only answer, not speak. This in turn allows nothing uncomfortable to occur during dinner. It’s thankfully uneventful until it's time to pay.

You had no qualms about paying for yourself, but being Childe, he told you he’d take care of it. You had no problem with that either. What you did have a problem with was what he said.

“Let me treat my girl.”

My girl. That’s what he called you. If that’s not a red flag, you don’t know what is. Despite that, you suck it in and let him take you home. Patience. You’ll leave soon and never show your face in his active districts again. Maybe you’ll even transfer schools if you’re lucky.

You’re really hoping you can transfer. He might come find you himself after you come back from summer break. Even with all those troublesome thoughts in mind, you act as casual as you could while sitting in his car as he drives you home. Conversation was nice, the thumb incident was borderline violating, but the meal was tasty.

The car stops near your dorm’s entrance, but before you could make any move to exit the car - hand hovering over the handle - Childe locks the doors. You turn to look at him but he’s already looking at you.

“I need to ask you something,” he says, voice unsure and eyes not meeting yours.

Tentatively nodding, you signal him to continue.

“Did you… enjoy yourself?”

“Huh?” You scold yourself mentally for the confused expression. Clearing your throat, you compose yourself. “Yeah. As far as enjoying dinner goes.”

His eyes finally meet yours, and the eye contact is intense. “I take it that you’d like to do this again?”

“...”

“I don’t mean immediately but maybe sometime in the future?”

Sighing, you slump in your seat. “I can’t be sure.” It’s better to make things clear and not lead him on, even if it’s harsh. “I’m not… looking for something right now. It would be unfair to say yes to you when I don’t mean it.”

Childe’s grip on the edge of his seat tightens, the leather squeaking as it gets abused. “I understand. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t like me, right?”

“Um, yeah.” You can’t pull your eyes away from his. “You’re… nice.”

He blinks. “I’m nice?”

“Yes.”

Childe’s mouth opens in disbelief before he goes back to his senses with a shake of his head. He leans towards you, hand grabbing the back of your seat and eyes widened. “So that means I have a chance?”

“Well,” you laugh awkwardly, “I never said you didn’t. I just said that-”

“I know I know. You’re not looking for something right now, but that doesn’t mean you won’t change your mind later. I’m not going to do something weird, don’t worry. I just… won’t give up.” He’s smiling as he speaks, happy at the prospect of not being rejected. “I’ll keep trying!”

Honestly, the determination he has is cute but it’s almost 10 pm. “That’s great and all, but could you unlock the door? I really need to go.”

“Oh, of course.” The doors unlock with a soft click and Childe bids you goodbye with another concerning statement. “I’ll make sure you change your mind. It’s a promise.”

The chips in your room lived to see another day.

The events of last night’s dinner keep replaying in your mind. It’s like a curse, the moment when Childe grabbed your wrist and gently shoved your thumb inside his mouth. Even with the bandage over it, you can still feel the ghost of his tongue, wet and warm, licking it.

You stop in your tracks to shiver.

It’s infuriating how even on your way to your shift you can only think of him and how he promised to change your mind. So much for leaving without any trouble. Can’t he take a hint? Maybe he’s too dense. It does seem characteristic of him.

The bell chimes when you open the door and head inside. A few customers are browsing the store, one middle aged woman and two office workers to be precise, while the manager sits by the cash register. His white polo shirt greets you before he does and by the time you come back from the employee room changed into your uniform jacket and nametag, the customers are gone.

Beloved and totally not airheaded manager moves away from the register, handing you a little list of work to do and announces that he’s leaving to meet up with someone.

Not even ten minutes of him being gone and the dreaded blue eyed mafioso walks in.

The bell chimes to signal his arrival, and unfortunately you meet his eyes as he stands at the entrance. He’s dressed too casually today, a white T-shirt with some band name on it, blue jeans and white sneakers. If you weren’t aware of his lifestyle, you would’ve thought that he was just another young adult on the street.

“Hi!”

You return his greeting with a simple nod, and he comes in. The only sound is his footsteps till he stops on the other side of the register. You meet his dead eyes again, regret instantly seeping into your bones. Childe’s gaze is affectionate, soft. Being on the receiving end of such a look is overwhelmingly foreign and uncomfortable.

The freckles dusted across his cheekbones and nose catch your attention, but they fail to be graced with your eyes for long. You immediately look away when you realise you started to stare.

Regardless, Childe acts as though he didn’t notice and rounds the register to sit on the chair next to you like always. He doesn’t speak of the date. Typical conversation plays out, much to your surprise, and you mentally curse yourself for expecting him to bring up yesterday evening.

However, it’s not his casual physiognomy that bothers you. It’s his friendliness and the fact that he has started messaging you like one would a friend. Just yesterday he had texted you for the first time in his life and now he’s spamming you funny videos and memes?

Should… should you be worried?

It might prove to be more difficult to shrug him off. You didn’t want to be harsh and outright reject him for him after how he had seemingly tried to be kind and took you out for dinner, but now it seems like that would have been the correct course of action. It’s not that you’re rejecting him solely on the basis of being a part of the mafia. It’s simply your desire to not be in a relationship right now.

Perhaps he’ll respect your wishes like he did last night, even if he did claim that he will keep trying.

You should not push your luck. Really. You shouldn’t. You shan’t do so.

First, you leave his meme spams on read. Then, you have the gall to address him as ‘sir Tartaglia’ again by mistake. The instant fall of his smile had sent a shiver down your spine and reminded you of why you told yourself to be careful. Just because he likes you doesn’t mean you’re safe.

Maybe you are, but that change of expression has creeped you out to no end. It’s better to be safe than sorry.

It has been two weeks since the dinner and Childe has settled with chatting with you over text during the late night hours. Tonight, however, you’ve put your phone away in favour of watching something on your laptop. The screen illuminates your face in the darkness of your room, and your phone’s buzzing briefly catches your attention.

You ignore it, obviously. You’re leaving in one week. This little ‘friendship’ or whatever one could call it is pointless. You’ve already planned on blocking Childe on all the socials he’s invaded as soon as you reach home, a step towards never seeing him again. The less you let him get attached, the easier it’ll be for him to forget you and move on.

Childe is… a little annoyed. You didn’t reply to any of his texts for a few days, leaving it on read since he sends some random videos after the texts. He let it slide at first, but now he’s bothered. It’s evident in the way he isn’t smiling or even talking to you for that matter.

Not wanting to end up on his bad side permanently, you capitulate your ego. “Childe? Is something wrong?” You’re restocking the potato chips as you speak, head peeking over the short aisle to look at him while he sits at the register. “You seem off.”

He makes eye contact with a face devoid of any emotion as if that were the most natural thing to do in the situation. “Why do you ask?”

“I just said so. You seem off.”

“It’s nothing.” Childe looks away, opting to stare at his shoes. He’s wearing casual clothes today as well, something you noted he started doing more often after the date.

Seeing that he won’t budge, you go back to restocking but perk up again when you hear him speak, albeit very softly.

“You’re ignoring me,” he mumbles to himself.

So, you do what comes to mind. Leaving the chip packets on the floor of the empty store, you walk up to him, hands on your hips. “I’m ignoring you?”

He doesn’t look at you, his shoes the most interesting sight in the world. “Yeah.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You don’t talk to me. It’s always me who initiates the conversation.” He looks up, making eye contact. “Is it because I’m in the mafia and you don’t want anything to do with me?”

The subtle accusation makes you defensive immediately, and you stammer. “N-not at all-”

“It is, isn’t it?” The earring hanging from his ear briefly catches your attention when he tilts his head. “That’s why you lied and said that you weren’t looking for a relationship right now.”

“But I’m really not.”

“Relationships aren’t ‘looked for’. They just happen.” Childe leans back in his seat, making you grow more nervous. “And you don’t want one to happen with me just because of where I work.”

Your hands start fidgeting with each other on their own, tongue pushing against your mouth’s hard palate. It takes strength to reply to his imputation. “That’s not true…” Heart beating wildly in your chest, you push the words out. “It’s just… I don’t want a relationship right now.” Think brain, think! “It’s not you, it’s me.” Curse you mass of neurons and amygdala for thinking of this ginger as a serious threat. “So please, don’t think of reasons that aren’t true.”

“But they are true,” he states, like he’s telling you that the moon also exerts gravity on the earth, voice boring and flat. “You just refuse to admit it because you’re scared of me.” Childe’s eyes bore into yours again, seeing through your casual lies and crafted confidence.

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You can’t fool me, [Name]. I’d prefer you to be truthful. Lies just get on my nerves.”

You gulp. There’s no way out of this now. “Sorry…”

“It’s alright. Just keep that in mind for next time.”

“...”

“How can I change your mind?”

“What?” You blink at him, not understanding what he’s asking you. “What do you mean?”

“How can I change your fear of me into attraction? I don’t like knowing that you’re afraid of me.” Childe’s expression turns into a pleading one. Genuine helplessness is written all over his physiognomy which in turn makes you uncomfortable. You feel small under his watchful gaze. It’s as though he’s watching every single movement and breath you take.

“I… don’t know…” Your hands hang by your sides as you stand in front of him, lips pressed into a thin line.

Voice gentle, he tries to persuade you once again. “Please. Tell me how to win your heart.”

“I… I don’t know.” There’s a pitiful helplessness in your voice now, and you don’t know what makes you want to tell him what you are about to. But you do. And you have to watch the realisation appear on his face. “I never wanted your attention.” Admitting that somehow leaves a sour taste in your mouth. “I never wanted anyone’s attention. All I am is a student trying to make ends meet while cussing out the degree I chose for myself.”

Eyes wide, Childe tries negotiating. “I could make your life better.” Hands slam the desk in front of him as he stands, barcode scanner jumping and falling back with a thunk. “I just need one chance. That’s all I need.”

“I’m sorry, Childe, but-”

“No no. I’m not asking. You don’t have to give me one.”

You look into the lifeless blues of his eyes as he continues. “I’ll take that chance whenever I get the opportunity. You don’t have to worry your pretty head over it.”

Somehow his decision to take matters into his own hands unnerves you more than his blatant signs of attraction. It didn’t help that he wordlessly left the store after that.

Today is your last shift before you leave for home. Oddly enough, Childe didn’t swing by the store ever since he left the other day, and he isn’t here right now as well. It makes you uneasy. Something’s wrong. You can feel it in your gut.

He hadn’t even contacted you or sent any cat videos or memes, and being the coward that you are, you left things as they were. Hope that you won’t see him again keeps you going and stops you from poking at the obvious issue lest it bites you back.

But… you feel a little guilty. Even now as you stare at the floor on the other side of the cash register, you can’t help but recall how Childe tried his best to keep conversation flowing during dinner despite getting a very rude lack of input from your side. He’s been trying, and you’re the one not giving him the time of day.

Nonetheless, relationships aren’t built on pity. You hope he finds someone else, someone more suited for him. That’s the only wish you have for him even if the moral ramifications are eating you up on the inside.

Still, you can’t stop your mind from wandering to the question of what he meant by taking the chance when the opportunity presents itself. Does he somehow know about your flight? Well, if he did, he wouldn’t have disappeared. Best to end things on a good note rather than a bad one and stay in contact. But what if he doesn’t care anymore?

Though that outcome is the welcomed one, it still stings to think that. Someone losing interest in you isn’t exactly something that makes you feel good. Regardless, it’s welcome in this situation. You were never in favour of his attention being on you and you never will be.

At 7: 08 pm, the bell at the door chimes in goodbye as you step out. The evening rush hour greets you, and you go with the flow of the people rushing home after a long day or work. Well, it’s the weekend tomorrow. At least they have something to look forward to.

The building of your current residence comes into view and relief washes all over you. Just a bit more and you can get into bed. There’s still a few more hours till you leave, and all your luggage is packed. All you need to do is take a nap.

You practically skip to the entrance, the cool air of the lobby’s air conditioning hitting your face. No one is inside and you hurriedly make way to the elevator.

The nap you took felt like an entire night of rest. With a stretch, you jump out of bed to gather the rest of your things. It’s when you’re locking the door to your room when you realise just how quiet it is. Your apprehension is understandable, if not relatable. You’ve never exited your room after coming back home for the day, so you have no idea what the building is like after a certain hour.

Dragging your suitcase with one hand, hand carry with the other, you haul them both and yourself - the backpack on your shoulders being an honourable mention - inside the elevator. The air is uncharacteristically cool and dry, something elevator music fails to get your mind off of.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, but you ignore it in favour of dragging your luggage outside the elevator and into the lobby. Who would be calling this late? Probably your mother. The video call would cut when you step out and the Wifi disconnects, so it doesn’t matter. Key left at the receptionist’s desk, you mentally thank yourself for checking out online in the evening but pray that the key is still here by morning.

Hesitation wins and you end up leaving it next to the pen holder. You were told to drop it off at the desk. It’s not your fault it’s unattended.

The bus stop is a five minute walk away, so with a deep breath, you step out of the lobby and to the outside, allowing the night’s cool breeze to caress your face as your luggage stays grasped in either hand. Your eyes land on the empty road, praying that you don’t get creeped out by the lack of people.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you take a step forward, then another, and another, till you’re a few metres away from the building’s entrance. The breeze is still blowing and the air is cool so you won’t be hot during your wait at the sto-

“[Name]?”

The breeze stops blowing.

“Where are you going at this hour? And… why… is your luggage with you?”

Your breathing is the next to stop, though only momentarily.

Almost on instinct, you let go of everything in your hands and reach for the phone in your pocket. You don’t even bother looking at the source of the voice, eyes glued to ‘Childe’ glowing on your screen as the contact of the missed call. Heart hammering in your chest, you slowly turn to look at him.

Regret and fear seep into your bones at the same time. He’s wearing something similar to what he usually did in the beginning, garnet dress shirt and dark grey dress pants. The gloves on his hands cover his palms but leave the majority of the back of his hands exposed, phone held in the leather grip.

What your eyes focus on first, however, is the earring. It catches the light from the lobby behind him like a beacon, but you’re quick to look away and into the blue irises of his empty gaze.

There’s no time for you to question why you didn’t hear him before he spoke up.

“Are you leaving?” He takes a step forward, phone slipping inside his pocket, and you take a step back. The reaction is all he needs from you to raise his hands in surrender, only coming closer when the wary look on your face softens into something more observant.

“Are you going back home?” Childe stands only one step away when he asks that and tilts his head waiting for an answer. He receives one in the form of a nod, and questions further. “When’s your flight?”

“Half past 3 am,” is your reply.

“So you have a little less than four hours,” he points out. “I actually came here to talk to you. I uh… I missed you and couldn’t help it. If I knew you were leaving, I would have come sooner.”

You’re still watching him attentively, the clothing he’s wearing sufficient to ring alarm bells in your head. “So you wanted to talk?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” you bite your lip, “I guess I’m not running late. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes anyway, so I have time to spare.”

“Perfect!” He grabs both of your luggages and drags them in the opposite direction of your intended destination: the bus stop. It takes a stern question from you for him to stop and look at you with that empty gaze again. “I’m just taking you to my car. I’ll drop you off. There’s no need to bother yourself with the bus.”

Any demurrance from your side is promptly shut down and smoothed over with reassurances that he’d get you to the airport safe and sound. As your packed belongings sit next to the car, Childe eases the backpack off your shoulder and leaves it on top of them.

It’s when he looks at you that the anxiety skyrockets, eating away your consciousness. Alone with Childe, a highly ranked member of the mafia, at near midnight with all your belongings and an assurance to be dropped off the airport safe and sound is an obvious problem.

You should have listened to the uneasy feeling in your gut back in the store.

“So,” he drawls, standing a foot away from you with his hands in his pockets, “I know I was brash and that I shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable and also should have apologised to you later, but I won’t.”

That causes you to perk up, anxiety dying down a little. “You… won’t?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I won’t. It’s because I’m not going back on my words. I know you don’t view me as a potential partner, let alone friend, but that isn’t going to stop me.”

You don’t like where this is going.

Childe continues, eyes still boring into yours. “I don’t understand why you’re afraid of me. I’ve told and showed you countless times that I’m not going to do anything. It’s pointless to waste your energy. All I want is to exclusively be yours and call you mine. Why would I ever do anything to you if that’s what I wish for?”

The sir suddenly feels too suffocating, like not enough oxygen is filling your lungs. There’s a subtle darkness in your vision, one you deal with by walking to and leaning on the parked car, not that it helps. Not with the deeper breaths you’ve started taking. It doesn’t take any more indications for Childe to rush to your side, an unwelcome hand gently stroking your back.

The breeze flows again, caressing your face and blowing through your hair, but you’re still sweating.

You don’t know what happens next, just that you’re inside the car, the AC turned on, a light shining over your head, and a hand still running up and down your back while you take mouthfuls of breaths. They’re quicker now, you note, and a hand - your own hand - rises to cover your mouth as your sight and self-awareness is restored.

The confusion and vulnerability hits you like a truck and the tears simply fall harder.

Each and every time the hand moves over your back, you feel like more of your skin was peeled off, goosebumps still littering over your arms. It takes several minutes for you to somewhat calm down and become cognizant of your emotions and actions. It doesn’t come as a surprise when the first thing you decide to do in that state is cry harder.

What are you crying for? You don’t know. It’s hard enough as it is to just continue breathing. Processing your emotions is for later.

A hand, a foreign one, gently lifts your face, allowing the dashboard to come into view, and turns it to the source. Childe’s blurry image greets you as your chest heaves, warm thumbs swiping away the tears rapidly running down your cheeks. You don’t have time to dwell on where his gloves disappeared to, focusing on the feeling of his warm thumbs feeling cool over your tear stricken face.

Several minutes pass again, and you sit with your face in your hands while Childe puts your luggage inside the car trunk. Reddened, swollen eyes meet his blue ones in the silence of the car, your sniffling being the only sound. Whatever you just experienced was horrible. Had Childe not been… no. He is part of the cause. Him helping you through it is the least he could have done.

The driver’s seat is quickly occupied once again, and Childe breaks the silence, concern present all over his face. “Are you feeling better?”

You nod, too uncertain in your ability to speak. His question of whether or not you want some water is met with a shake of your head, and Childe settles with pressing his lips into a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think it would upset you that much.”

Voice slightly raspy, you reply after clearing your throat. “It’s alright. I… I didn’t see it coming as well.”

He slumps into his seat, head turned to look at you. Childe’s eyes glaze over your body, looking for potential signs of fear. It seems to him that you’re dazed, confused. It’s advantageous for him, if not relieving. Seeing you afraid or in pain doesn’t elicit any positive feelings.

After receiving your permission, Childe puts on his seatbelt - all the while making sure you fasten yours as well - and reverses the car, intending to drive you to the airport. You’re a bit late compared to what you originally planned, but you suppose he can get you there on time.

The car is eerily quiet with the lack of music. There’s no gentle humming from Childe, only the sound of either of you breathing. Unfortunately for you, the silence fails to last.

“So when are you coming back?” Childe’s voice is calm, flat. He’s completely casual in his question despite your concern that he wouldn’t take kindly to being lied to about such a thing.

“It’s one way,” you lie. Not being held accountable for your verbal deceit helps you gain some confidence. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll be back for class obviously.”

The car is silent again for a while and it fills you with hope for a quiet ride, one where you would get off, thank Childe profusely, and head home never to see him again. Alas hope is crushed, and you freeze in your seat, muscles tensing when Childe speaks again.

“How much more are you going to lie?”

Childe continues driving, acting unaffected with his demeanour and tone, but it wouldn’t take a genius to know that him gripping the steering wheel in a bone crushing grip is anything but him being casual.

No. He’s certainly upset, and you’re afraid you’re too much at his mercy.

“I gave you another chance and you ruined it.” Childe’s fingers tap rhythmically on the steering wheel, voice even as he speaks. “Why don’t we try again? When’re you coming back?”

You bite your tongue when you feel the initial signs of panic bubbling up your throat. It takes a bit of force to make yourself speak, even if it’s in a more fearful way. “Seven weeks. I’ll be home for seven weeks.”

“You’re not going to block me on your socials when you get there, are you?”

With a shake of your head, you continue looking out the window. “No.”

He hums, satisfied at your cooperation. “Good.” The car takes a turn, the empty roads seemingly omnipresent. “I’m not going to do anything. I just wanted to know the truth… er, more like hear it directly from you.”

A few minutes of silence pass, but it doesn’t last because you can’t stay quiet for longer. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“I am?” The smile in his voice is evident.

“Yes, you are.” You turn to look at him, nervously gulping at his grin. “Stop messing around.”

He doesn’t reply.

“Childe!”

Your panic fails to affect him in any way. With the fuzziness growing in your mind, there’s not much you can do except grab onto his sleeve. That causes him to look at you, even if just for a moment, but that’s all you get for a reaction. As a last resort, you reach for your phone in your pocket but freeze when you don’t feel the device.

You don’t need to say anything for Childe to provide the answer to your question. “Your phone isn’t there. It’s with me, I’m afraid.”

“Childe,” you say, voice low and pleading, “please stop screwing around.”

He sounds slightly offended when he replies. “You think I’m screwing around?”

“Yes!” Your exclamation doesn’t seem to affect him, so you opt for a more direct approach. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. I came with you because I trusted you.” The words are spat out, but Childe only seems amused.

“Trusted me?” He chuckles. “Sweetheart, if you trusted me, you would’ve told me about your flight from the start instead of lying about putting in a one week notice. You’re scared of me, and despite the fact that it stings like salt on an open wound, I suppose there’s some merit to that as well.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean?”

You bite the inside of your cheek now. There’s no way you can tell what Childe means by what he said. Judging from your previous conversations as well, your fear of him is a sour spot, but maybe you could exploit that to your favour.

“I’m afraid of you, because of your unpredictability and that is exactly what you are demonstrating right now.” You grab onto his sleeve again, albeit more desperately this time. “You gave me more reasons to fear you than you did to like you.”

The car slows, as if synchronised with Childe’s thought process. “Is that… really what you think of me?”

“Yes,” you reply in an even voice. “I was already a little scared from what I heard from people and then you started doing all this stuff-”

“Stuff like what?”

“Stuff like this!”

He sighs, moving the steering wheel to stop the car at the side of the road. “I just told you that I can’t ever hurt you, and you’re still calling me scary?”

Your eyes focus on his expression, specially searching for any signs of him lying - hypocritical on your part - but fail to find anything other than sincerity. The grip on his sleeve loosens, your hand ultimately returning to your lap, when he turns to face you. It’s intimidating to look into his dead eyes but it still makes you wonder how such a beautiful colour can be so lifeless.

Childe’s lips move and despite your feelings you find yourself absolutely memorised by the plush pink as his voice leaves his mouth.

“I’m not changing my mind.”

His declaration forces you to focus on his words, any attraction be damned.

“Lying to me and saying that you haven’t decided on leaving for home did get on my nerves a little,” he says, “but I forgive you. You’re cute, so I can’t stay mad at you for long.”

You let his words sink in. He says that he forgives you for the lie, but what now?

“Alright,” you drawl, voice nervous, “now can we please go to the airport?”

Childe leans in, a smile on his face. “How about instead of the airport, we go home?”

The word ‘home’ catches your attention and dread settles in. If he’s implying what you think he is, then you don’t think you’ll be able to catch your flight, let alone get to the airport.

“Childe,” you croon, “I think we have some misunderstandings. Before either of us does something impulsive and hurtful, let’s just talk it over.”

He just looks amused. “Oh? Talk over what? You’re the one pushing me away.”

You try again to de-escalate. “I only told you that I don’t want a relationship.”

“Liar.” Childe’s hand reaches for the edge of your seat, the skin below his collarbones and a little bit of his chest visible as he leans in closer. “We’ve already had this discussion before. Since you’re cute and obviously not in very good mental shape at the moment, I’ll give you a little bit of advice. Let me do my thing. I’m not going to hurt you, just… change your scenery a little.”

You narrow your eyes at him upon saying the word ‘scenery’. Though consternation eats you up on the inside, you trust that Childe wouldn’t do anything to you, at least not physically. What he is currently planning to do is a different matter.

Patience, you remind yourself. That might just be the only thing you have left.

“Now that that’s settled,” he says, going back to the steering wheel, “why don’t I take you home? I’m sure you’ll like it. It’s more comfortable and spacious than where you were living.”

In the most calm and even voice you could muster, you try pleading with him again. “Childe, please. Don’t do something that would make me hate you.”

He doesn’t even look at you when he answers. The lack of smile and his eyes fixed on the road as he continues driving does not help ease your increasing dread. “It might be a small bump, but the end destination is what matters in this case, not the journey.”

You glance to the door handle in an act of desperation but bite your lip when all hope is lost at the sight of the lock. Month old words hit you like a truck, patience being some elaborate scheme for the notorious members of society to make others more docile and submissive to them. After all this time, would it be wise to believe you’ll be alright?

#childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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luveline · 1 month

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hello my love!! could you maybe show us what bedtime is like in the kbd universe? thank you, you’re incredible <3

kbd —dad!steve and mom!reader get their small family ready for bed. 3k

“She looks so pretty,” Avery whispers.

Steve struggles to pull the hem of his sock over his ankle, crossing his legs to match her as she snaps an apple slice in half with her fingers, the juice wetting her pyjama top, her torso swaying as his knee bumps into hers. “Who?” Steve asks, blinking.

“Wren,” Avery says, leaning back to let Steve see the baby where she’s napping in her bouncer. Avery shoves a chunk of apple in her mouth. “She’s pw-ery.”

“Try not to talk with your mouth full, you might choke.”

Avery nods, closing her mouth to chew up the rest of her food with chipmunk cheeks.

Steve draws a little heart into her knee. She has a bruise from falling up the stairs a few days ago like a purple ink blot just under her kneecap, but she hasn’t complained. She didn’t cry when she fell, she just got back up and asked for a Capri-Sun. Steve’s surprised she’s so hardy, but she’s getting older. He’d sort of been hoping she’d want him to kiss it better.

“She’s pretty like her big sister,” he says.

“I’m glad she’s stopped crying all the time.”

“Me too.” He takes one of the smaller slices from her plate to eat, wiping juice from her cheek as he does.

She grins. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You all done?”

“Yep.”

“Not hungry anymore?”

“Nope.” She grabs her plate before he can. “I’ll put it in the sink.”

“Thanks, beautiful.”

She jumps up with her empty plate and does a spin, saying, “Who, me?”

Steve laughs like an idiot, still chuckling to himself as the sound of her plate hitting the kitchen sink reaches his ears. Wren, finally out of her sleep regression (for now), doesn’t wake. All good signs of a good night.

Steve lets his head fall back onto little legs. “What about you?” he asks Dove, the second youngest daughter, where she sits behind him on the couch.

She hums under her breath, her hands quick to weave into his hair, petting it away from his face. He waits for an answer he doesn’t get, closing his eyes and turning his face into her knee. Her giggles are treacle sweet. “Don’t sleep,” she protests.

“I’m tired.”

“It’s not bed time.”

She’s not gonna like what Steve’s about to tell her, if that’s the case. She had a screaming tantrum last night about bed time where she threw herself on the floor and whacked her hands until her palms turned bright red. He’s not wanting a repeat.

“It is bed time,” he says gently, though it’s not for another half an hour, “but, I was thinking, because you’ve been so good today you’d stay up extra. Maybe even have hot cocoa before bed.” Steve turns to meet her eyes. “How’s that sound?”

“Really?” she asks, her eyes blowing wide with excitement. Steve is starting to wonder if she’s not as mini-me as he used to think, growing into sweeter features as she leaves the baby-toddler stage and starts to look like a kid. He loves it.

“That sound fun or what?”

She dives at him. He has enough sense to have twisted and catches her before she can break any of his teeth. “You are the best daddy ever!” she declares seriously, almost tipping over his shoulder.

He lets her dangle for a second, then yanks her back topside. “You’re my best girl, that’s why. Let’s go make the drinks. Actually, we better go see who else wants some.”

You and Bethie are attempting some last minute crafts at the dining table, and you’re very interested in hot chocolate but Beth doesn’t like it and so, doesn’t want any. She does seem interested in a glass of milk with a couple of chocolate chip cookies, so it’s nearly the same thing. “Careful,” he says, putting the half a pint of milk down in front of her birdhouse cautiously, “you don’t wanna spill that, baby.”

“Who says she’s gonna spill it?” you ask.

“Don’t start with me,” Steve warns.

You smile to yourself. You’ve a spatula for PVA glue in your hand, skins of glue dried to your fingertips flecked with splinters of wood. Lollipop crafts felt like a good idea when he’d suggested it, but then he didn’t actually want to do it, and you’d been kind enough to step in. I’m sick of mess, he’d confided.

Well, you’d said, somewhere between a quick kiss pressed to his shoulder and your hand rubbing it away, you probably shouldn’t have asked me to have so many kids.

I love mess, he’d corrected immediately. Love to make more of it someday.

“We’re nearly done in time for bed,” you assure him now.

“I told Dove she could have an extra half an hour.” He winks at you clumsily.

“Oh, really? Well, maybe Beth and Avery should get some extra time too.”

Beth dunks her cookie into the top of her cup. “No thanks. I’m tired. Can I sleep with Avery again?” she asks, milk dribbling down the sides of the glass to darken the coaster underneath.

“You’ll have to ask her yourself,” Steve says. “Wait, where is she? I thought she was in here.” Something grabs him by the legs, a sudden clutching that activates a heat in his eyes and spine he can’t explain. He flinches sideways into a cabinet and almost steps on a rather small limb. “What the fuck.”

“Boo!” Avery says, laughing brightly as Steve rights himself on the counter.

“Avery! Did I step on you? I’m sorry,” he says, immediately bending down. “What were you thinking? I could’ve really hurt you!”

“Daaad, I was just pulling a prank,” she says.

He checks over the arm he was so sure he’d stepped on. “You okay?”

“She’s fine,” you say. “Yeah?”

“I’m fine!” She hugs his legs again. “You said a super bad word.”

He was hoping everybody missed that. “Dove–”

“Dad,” Dove interrupts, kicking her little feet exactly where he left her sitting on the dinner table by your left, “bad words make me cry.” She says it all clunky and clumsy, having heard it enough times. Her Aunt Robin has a potty-mouthed girlfriend, and Steve can’t do damage control quick enough sometimes.

“No, it’s when you say bad words daddy cries,” Avery says.

“I didn’t say one!”

“I know! I just mean it’s not when dad says it.”

“What?” Dove asks. “He did says it.”

You’re grinning. You love when Dove confuses herself, all kids go through it, where half the time they don’t know what they’re saying until you help them along, but you love Dove’s new phase especially because she’s always been so serious. “What Avery is telling you, baby, is that daddy doesn’t get upset when he says bad words because he’s a grown up.”

“So when we’re older we can cuss too?” Bethie asks.

Steve’s jaw drops. “No, Beth! No, none of you need to say bad words, and I don’t either, and I’m really sorry. Can we forget about it?”

Steve makes hot chocolate and helps you clean the sorry mess you’ve made on the table, and, after some light teasing, everybody forgets he’d reacted so violently to Avery’s surprise. Well, almost. Dove is the first to succumb to a case of the sleepies despite being otherwise reluctant to give in, sitting on his thigh, marshmallows still whole in her drink. She’d barely managed four sips.

Steve cuddles her to his chest, covering her ear where she nuzzles against him from the sounds of your and Avery’s giggling. “He went pale,” you’re saying.

Beth offers Steve half of one of her cookies. “You didn’t,” she says.

If he didn’t have his arms full of Dove he’d scoop her up. “Thank you, Beth. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Alright,” you say, twining your fingers and sliding them behind your head, your neck and back clicking audibly in the quiet of the Harrington house winding down, “I think it’s bedtime. Are you done with your drink?”

You rinse the cups. Steve ferries Dove upstairs, has her down and tucked in in record time, soon enough to catch you as you and the rest of the girls make your way upstairs. Beth and Avery are beautifully silent, weary of their sensitive baby sister where she’s cradled to your chest.

You attempt to put her down in her crib in your room, but Steve gets the feeling you aren’t successful when a crackly cry breaks out.

“Oh, no,” Avery says.

“It’s fine. Let’s go brush our teeth, okay? Mommy has it.”

They brush their teeth. Steve wipes their faces down with a damp hand towel and has a moment of gratitude just touching their faces. They both look so loved, the way their eyes crinkle, the way they lift their chins, all too happy for Steve to do it. He loves these moments of being a dad most, he might say, second only to getting to talk to them, especially now they’re both holding conversation. They talk to each other none stop; Beth talks to Avery ten times as much as she does anyone else.

“Are you having a sleepover again?” Steve asks.

Beth turns to Avery pleasingly. “Can I? Please, please, please.”

“Yes!” Avery says, big sister extraordinaire. She wraps her arms around Beth’s shoulders, taller, more aware of herself as she presses her cheek to Beth’s and mumbles, “Of course you can. I love you. I want us to have sleepovers every night.”

You emerge from the bedroom victorious, heading into the bathroom as he and the girls come out. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth,” you say.

“Gonna get Beth changed.”

“Okay, I put her nightie on the foot of her bed earlier.”

It’s routine but not without enjoyment. He makes sure they’re both comfortable in the night's sleepwear and takes care of their hair, before giving Avery’s room a quick half-clean and shaking out the sheets on her bed. Avery has the second biggest bedroom, though Bethie’s is nothing to turn your nose up at, and it gets Steve thinking as they climb up into Avery’s single bed.

“I think it’s good for you guys to keep your separate rooms for now,” Steve says tentatively, “but what do you think about sharing?”

The plan was that Dove and Wren would share, but if Avery and Beth are getting along so well, it might not hurt to ask.

Beth gasps. “Our bedrooms?”

“Like, you and Avery could both sleep in here. You have a bunk bed, or we could get you a big one to share, and you could share teddies.”

“I don’t want to share my teddies,” Avery says.

“Well, you don’t have to. I’m not gonna make you.” Steve squints at them both. “Bad idea?”

“I want to share,” Beth says immediately.

Avery has a better understanding of what that will mean. “Maybe.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve says. “Your rooms are yours, okay? Maybe we can just get you a bigger bed anyways, Ave. You’re so tall now, in a couple of years you’ll be ten feet tall and we’ll have to bend you in half to get you to school.”

This is the funniest thing a man could say, apparently —both Beth and Avery burst into girly giggles that ring down the landing. Beth sounds like she might be sick. She laughs so much, falling into Avery’s side as her big sister says, “Dad, that’s silly!”

“I can show you, if you want. We’ll practise making you into an Avery flavour pretzel, c’mere.”

She squeals and climbs over Beth’s legs to huddle in the corner of her bed. Steve doesn’t so much as touch her legs and she’s laughing again, panicked, hyper laughter like she can’t decide if she wants to be folded or not. He presses his finger over his smile. “Shh, shh, we can’t wake the babies.”

“Sorry,” she laughs.

“My fault. Don’t be sorry.” He gives her leg a squeeze. “How about we start to tuck you in, girls? Do we have everything we need?”

Beth wants a few things from her own bed, but besides that, they’re ready. Well, they’re supposed to be ready, but Steve wound them up and it’s his own fault, he can’t even complain when they beg him to watch a movie. What’s the harm? he decides, turning on Avery’s TV and pushing their favourite tape into the VHS player.

“The effect FernGully has on the new generation is amazing,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’ve changed into pyjama pants Steve’s sure you’ve had since you met him and a tank top with straps falling down your shoulders. He wants to pull them back over the curve of your shoulder, but he’s trying to be less smothering.

He fluffs the pillows behind the girls’ backs. “It’s the boy. What’s his name? Dennis? Daniel?”

“Neither.” You put a fallen teddy back on the bed and turn on Avery’s star-shaped night light before flicking off the big light above. The TV glows green on their legs.

“Gonna lie down?” Steve says, gentler now, easing them in.

Avery flops back. Beth curls in on her side, and it reminds Steve of you and him. He can sleep any which way. You’re slightly more particular, but you’re happier curled on to him. He really loves how close they are as sisters, and he has to give Avery some credit, because while Beth is exceedingly easy to love, she’s a clinger, she worships her big sister, which must get heavy from time to time.

Avery pulls the blankets up over them before Steve can do it himself. He sighs, tucking them both in. Blankets pushed gently under their sides, hair brushed back from their little faces, he says, “Love you, Ave. Love you, Beth,” kissing their foreheads in swift succession. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Love you, daddy,” they say at the same time.

You touch his arm gently before leaning in for your own kisses. You’re slower than he’d been, turning their faces in your hand one after the other to place identical kisses on their cheeks. “Love you, sweetheart,” you say to Avery, and, “Love you, baby,” you say to Beth. Steve holds your back as you do. “Have good dreams, okay? And don’t mess with the TV. One movie tonight is enough, you’ll wake up with sore eyes.”

He steals another kiss from both of them and then you’re closing the door behind you, the house much darker and quieter than it had been only ten minutes previous.

“You want a glass of water?” Steve says.

You catch his hand. “I got you one.”

Neither you nor Steve bother with anything but bed. He draws back the blankets and you climb in, only stopping momentarily to make sure that Wren’s alright in her crib. You curl in the middle of the bed and wait for Steve to force his way beneath you, which he does, your face resting on his shoulder, your leg stretched across his. Your hip is a lump in the blankets. He lets his hand fall atop it, whistling a tired breath through his teeth.

“Mm,” you agree, stretching out, curling in tighter.

“I know,” he says. Can’t forget his best girl, can’t not think about how much he loves you when it’s you and him alone. Mostly. “You alright?”

“Fine. Tireder than I thought.” Your eyes close, lashes brushing his chest. “H?”

“What?”

“You okay?”

“Fine, honey. Was just asking you,” he mumbles. His pillow feels like a cloud beneath his head, the mattress even better, and the sheets are a brushed cotton that’s amazingly soft on his skin.

He turns his nose down onto you for a not so secret sniff.

“Feels too good to be true.”

“My turn tonight,” he says.

“No, baby, it’s my turn.”

“That’s fine.” He’s not as tired as you, or at least not half as achy. If Wren wakes up crying (not definitely going to happen) or Dove has a late night startle (even less likely, though not impossible), he’ll take the burden tonight. “I wanted babies and I got ‘em.”

“I want them too,” you say.

“Of course you do,” he says, rubbing your forehead with the tip of his nose affectionately. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Less when they wake me up,” you joke.

Steve feels up your side to your shoulder for a sleepy cuddle. You don’t realise how soft you can be, how warm you are pressed against him like this, how grateful he is to hold you. Maybe you can read his mind, or maybe as just pure evidence of such a feat, you cup his upper arm in your hand and begin to draw shapes over his skin, breaking the pattern with fleeting scratches. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, honey. I’m sure. You go to sleep now, okay? It’s Saturday tomorrow,” he whispers tenderly. “You don’t have anywhere to be.”

“‘Cept here,” you whisper back.

“Love you.” A brush of his lips to your eyebrow. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he says. He swears he’s gonna stay up for a bit and count your eyelashes or something, maybe pen you a love poem, write a note about your lips and how they pout when you’re nearly sleeping, but he forgets to when you press your face into the curve of his neck and kiss it clumsily. You fall asleep at the same time, the girls laughing in whispers just a few feet away behind the wall.

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01zfan · 3 months

Text

rainy day | l. at

ex-boyfriend!anton x fem. reader | 5.8k words

anton brainrot is literally so real you guys im a victim

contains: breaking up, resolution, oral (fem. receiving), missionary, soft dom anton if you squint, reader is a pillow princess (good for her)

it was one of the few days during summer where everyone stayed inside. the usual cool breeze that came with the season was replaced with harsh winds that could knock anyone over. the clear sky was replaced with clouds and soon a rain that threatened to flood your city would come.

you loved when it rained. the inclement weather gave you an excuse to stay home and lay in bed all day. you wanted to use this day to recharge—your social battery had been running dangerously low since summer had started. you don’t know if it was because of your recent breakup and everyone taking pity on you but suddenly everyone had plans once it got warmer outside. it didn’t help that your roommate was a dj. giselle spent more time outside than in the apartment, various clubs being her place of work. and being giselle’s roommate came with its perks, you automatically getting to skip the lines to get in because you “know somebody”. you made it your personal mission to exercise this benefit almost every night.

being outside took your mind off the breakup. you couldn’t hear anton’s voice when music blasted in your ears or think about him when you were dancing around. you loved being out, but it started weighing heavy on your bones. between work and seeing your friends, you had been out almost everyday for the past month. you were grateful when you saw that a big storm was coming, like the weather gods wanted you to have a day off.

you don’t remember the last time you were able to lay in bed past 10AM. you wanted to thank the rain that pelted your window and the wind that made your apartment building creak. because of it you got to be underneath the comfort of your sheets. giselle must’ve felt the same way, because this was the first time you had seen her in pajamas relaxing on the couch. you found her laying on the couch in the living room when you went to the kitchen to get some food.

“any plans for today?” you asked giselle sarcastically.

giselle laughed and looked from the television to you.

“probably gonna work on some mixes for upcoming sets.” giselle says.

she turns back on her show and the sound of the television fills the room. you hum in acknowledgment as you open the fridge. you grab some leftovers to put in the microwave. after getting your food you head towards the couch and giselle lets her legs rest on the coffee table so you can sit down.

“grateful for a day off.” you sigh contently.

“oh i bet. you’re like a little party animal now.” giselle laughed.

you sat with giselle for a little bit before retiring back to your bed. giselle did the same as you about half an hour later. you could hear the television in the living room shut off followed by the sound of your roommate closing her door. soon after you could hear the low sound of music coming from giselle’s room as she went through several tracks.

you let yourself relax in bed as rain continued to fall. it came down sideways and in sheets, and you knew it would only be getting worse for the rest of the day.

as you looked outside at the rain, it was hard to not start thinking about anton. when your mind got the chance to slow down, you couldn’t stop it from thinking about him. he loved when it rained too, and loved napping the day away with you too. you had stopped crying about the breakup a long time ago; you knew that first loves were meant to fail. but if you thought about anton for too long or how warm he always felt you could feel a hole start to form in your chest. so you did your best to clear your thoughts and treated the weather outside and giselle’s music as white noise before drifting to sleep.

anton was in your dreams often. you thought it was always unfair how he occupied your mind so heavily he managed to infiltrate your subconscious and dreams. after the breakup it only got worse. sometimes you would dream about him curled up next to you, getting up from the bed just to come right back to you. he would always snuggle into you closely and pull you into his chest. you would dream about him being the little spoon, laughing at how your arms wrapped around his large frame. you would dream about him turning you around to make you the little spoon, bringing a warm hand to trace shapes over your stomach. the mind was an evil thing. there were times when you would wake up in the middle of the night thinking it was real, that anton had come back to you in the middle of the night. but the vacant space on your bed was still empty and cold when you opened your eyes.

although it was painful dreaming about anton when he was no longer in your life, you truthfully wouldn’t have it any other way. you loved dreaming about you two laying on beds of gold or in a meadow running around in the tall grass. the dreams were usually pure and shrouded in a deeper meaning that you couldn’t decipher. but sometimes the dreams were less innocent. this time when you dreamed about anton you dreamed of him above you and panting into your ear while his strong chest was pressed against yours. you could hear the faintest whisper of his voice in your ear and you could see his wet hair sticking to his forehead. you dreamed about anton’s hands holding your hips down and you leaving marks down his back while you took all of him, his dangling chain above your eyes. just as your lips were reaching towards his ear to say something your brain suddenly woke you up, making you shoot up in your bed.

it felt like you woke up from a nightmare the way your body felt all clammy. your chest heaved and you shot a quick look to the empty side of your bed. moving so suddenly didn’t help either and you could feel a headache coming on as your eyes adjusted to the darkness in your room.

after gaining some of your bearings you reached to your bedside table to check the time on your phone. it was eight in the evening. giselle hadn’t stopped mixing her songs, music still coming from her room. you sighed and stretched, not sure how you felt about sleeping the whole day away.

following the aftershocks of your dreams, it was impossible to not think about anton. you regretfully think about him, if he is sleeping right now or if he dreams of you the same way you dream of him. he’s only a phone call or a twenty minute walk in the rain away. you decide against it, the thought of not getting a response scares you away from your phone.

you get out of bed and stretch your limbs again, you can’t deny that the rest was much needed. maybe you would watch something and eat until you got tired again. it would give you time to process your dream, maybe if you thought about it enough you could have another one like that again.

as you round the corner of you room to go into the kitchen you stop dead in your tracks.

you know it’s anton before he turns around. after spending so much time with him, you could probably identify him from his hair, or his voice. you see one of the most obvious of anton’s traits—his broad back that is covered with one of your towels. even if something covers his back you can tell it’s him by muscle memory, something you’re sure will never leave you. but you also know it’s him because who else would be sitting at your kitchen island this late at night. you still can’t control the shock in your voice as you call out his name.

“anton?” you say.

he turns around quickly to face you and his eyes go wide. anton has always been so expressive, every emotion shows on his face in an instant. he gets up from his chair like a reflex but he says nothing, just looking at you from across the room.

“what are you doing here?” you ask.

anton still looks at you without saying anything. it’s like your speech is delayed getting to anton, because it takes him almost five seconds before he swallows to answer your question. during the time it takes for him to speak you see a bouquet of the flowers you like laying on the kitchen island.

“i was riding my bike and i was coming to get the rest of my stuff but i got caught in the rain,” anton swallows again. “giselle let me in.”

anton points to your roommates closed door. it would makes sense that giselle would hear him, she must’ve stayed awake the whole day. music still plays in her room as you turn back to anton.

you are both met with more silence. you know that you should probably kick him out, or scold him for showing up at his ex girlfriends house unannounced. it’s hard to be mad at anton because he used to show up like this when you two were just friends, popping in just to hang out. and you do remember that you both promised the other that nothing would change if you two broke up. it was a lie then and you knew it. you wondered if anton knew it too. you could assume he did by the clenching knuckles at his side, or how he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“i tried to get home i really did but—” anton said.

now it was time for you to clear your throat and reach a hand out to him.

“no i prefer you stay here until the storm dies down.” you say.

you have to force yourself to remember that this isn’t a dream, that anton is real and standing in your kitchen. you want to be a good host and offer him food or ask him if he’s okay but all the words are caught in your throat. instead you gesture to the living room, showing anton it’s okay to step into your apartment further.

you’re sure that his ears tucked into his beanie turn red as he walks over you. he’s slow with his steps, like you’ll change your mind at any moment. you can still hear giselle music coming from her room as you go to sit on the couch.

when anton comes to the opposite end, his eyes find yours. he’s looking to you the whole time, waiting for you to give him the permission to be close to you. anton has always been too nice for his own good, letting you make all the moves and initiatives in the relationship. so he waits for you to nod at him before sitting down on the couch too.

you focus on the sound of rain and giselle’s house music as you look to anton. he looks the same except for his hair that has gotten a little longer. the necklace you got him for his birthday is still around his neck, rested on his chest. you tried not to look at the pendant too hard, because then your eyes would wander to the black shirt that clung to his chest. your mind flashes back to the dream you had of and you have to lightly shake your head to get rid of the image.

“how are things?” he ask you.

you hate that this is what your relationship with anton has come to. he used to be the person you were must comfortable around but now he sits on the opposite end of your couch asking you questions you both know the answer to.

“things are good.” you say.

you think about telling him everything would be better if you guys got back together. you hold it back by picking at the hem of your shorts.

“what about you?” you ask.

you can barely bring yourself to look at anton. you see that he isn’t looking at you either, his eyes focused on your hand that is holding the bottom of your pants. when you move your hand, his eyes stay there as he says nothing.

“i miss you.” anton says. “so much.”

you can feel the couch give underneath anton’s weight as he comes closer to you. the couch dips from you, almost causing your body to lean into anton’s. he bends down to be in your line of sight. you’re forced to look into his large brown eyes as he looks for something in your eyes.

“you miss me too, right?” anton says.

his hands reach for yours and you let him grab them. he squeezes his hands in your palms and you still have to remind yourself this isn’t a dream. anton continues to look at your face while massaging your hands. it keeps you there with him and you know he knows the answer to the question.

“we aren’t together anymore anton.” you whisper.

you know you should pull your hands away, maybe even tell him to leave your apartment. but you can’t bring yourself to do anything to him while he looks at you like that.

“that doesn’t matter. do you even remember why we broke up?” anton asks.

you shake your head; you truthfully can’t remember. you’re sure it was something stupid, something that easily could be fixed. you both were clumsy throughout the whole relationship, so confused why everything felt so different from when you were friends. maybe you two got tired of stumbling through the motions of everything and called it off. but the way anton looks at you makes you want to take everything back and make you try again.

“i want to try again.” anton says.

he shakes your hands slightly to really give emphasis to his words. maybe you keep dreaming about him because you should try again, maybe that’s what your subconscious has been telling you.

“i’ll have to think about it.” you say while nodding slightly.

anton responds to you by smiling. you can’t help but smile too, and you can feel tears that threaten to fall from all the emotions going through you. you can’t stop yourself from bringing anton in for a hug. he pauses only for a second before hugging you back twice as hard. you are happy you’re able to stop yourself from sobbing onto anton’s shirt, but you almost lose it when he rubs up and down your back gently. you go deeper into the crook of his neck and he holds you a little tighter.

“i came in the rain on my bike to be all romantic with flowers but you were knocked out.” anton says into your shoulder.

you start laughing loudly, the image of anton peddling on his dingy little bike through torrential rain. anton finds it funny too, he starts laughing as he goes into the details of him almost driving into a ditch while trying to get to you.

you know you’re both laughing too hard when you hear the music in giselle’s room shut off. you realize that she is basically at her job right now, and you and your ex ex-boyfriend are disturbing her. so you get up from the couch and motion for anton to follow you. he gets up from the couch and rubs his palms on the front of his pants. suddenly he’s the shy anton again, so different from the bold anton that told you he wants to get back together.

anton follows you into your room and you close the door behind him. you don’t move again until you hear giselle’s music turn back on.

you laid down on the bed first. anton stayed in front of your closed door, looking at the you laying on the bed. you can make out his figure even in the darkness of your room, broad and almost as tall as your doorframe. even in your dreams anton doesn’t look this good. you don’t beat away the image of him above with a stick this time, instead you welcome them with open arms as you tap the empty space on your bed.

you watch anton come over to the bed, stopping so he can take off his beanie and jewelry to set on your dresser. it’s just like old times, hearing the familiar sound of his rings landing on the ceramic dish. you wonder if he’ll take off his shirt too. he keeps it on as he lays on the opposite side of your bed.

he didn’t dare to move any closer to you, staying on the other end. you wish you could fold the covers and bring him closer to you, or have anton pull you into his chest like he always did when he spent the night. he was too nice to do move any further, and you realized that nothing would happen if you didn’t make a move first. so you swallowed whatever was holding you back and let your hand glide across the cold sheets towards anton. he turned towards you almost immediately and his hand grabbed your bicep.

anton first lightly tugged your body towards him twice. it was gentle and inviting like he always was. you scooted your body to anton’s, moving only a little across the sheets that separated you two. anton then exerted some of his strength o pull you the rest of the way, wrapping his other arm around your body to bring you into his chest. you laughed at how fast he pulled you across the covers as he tucked your head underneath his chin. he brought his hand that was on your arm to the back of your head—it had been too long since anton surrounded you like this. you nuzzled into his neck and sighed contently.

“we should probably move slow” he said. you could hear the smile on his face.

you hummed in agreement but then moved closer into him. he wrapped his arms tighter around you before kissing your cheek. it was quick and light before anton tucked your head underneath his chin again. you weren’t shocked by the kiss, you were actually beaming at the feeling of his lips on your skin again.

you weren’t sure when you fell back asleep, but it was hard to not doze off with anton like a weighted blanket on you. you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and hear his quick heartbeat slow down overtime. it was an inexplicable comfort having him behind you and to feel his arms wrapped around your frame.

you didn’t wake up again until well after midnight. the rain still fell and the wind still blew harshly. you woke up in anton’s amrs, curled into his chest to be the little spoon. you had turned at some point during the night, and anton’s hand rested on your stomach to gently trace shapes on your exposed skin. you don’t know how it was possible to miss someone so much.

you turned your body to face anton’s. you found that he was already awake, looking into your eyes with the same look you dreamed about. you closed your eyes as he placed a wet kiss on your cheek. his eyes are still bleary, you imagine he must have woken up around the same time you did. you brush some of his hair out of his face and let him leave a wet kiss on your lips.

“what time is it?” you ask.

“not sure. has to be pretty late though.” he says.

anton sounds distracted as he talks to you. his eyes are on your lips as he puts a hand behind your back so your body arches into him. you can feel how broad and solid anton’s chest is underneath the thin material of his shirt. you lean more into him and instinctively wrap your leg over his to bring him closer. you wrap your arms around his back to press your palms flat on his shoulders.

“i thought you wanted to move slow?” anton says.

he places another wet kiss to your lips before pulling back. you missed the smirk he got on his face when he knew you wanted it. it made you bashful, heat spawning from the places his body touched yours. it blossomed from the small of your back and spread to your finger tips that pressed against anton’s back. the feeling made you lock your leg in place, bringing anton even closer to you.

“we can move slow tomorrow.” you say hastily.

anton comes back to your lips, and you waste no time pushing your tongue into his mouth. anton must be just as desperate as you are the way he lifts you up like you weigh nothing. he almost crushed you in his arms, you have to tap on his shoulder to remind him of his strength.

“sorry.” anton whispers after pulling away from your lips.

his lips are plump and glossy, you run your tongue over yours to try and taste what’s left of him on your skin. you missed kissing his lips until they were red and a little swollen and the way he’d gather you up in your arms when you two made out. you try to get on top of anton but he uses a hand to keep you in place. you let out a little whine at not being able to move, you wanted to show anton how much you really missed him.

anton sits up on your bed to pull his shirt off. he does it with one hand and while he is busy taking off his pants you start to take off your own. as you lift your hips to take off your pants anton stops suddenly.

“wait. don’t move.” he says shyly.

you listen to his weird request, not moving while anton takes off his pants.

when his pants hit the floor anton guides your body to sit up. you do as he says, eyeing him to see what his plan is with you.

“put your arms up.” anton tells you.

his sweet and quiet voice betrays the authoritative words. you listen to him regardless, filling to the brim with excitement of anton telling you what to do.

you lift your arms as anton pulls up your shirt. he does all the work even guiding your arms through the opening of your shirt. anton looks up at you from your collarbone, placing a wet kiss on the taut skin as his hands go to your bra strap. you nod and anton brings both of his hands to your back to unclasp your bra. he is gentle releasing your chest from its confines, his big hands covering the area of your breasts.

no matter how many times anton sees your breasts, his breath is taken away each time. he kneads your doughy skin, lightly gripping a boob to place a kiss directly on the areola. anton missed your content sighs and breathless whimpers when he does things to you. he missed seeing your face crease with pleasure, the way you prop yourself on your arms and lean your head back to feel everything.

“i missed holding you.” he whispers.

anton can’t stop himself from taking a nipple into your mouth. you instantly arch your chest into his mouth, your free hand petting his head.

“i dreamed about this.” you whimper when anton goes to the other breast.

anton guides your body back down to lay on the bed. you lay your head on the pillow, looking down at anton as he trails kisses down your body.

“should’ve called me.” anton says, smiling into your stomach.

you can’t bring yourself to tell him why you couldn’t, something stupid as pride keeping you from feeling pure bliss as anton takes your shorts off. he lifts your hips off the bed all on his own, any more you try to make anton puts a gentle hand on your stomach to keep you in place.

“let me show you how sorry i am.” anton says.

he looks at you with sincerity as he continues pressing kisses to your body. he works down one leg and works his way up the other, even kissing your feet earnestly. anton makes eye contact with you as he presses a kiss to your folds. the contact alone has you lifting your hips off of the bed, trying to chase after the kiss. anton puts a hand underneath your ass to lift your bottom off the bed. you bend your knees until your thighs lightly press against the sides of anton’s head. you are still reeling from the dream you had, you know you won’t last long.

just from the kisses anton gives your pussy you’re lightheaded, gripping the sheets trying not to lose your composure too fast. it’s a lost cause when anton looks up at you again as his thumb starts rubbing your bundle of nerves.

“my little princess,” anton whispers. “you’re sensitive?”

you whimper in response and nod your head. anton sticks his thick middle finger inside of you, bending it once he’s inside all the way. you open your mouth in a silent moan, lifting your hips off the bed even more. anton places a kiss on your thigh.

“just lay there for me,” anton says. “i got you.”

“okay.” you whimper.

anton’s soft voice completely opposes his lewd actions. the way he takes his finger out of you to spread your folds apart. you can barely manage to look down at him as he makes work of your heat, on his hands and knees to get closer inside of you. his nose bumps your clit as he eats you out, alternating between making out with your pussy and sticking his tongue in your slit.

“feels so good anton.” you whimpered. when he hums into your pussy your legs close in on him, locking him in place. “i missed you so much.”

anton starts eating you out with a new vigor. the sound of him slurping and placing sloppy kisses on your cunt fills the room. you can’t stop you hips from bucking into his mouth and anton welcomes it. he guides your legs to rest over his shoulder and sits up slightly on the bed. anton uses his strength to bring your lower half up with him. you can’t stop yourself from grind on anton’s tongue while his arm behind your ass supports your weight. his free hand reaches out to yours and you let go of your hold on the sheets to grip his hand. you are moaning loudly, watching anton watch you.

he is entranced by your tiny cries and the way your heels dig into his back. you look so beautiful like this, not having to do any of the work to get to your peak. anton loves the way you grip his hand with all of your strength. he wants to take a picture of this moment to remember it forever. he wishes he could take a video to immortalize your whiny voice.

“i’m close.” you say.

you turned your head from the bed to look at anton. he goes back to tongue kissing your slit, purposely using his nose to bump your bundle of nerves. this way he can stimulate you adn you can take up all of his five senses.

he loves the way you smell, the way your whole body tenses when you cum unannounced. anton thinks it must’ve hit you like a freight trin the way. you cried out his name and squeezed his head between your thighs. sound is lightly muffled through your plush skin, but he can hear you loud and clear. you will definitely have to apologize to giselle in the morning.

anton takes all of your slick, slurping and getting so messy to the point. that he can feel the dribble of spit mixed with your slick come down his chin. you body turns to jelly in his grasp, your legs becoming pliable. anton comes back down to the bed and guides your ass down slowly.

your legs are flimsy and your knees unbend themselves, sliding down the covers of your bed. anton goes back on his haunches slotted between your legs, looking at you laid out for him like a five course meal.

anton is starving when he licks his lips, the glossy sheen of you still evident on his face. the intensity that he looks at you with has you squirming, and you can feel your body getting ready for a second round. you try sitting up, to grab anton’s hard member that bobs in the darkness of your room but a hand stops you.

anton keeps you down, but you can’t stop yourself from looking at him. the hand that pushed your shoulder back down goes to your slit, gathering slick from your orgasm. anton using the wetness to jerk himself off. you are enthralled by the sight, the way anton’s hair covers his eyes but you can still feel his hard gaze. his breath comes out in huffs as he picks up the speed and muscles underneath his taut skin move in tandem with his hand. his body looks so large from this angle, the way looks down at you while beating his dick. you don’t know how much control anton wants tonight, but you can’t stop yourself from using a hand to grip your breast.

anton increasing the pace tells you that he likes it. your massage the supple skin the same way anton does, the same way he does it to you in your dreams. it’s the real deal when he leans his body over, his hand falling beside your head.

he still beats his dick while he’s above you. his chain jumps from the inertia of the action and you can’t choose between looking at anton or his necklace.

“what do you dream about?” anton murmurs.

“us running around together in a meadow.” you say truthfully.

“what else?” anton asks.

his hand thaat was jerking himself off went back to your clit. he puts two fingers in, making you listen to the low squelching sound of your arousal already coming back.

“i dream about you fucking me, too.” you say.

that’s all anton needs to hear before guiding his dick to your heat. he goes down to his elbow beside your head and in one swift motion you bring your hands to his back and wrap your legs around his waist.

anton is just as big as you remember. you have never felt this full before, your walls clamping around him before he can bottom out. anton loses some of his strength at the way you’re already milking him. his large sweaty frame presses against your chest and you welcome it. your breasts are squished against him, both of you moaning in ecstasy.

“i missed you so much.” anton says into the skin of your neck.

you can practically feel his face heating up and you can imagine his flushed face as he gives you another slow thrust. you think you’re close again already. when anton gives you a deep thrust your nails dig into the expanse of his back.

“i missed you too.” you say.

anton focuses on hitting you deep and slow. he hits the spot in the back of you that you both discovered together—the spot that leaves you clenching and anton twitching inside of you.

“just like this?” anton says, hitting the same spot again.

“just like that.” you whine.

anton spends time hitting that spot over and over again. he kisses any part of your body his lips can reach before turning your head to give you a kiss on the lips.

his other hand hold your hips done. his strength brings you pain, the type you revel in. you let anton forget his own strength as he continues to fuck you into the mattress, his slow and hard thrust making you bed creak rhythmically.

you can feel anton getting close to his peak, feeling him get closer has you hurtling towards the edge as well. you move one hand from his back to grip his arm, your nails digging into the flexed muscle. something about seeing someone so big and strong fall apart above you has you clenching uncontrollably around anton’s dick.

you break apart from anton’s lips to look down between the middle of your squished bodies. anton does the same, lifting his body so you can see where you two meet. you rest your sweaty foreheads against eachother to watch the show.

“i’m close.” anton whimpers.

“me too.” you say back.

“where can i—” anton’s voice is broken up by pleasure, trying to keep it together for as long as possible.

“inside me. please.”

“alright baby.” anton says.

he brings his chest back down to yours, and he brings an arm underneath your body to bring you close. you’re surrounded by him, nails rake down anton’s back as he picks up the speed.

anton whimpers your name into your ear before pulling back to look you in the eyes. he curses from your blown out pupils and the way your walls close in around him. anton grips your shoulder as he spills into you. you milk him dry, the sensation of him throbbing pushes you off the edge again. you pushed off into anton’s arms as your legs around his waist pulls him in. you grind into him when his hips still, loving the sound of anton inside of you. he whines and laughs a little from the overstimulation, his whole body sensitive.

you still move you hips until anton pulls out of you. you can feel his cum dripping from you and you fight the urge to push it back in. anton’s large body loses its strength above you, pressing your body into the mattress. he catches his breath in the crook of your neck, hot puffs of air fanning your skin.

you let anton’s large body crush you a little more. you missed him so much you would risk the suffocation. when anton’s breath finally steadies, you tap his back. anton understands immediately, picking his head up from your neck.

“oh my god i’m sorry.” anton says.

he slides off of you to lay beside you on the bed. you waste no time turning to him. now you’re the one tracing shapes on his chest. anton turns to you and smiles.

the rain outside is almost as comforting as the feeling of anton pulling you back into him. you doze off to sleep again, this time knowing you’ll be waking up to anton next to you.

#requestz #01zfan: anton #riize smut #anton smut

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months

Text

pussy privileges

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, female receiving oral, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, partying, drinking, mentions of a drunk driving crash, rafe is kind of mean but in the grand scheme of rafe not really, established relationship

“i thought we were gonna go on a date.” you cross your arms as rafe finishes buttoning up his shirt.

“we are going out.” rafe tries to justify, but you shake your head. “you’re taking me to a house party, rafe. thats not a freaking date.”

“ill take you out tomorrow. dinner and a movie?” rafe offers to pacify the angry look on your face.

“fine.” you shrug, knowing there is no convincing rafe to not go the party if hes set his mind on it. you point at rafe, making sure he’s paying attention to you. “but im not happy about it.”

you don’t talk to rafe the entire ride there. you would have told him you were staying home, but you already got dressed up and don’t want to waste a full face of makeup and outfit.

“be right back, baby.” rafe says, making you throw your hands up as he walks away to talk to topper, having just entered the party a few minutes ago and your boyfriend is already abandoning you.

“god, rafe is being a dick today.” you groan, stomping up to your friend, who simply shakes her head and hands you a drink. you know that rafe isn’t really being a dick, not in comparison to how he treats other people, but you can’t resist the urge to complain.

“promising to take me out on a nice date night only to take me to a party and fuck off with topper.” you roll your eyes, downing your drink quickly before refilling the cup.

rafe finds you half an hour later, dancing with your friends. the music is so good you don’t stop him when his hands land on your hips, joining you in dancing.

you grind against him until your feet start to hurt, the song shifting to one you haven’t heard before. “rafey.” you whine, leaning back into him. “wanna go home.” “come on, you can wait. keep dancing.” rafe pushes his hips into your bum, making you roll your eyes. “no! im tired.”

rafe taps your hips, trying to encourage you to move, but you keep yourself standing still, much to his displeasure. “baby.” rafe turns you around so you’re facing him. he cups your cheeks as he speaks, “a bit longer. i like you dancing up on me.”

“fine.” you sigh. “gotta get me another drink though.” “thats my girl.” rafe smirks, grabbing a white claw off a nearby table before quickly coming back, pushing it into your hand before twisting your hips around, almost causing you to stumble as he presses his chest into your back, dancing into you again.

“rafey.” you whine when you realize he didn’t even open the can for you like he always does, but hes far too into dancing into you to hear your complaints over the loud music.

you manage to open the can without breaking a nail, grinding back slightly into rafe until you’ve finished the can, the alcohol moving through your system enough to ignore how much your heels are beginning to hurt, dancing back into rafe.

“god, you’re hot.” he groans into your ear, pressing a kiss under your ear before moving to your neck, burying his head in your soft skin, inhaling your scent.

“rafe!” you shout when his mouth presses against your skin and he sucks an incredibly visible hickey into your neck. you pull away quickly, but know it’s already going to bruise as you turn with a frown, your hands on your hips.

“sorry.” rafe says, but the smile on his face shows that he’s not actually sorry.

“whatever.” you sigh, rubbing at the spot. “just take me home.”

“fine.” rafe sighs, reaching for your hand, knowing it’s getting too late anyways. he tugs you through the crowd until you get outside.

“did you drink or take anything?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at rafe when he walks towards his truck. it’s only a short drive home, but you don’t want anything to happen.

“barely.” rafe says, unlocking his truck and opening the passenger side door for you.

“lets just walk home then.” you shake your head. “it’s so close.” rafe knows how much you hate drunk drivers ever since one hit your sisters car, thankfully she was fine besides a few bruises.

rafe sighs, head tilting back to look at the sky. “why didn’t i just lie?”

“ugh!” you stomp your foot. “rafe, that is so wrong!”

“baby, i really had just like two sips when we first-” rafe tries to explain, he’s truly not even buzzed, but you are already walking away, heading down the sidewalk towards tanneyhill. you don’t make it very far, rafe trailing behind you, until you have to kick off your heels.

rafe would usually pick you up, carry you home, but he knows your mad so decides to stay back, letting you walk barefoot home.

“baby-” rafe finally speaks when you get to the front door, but you just walk in, leaving it open for rafe to follow.

“y/n…” rafe tries again when you both get inside his room, but you ignore his call of your name and begin to take off your jewelry, before moving to your dress, quickly putting on pajamas once you’re naked.

rafe takes it as a sign, undressing himself for bed, relieved when you climb under the covers next to him.

“come here.” rafe holds his arms open. you hesitate for a second before moving in, allowing him to cuddle into you and press kisses all over your face.

“i’m so sorry, princess.” he says softly, connecting your lips in a kiss.

“you can make it up to me tomorrow on our very nice and well planned date.” you give a look to rafe, who quickly nods.

he leans in to kiss you again, and you accept it, allowing his hand to wrap around your waist and pull you in closer, bodies slotting together underneath the covers.

“i love you baby.” rafe says, his hand moving to underneath your flimsy pajama shirt.

“love you too.” you say, reaching to pull his hand back out, placing it on top of the fabric.

rafe frowns slightly before kissing you again, this time trying to move your leg so he can slot himself in between. you allow it, until he starts to grind into you. the second you feel him begin to swell in his pants, you pull away, pressing your thighs together.

“baby.” rafe whines. “i want you, come on.”

“and i want you to not be a dick.” you shake your head. you may have accepted rafes apology for his behavior, but aren’t willing to so quickly allow him to have sex with you.

“i said sorry!” “you can fuck me after you make it up to me tomorrow on the date. and it better be good, or i’ll get myself off and leave you alone.” you threaten, smirking when rafes eyes widen.

“okay, okay.” he nods. “tomorrow.”

rafe does everything right. flowers, a dinner reservation to a fancy restaurant, a new dress and necklace, as well as doting on you throughout the entire date.

“did i make it up to you?” rafe asks.

“hmm…” you tap your finger against your chin, rafe barely able to wait as you stand before him, new dress wrapping around your body like a present just waiting to be pulled away by rafe to reveal what he really wants to see.

“i don’t know. maybe the date was a little too good.” you let out a fake yawn. “a bit tired. might just have to go right to sleep.”

“baby-” rafe whines. he hasn’t gone this long without having you since you first started dating.

“but i guess you could eat me out and we can see if you deserve to fuck me.”

rafe smiles, knowing as soon as he gets between your legs, that you’ll be begging for his cock in no time. he undresses you completely before he even begins to work on his buttons, giving you a show as you lay naked on the bed, head propped up against the pillows as he strips away the layers of clothing until he’s nude, cock already straining.

rafe crawls between your legs, sighing with relief when you spread them, letting him view your pussy as he immediately buries his face between your legs, eating out your pussy like you’ve intentionally starved him of it, not just denied him sex one night.

“god, i fucking love how you taste baby.” rafe mumbles, his words vibrating against your cunt. “‘m so sorry i was a dick. won’t happen again. love you too much.”

you can’t help but smile when you reach down to fist your hands into rafes hair. his tongue gets you to orgasm three times until you’re whining for his cock too much, tugging at his hair.

rafe gives your sensitive clit a final kiss before crawling up the bed, connecting your mouths in a kiss, knowing how much you love to taste yourself on his lips.

“fuck me, come on.” you tell rafe. “need it so bad.”

rafe pushes his cock against your entrance, making you moan as he slowly brings his hips forward, sinking inside of you with ease.

“god, that was as much of a punishment for me as it was for you.” you laugh slightly when rafe is fully inside of you, still for a moment for you to adjust.

“certainly taught me a lesson.” rafe admits. he didn’t realize how hard it would be to go without fucking you. just one night felt like a century, his dick literally hurting when he woke up in the morning with a hard on, one that you would usually crawl beneath the covers to take care of.

“no pussy privledges when you’re mean.” you nod, confirming the rule, even though you hopefully never have to enforce it again.

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clockmax · 10 months

Text

﹒𝐗-𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 | 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝟐﹒

← previous | next → | ﹗𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹗

pairing: dilf!Miguel O'hara x babysitter!fem!reader

Summary: In a AU where his marriage doesn't work anymore, he spends time away from his house. In turn, his 'wife' hired you to keep watch over Gabriella. But soon, a infatuation bloomed between someone who you couldn't have.

warnings: MDNI, NSFW BELOW. infidelity, P in v, oral(f receiving), praising, slight thigh slapping, praising, edging, unprotected sex (use a condom tho). This ones pretty tame, slightly little drama at the end. not proofread,

Oh christ. You spent the past few days worrying about what you did. How you both finally gave into your desires, but how worried you were about his wife, your job. Everything just seemed so stressful. I mean they weren’t in love anymore, so it’s fine right? Still, there was that twinge of guilt.

Neither of you were supposed to sleep together, yet you still did. Over the course of that weekend, you both ended up touched starved. I mean hey, when you’ve got an affair such as this starting the way it did, Miguel Obviously just wants to have you back in his arms. So when you finally came over to ‘babysit’ (despite the fact that Miguel was indeed home, but working), he was more than happy to have you back. Though things were still a little awkward, considering all the differences and such. How he was still married and that it was an affair, cheating if you will.

But you didn’t have to think of it that way. It was just young love. Sad news is, you have no idea when the divorce is finalized. And considering that this is Miguel's home in his name, he’d have the house to himself. But yet, why couldn’t you just wait until then? Tension was high whenever his wife came down to pay you, seemingly knowing what you had done. The way she just stared at you blankly made you want to simply shrivel up and sink into the ground. And with the stress of college on top of it all, midterms sneaking up on you, all the papers due. It was no wonder you were stressed.

And so here you are, 2 weeks later at most, stressed, tense, but still having to do your job. You were just praying that Miguel would be the one to pay you today just so you could see him, and dear god if you had to see his divorcing wife you might just fake your own death. All you had to do now was just wait for someone to come home. All you had to do was sit at the desk in the guest bedroom and do your work, get paid, then you could go home. But god was that touch starvation getting to you.

Half asleep, surviving on an energy drink you had hours ago, fingers typing away at the keyboard. That was until you heard a knock on the door. Turning your head as the door opened, eyes half lidded to look up at Miguel.

“You’re still here, Staying the night?” He almost teased, walking over to you. His eyes looked at the document that was opened for a split second, quietly scanning over the words before grabbing at his wallet.

“Can’t. Pretty sure your wife might murder me.” Yawning, turning back around to start typing again.

“Told you before, she’s not technically my wife anymore. More focused on you right now.” He cooed, walking over to you, leaving the cash on the side of you, “You going to take a break from college for a second and relax?”

“I should go, thank you-” Your hands move to shut your laptop.

Picking up your laptop, grabbing it and the cash to head out the door, only to be pulled back by Miguel's hands wrapped around your waist.

“What did I say about relaxing, don’t work all the time.” He reminded you, the conversation coming back from weeks ago, and then the incident. “I know you’re stressed, let me help. You’ve been avoiding things for the last few weeks, Cariño.”

He really knew how to get under your skin. You almost felt as if you were melting against his touch, leaning into him. Arm reaching over, setting your laptop down on the table. Miguel moved his face down to your neck, planting small kisses, moving under your pants.

“Stay the night, I’ll drive you back to where you need to be in the morning,just need you tonight.” He whispered, breath hot on your skin as his hand cupped your pussy, finger running between your folds. “Just can’t leave a poor, stressed, pretty girl like you.”

His words settled into your core, your juices starting to flow out of you.

“Just one night-” You mumbled, starting to get all hot and bothered. What would be the point in leaving now when he was offering help. Why leave when your body craves him so much.

It only took you both a few minutes to move over to the bed, lips feverishly kissing each other as Miguel pulled your pants down. Your hands worked at his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt, removing his pants. Hnds worked on each other's bodies quickly, the need for each other growing more and more.

Miguel leaned on you, pressing you down in the bed. Kisses grew less and less, his lips traveling down your body. Miguel’s mouth reached your tits, eyes meeting your as he licked, kissed, and sucked them. His ears took in the way you mewled and whined when he would suck on your nipple, hand fondling your other breast. His teeth would only gently nibble at your skin, leaving small marks on your skin, almost claiming your breasts as his. His to kiss, suck, fondle, touch.

How he wanted you to be his so bad, but couldn't. His wife was already pissed enough, for some reason. If she should get to have fun, why couldn’t Miguel chase after you too?

His mouth eventually left your chest, moving down towards your stomach. Once again, nibbling and gently biting at the skin,leaving marks and small hickies, enjoying the tease.

“Miguel, please-” You whine, the teasing starting to get you pent up, arousal becoming almost too much if it isn’t taken care of soon. Oh how bad you needed him on your clit at this moment, walls squeezing around nothing as you waited and waited, letting out mewls and whines, sometimes even whimpering just from the teasing.

Eventually, his hands reached down to your thighs, spreading hem open. All he had to do was get one good look at your pretty pussy before his mouth was on it.

You let out a moan feeling him suck your clit before licking stripes on your folds, tongue moving inside. It was like you were his last meal, or that he was a starved man. But when you both had gone weeks with avoidance and barely talking, it’s reasonable that you became hungry for each other.

Miguel slightly slurped on your juices, the sound almost pornographic. The entire time his eyes watched your face, watching how you reacted, how your eyes rolled back when he sucked your clit.

When you broke eye contact, you were met with a slap to your inner thigh.

“Eyes on me, baby.” He’d tease, mouth going back down on you, making you watch everything.

He put 2 fingers inside, curling and scissoring your walls out, loosening you up just a little so you could take him.But even that was enough for your stomach to coil tightly, back arching as you shut your eyes, before getting gently slapped on the thigh to pay attention.

“Fuck, please let me cum, sir-” You pleaded, thighs almost closing if it wasn’t for his grip.

“Not yet, amor. Let me have my treat.” He responded bluntly, fingers still moving as he licked over your clit.

He stayed down there for what felt like forever, edging you on and on. His original idea was to help you destress, but he couldn’t help himself when it came to edging. How he loved watching you squirm and grip at his hair, hips bucked as he forced you to keep eye contact.

And eventually, he did let you cum, thumb replace his mouth as he moved down, licking up your juices that flooded out. Your body quivered as your orgasm rushed through you, pleasure sparking every one of your nerves as all that stress flooded out of you.

Miguel lifted his head up, wiping off any of your juices on his chin with his hand, moving back to tower over you. You looked up at him with half lidded eyes, legs subconsciously spreading open. He was able to take notice of that, smirking a little.

“Someone’s learning quickly, giving me what I want. Good girl, promise you’ll feel less stressed.” Miguel Praised, aligning his tip with your entrance before pulling away, rubbing his cock over your folds, “Feel what you do to me, amor.” He teases, eventually slipping past your folds. He couldn’t help but let out a groan when you clenched around him, standing himself straight. His hand moved to one of your legs, lifting it over his shoulder, pushing himself deeper into you.

Your hands held the sheets, moans slipping past your lips as he buried himself deep into you. Feeling his tip bump against your cervix, his veins running against your sensitive spots. He gave you a moment to adjust, hand holding your leg up, ankle resting on his shoulder.

His free hand held onto your hips, eventually moving his hips. It was a gentle pace at first, his cock dragging slowly along your walls. He held you in place, before eventually moving his hands up to your breast, giving them gentle squeezes.

He wanted to stay like this, feeling how your walls hugged around his cock, enjoying how your face contorted with pleasure and overstimulation, eyes closing as you turn your face away. Though that was short cut, hand moving to grip your chin, moving your head back to a normal position to look at him.

“Eyes on me, want to see that pretty face when I fuck you.” His hand caressed your chin before moving back down to your breasts, slipping back down to your waist.

His pace picked up quickly, getting rough and fast. The sound of your moans mixed in with his grunts and groans, the sound of your skin slapping together also mixing in. How quickly this man was able to get you drunk on his cock, blabbering how good you felt, his thumb drawing small circles on your clit.

All until there was a knock at the door.

“I know that’s not the babysitter’s perfume I smell, Miguel.” The voice was loud, almost a little angry but not.

Well shit.

Miguel's hand moved to your mouth, fingers stuffing your mouth full to shut you up. His pace slowed down, the sound of skin slapping no longer there. Your eyes looked up at him with fear and confusion. Why was she home right now?

“It’s not, just go, I’ll be out soon.” He mumbled back, turning his head to make sure the door stayed closed.

And even with the sound of footsteps retreating, his fingers still stayed in your mouth. He turned back to you, pace going back to what it was before.

“Too loud, stay quiet for me like a good girl, yea?” ALmost as if it was a command, fingers leaving your mouth. All you could do was nod, biting your lip to hold back your noises.

It was only a few minutes of almost quiet before you finished again, miguel painting your tight, gummy walls full of hot cum. Pulling out of you, hands moving to sit you back up right.

“Now what-” You mumble, knowing that it was risky to even stay the night. But Who knows. Maybe she does know you’re here, and she’s just waiting for you.

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#across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈inbox: received!#miguel o'hara #into the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #spiderman smut #miguel ohara smut #spiderverse #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader #smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader smut

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Now that your requests are open I need more ceo Sirius content PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting! You didn't ask for smut but it's what popped into my head lol, hope this is okay

cw: smut mdni, semi-public sex

ceo!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 636 words

“Baby.” Sirius’ voice is low and smooth. Compelling. “Let me see you, dollface.”

You struggle to pick your head up from where it’s dropped off the edge of his desk, finding your boyfriend watching you from his plush chair.

“There’s my girl.” He grins, eyes glinting with humor at your flushed face. His hand strokes up and down your thigh, a soothing touch that’s completely at odds with the mess of slick between your legs.

It doesn’t seem particularly fair to you how casual he looks. Sirius is relaxing in his chair like he’s sitting in a meeting, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hair tied in a loose bun like he might’ve just pulled it back to have his lunch. Meanwhile, you’re spread half naked on his desk, seeping wetness onto the varnished wood.

His fingers dip into you, the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit, and you make a choked sound.

“Breathe,” Sirius reminds you.

You roll your hips in search of more, but he stops you with a firm hand, pressing down just below your navel.

“Easy, sweetness. We’ve got all afternoon, remember? Don’t want to tire you out too early.”

“Sirius.” Your voice comes out breathy, teetering on the edge of a whine. “Come here.”

He hums and curls his fingers inside you. You make a sound like you’re dying. You might be. “That wasn’t very polite, was it?”

“Please.”

He gives up the act easily, standing and bending with his fingers still inside you to lock his lips with yours. The way he kisses you says enough about how much he’s been exercising his patience, too. Greedy passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth. Deep, long kisses punctuated by little nips. You meet him all the way, half sitting up on the desk to be closer to him even as the butt of his palm works ceaselessly into your clit.

You’re the first to break the kiss when there’s a knock on the door.

“Sir?”

Sirius sighs, but his fingers don’t so much as stutter inside you. He raises his voice to be heard through the door. “I thought I told you not to bother me, Len,” he says, a slight bite of annoyance in his tone.

“I know, I’m sorry. But Mrs. Burke’s assistant called, she wants to move her meeting to three today.”

Your chest starts to burn, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You keep a hand pressed over your mouth, terrified of letting out some small sound that could give you away. As if on cue, Sirius’ fingers curl inside you again. Your thighs start to tremble.

“What happened to two tomorrow?”

“She’s had to cut her trip short and will be leaving tonight. Three’s her last availability.”

Sirius frowns, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall. That means he has to have you out of here and have his office cleaned up in an hour. His eyes meet yours, flashing with challenge in a way that has your shaking worsening. He smiles, wolfish.

“You can let her know that’ll be fine,” he says. “Thanks, Len.”

He waits a few seconds for Len to go from the door, then takes your chin in his hand. “What’d we say about breathing, doll?”

You finally let the air escape you. Sirius watches amusedly, fingers still moving in and out of you at an indolent pace.

“Should I go?” you ask once you catch your breath.

Dark eyebrows flick upwards. “No,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “Didn’t you hear Len? My meeting’s not until three.” He bends close to your face, a lock of hair that’s escaped his bun brushing your cheek. “I reckon we can get at least two good ones out of you before then, don’t you think?”

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steveslevis · 5 months

Text

delicate - chapter one

is it too soon to do this yet?

pairing: steve harrington x reader

chapter contents: singular mention of abuse & mentions of a shitty ex, mentions of violence, not much happening yet just lots of lead up <33

wc: 3.5k

a/n: first chapter!! i'm actually so excited for this i love it so much <3 hope you all enjoy!

The smell of coffee hits your nose as you slowly wake, the feeling of sun beaming in through a nearby window makes you squint and roll over, trying to avoid waking up for as long as possible.

Sleeping a little bit longer would be possible if it weren’t for the clanking of a pan and spatula a few feet away from your head. It’s in that moment that you become painfully aware that you’re on a cheap, cold leather couch and not in your normal, warm and cozy bed. You only groan and flop onto your stomach at the sound, hastily grabbing the pillow that was under your head in order to cover your ears and muffle the loud banging while trying not to think too hard about the situation you were in.

“Am I being that loud?” you hear a voice call across the room from beneath your pillow.

“I don’t think so, someone is just cranky and a light sleeper,” another voice says with a laugh, this one coming from closer to you, just before you feel the couch dip near your head.

You uncover your head at that remark, finally looking up from your spot on the couch to see your best friend, Eddie sitting beside you with a smug smirk on his face while his boyfriend, Alexander, was starting breakfast in the kitchen just behind you.

“None of those allegations are true, thank you very much,” you say matter-of-factly, sitting up while wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, “I just would’ve liked a little more sleep than I got, but your uncomfortable ass leather couch decided otherwise.”

Eddie only rolls his eyes and shakes his head, extending a mug full of fresh coffee your way. You give him a knowing look before taking it, eyes falling to the liquid in the cup, making sure it’s to your liking – even though you know Eddie knows exactly how to make your coffee at home, with just enough creamer to drown out the burnt taste from the cheap drip.

You can feel your best friend’s eyes on you as you take the first sip, unspoken tension holding in the air as you avoid his gaze. Eddie notices how you look like you barely got an ounce of sleep, just like the four nights before when you’d slept on his couch. The leather couch is partly to blame for your lack of sleep, but you and him both know that the thoughts of your now ex boyfriend is what’s really keeping you up at night. He knows you went to see him last night, so you definitely got not a minute of sleep. His eyes shift towards Alexander for a moment, who shoots Eddie a knowing glare, encouraging him to talk to you.

“So,” he says while clearing his throat, “what’s on your agenda for today?”

“Eds – you really don’t have to keep up with the pity small talk,” you say with a small laugh and a genuine, but sad smile, “you can ask me, I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Babes, I’m not gonna ask about that piece of shit if you don’t want to talk about it –”

“We’re done, Eddie.” you interject, a sad yet relieved look washing over your face as you finally say it out loud, “We talked and decided that no contact was for the best.”

“You’re telling me that Luke, that insufferable asshole who rarely ever let you get a word in and tried to control you in every sense, had a civil conversation about breaking up and agreed on no contact?” Eddie says with an incredulous glare in your direction.

Shit. You were lying straight through your teeth and got caught immediately. You should’ve just told him the whole truth, how you got yelled at for two hours straight about how you were such a slut, how you would never find someone half as good as him, and how he’s the reason you’re wearing a hoodie to cover up the bruises on your forearms from Luke’s drunken grip. But you knew better, you knew telling Eddie even half of the truth would end with someone in the hospital — and it probably wouldn’t be him.

“Okay, maybe that’s not exactly how it went, but that doesn’t matter.” you shrug, shaking your head before taking another chug of coffee, “What does matter is that I am single and in desperate need of somewhere to live, so my search starts today —“

You reach for your laptop that sits on the coffee table in front of you, but Eddie swats your hand away, giving you another glare.

“You’re not gonna find anything for one person that’s reasonable anywhere around here, babes.” Alexander calls out from behind you while battling with a sizzling pan of bacon.

“He’s right,” Eddie replies, his face twisting into a look of genuine concern, “why don’t you just, you know, like I said before, live here? This dump is rent controlled and two bedrooms, I don’t need an entire office for playing guitar and planning DnD campaigns, y’know.”

“No—No way am I gonna continue to mooch off you and live here! You guys have done too much already, I can’t ask that of you too,” you shake your head quickly, a frown spreading quickly across your lips as you furrow your brow.

The room falls quiet as you shake your head, both boys staring back at you while you fight back tears you didn’t know were forming. You blink quickly and sniffle before looking back to Eddie, forcing a smile onto your lips to convince him that you’ll be okay.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, this time in a quieter, calmer voice.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll find somewhere to go, I’ll be fine.” you assure him.

“Will—Will you at least try to look for new jobs before you move?” Eddie begs, knowing you continuing to work as a bartender at the same bar Luke is a bouncer at would only cause trouble. “At least at a bar that’s a little nicer, where you can get good tips?”

“Yes, Eds. I’ll start looking for new jobs today,” you say with a small smile.

—————————————

Your eyes are tired and dry, your hands are sore from the amount of typing and scrolling you’ve been doing. All in the name of a job search, which was proving to be damn near impossible. Every coffee shop with an online application seemed to have a broken portal or no available positions, even the library and gym on campus had nothing for grabs.

There were probably fifty different tabs open on your laptop now, and you were close to giving up for the day. It was almost 5 pm at this point, and nothing was giving any positive signs. You were hungry and in need of time outside or you might end up going stir crazy.

So with a sigh, you begin to close all fifty tabs on your screen to spare your sanity.

Forty-nine tabs later, you’re left with one Indeed tab open in front of you. Before you close it out, a listing at the bottom catches your eye. You blink once to clear your glazed over eyes, leaning in to read its description.

The link reads, “HELP NEEDED: Full-Time Nanny in Manhattan wanted! Rent, meals and transportation included along with weekly salary. Please contact the following number with serious inquires only.”

You couldn’t believe what you were reading, it all seemed way too good to be true. Nobody in their right mind would fall for something like this, you thought. But, you didn’t feel like you were in your right mind, anyways.

You click on the link and it takes you to a simple Indeed page. The page itself was bare, only the description from the previous page along with a phone number next to the lister’s name, Steve Harrington.

“Find anything good?” a voice booms in your ear from behind.

You jump nearly a foot in the air at the voice, turning around quickly to swat Eddie in the shoulder for startling you like that.

“Ow!”

“Asshole,” you mumble, rolling your eyes at him as you try to hide a smile.

“I guess I deserve that.” he says with a laugh.

Eddie throws himself onto the couch next to you as you turn your attention back to the computer in front of you. He cranes his neck enough to read what’s on the screen, furrowing his brow as he reads the job listing.

“Well that seems like a dud. Too suspicious, not enough description.” Eddie murmurs, shaking his head.

You look at him, then back to your computer, then back to your best friend. He’s going to kill you for even thinking about it, you know it. But you can’t help but be curious about the whole situation, especially when it seems like too good of a deal to pass up.

“I—I don’t know, Eddie. I kinda wanna see what it’s all about.” you say with a meek smile.

“What?” he gasps, sitting up with a look of disbelief crossing his face, “hell fucking no, no way you’re actually thinking about this. That seems like a scam waiting to happen.”

“Eddie—“ you interject, grabbing your phone from your pajama pants pocket, “what will it hurt to try? If the texts are too sketchy or things go weird, I’ll block them and that’ll be the end of it, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and shakes his head, you’re too convincing to him and he knows you’ve won without much of a fight. A sigh of defeat falls from Eddie’s lips as he stands from the couch, making his way into the kitchen for a drink.

“Fine, but I’m driving you to and from whatever interview processes there are if you do follow through with this ridiculous plan, just so I know you’re safe.” he suggests, grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

“That’s fine by me,” you say with a triumphant grin, turning your attention to your phone.

You spend a few minutes curating a text to the mysterious Steve Harrington, reading it over multiple times before deciding to hit send. You wanted to sound as professional as possible, since there was no actual application process and one wrong text could ruin your chances. After reading it over approximately ten times, you finally decided to hit send.

Hello Steve! My name is Y/N, I was on Indeed in search of a new job today and came across your job posting. I am extremely interested in the position and would love to hear more about the opportunity. Is there any more information that you could provide me with about the position? Thanks in advance!

Once you sent the message, you stared at the blue bubble on your screen for another minute, rereading it once more.

“Alright, quit obsessing over that sketch ass job and let’s figure out what we’re gonna eat tonight.” Eddie calls from the kitchen, with a Chinese takeout menu in his hand, “wanna go pick up some lo mein, crab rangoon and some cheap wine? Alexander hates that place but he’s got a shift tonight, so it’s just me and you.”

“You know me too well, Munson,” you smile, shutting off your phone and shoving it into your pocket.

—————————————

The early autumn air bites at your cheeks as you walk down the street with Eddie, a bag of chinese food in your hands and a bag full of wine bottles in his. The two of you are laughing about something that Eddie said when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

You try to continue the conversation but stop mid-sentence when you see the text from none other than your potential future employer, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington: Hi Y/N. Thank you for your interest in the position. I would love to see if you’re a good fit and see if we can get things started as soon as possible. Would you be available tomorrow morning at 9 to meet us at Ralph’s Coffee on Fifth? I will have all of the details and contracts printed and ready to sign if you’re right for the position. Let me know ASAP.

“What’s up?” Eddie says as he peers at your phone, making you realize you had gone silent for too long, “oh shit, tomorrow? At Ralph’s on Fifth Avenue? That’s like, rich people territory that we’ve never stepped foot in before. What the fuck kinda job is this, Y/N?”

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer, looking up at him for some kind of guidance, “what do I say?”

“Say ‘fuck yes’?” Eddie laughs, reaching for the door of the apartment complex once you reach it, “shit, I don’t know. Just say something professional-ish about seeing him tomorrow.”

“Right—Okay, obviously. I’ll do that.” you giggle as you stomp up the apartment stairs.

You’re silent as Eddie unlocks all the doors on the way to their place, eyes glued to your phone as you type out a text that’s professional but not too eager.

Sounds great. I will see you tomorrow at 9 a.m. at Ralph’s. Looking forward to meeting you!

—————————————

Being awake before 8 a.m. on a Saturday felt like a crime to you, but you were hoping it was worth it for whatever job you were about to get yourself into.

You woke up bright and early at 7:30 just to make sure you had time to fully get ready and look decent before making your way across town with Eddie to Ralph’s. There weren’t many options for your outfit for the meeting, since you had to donate half your closet to save space in the shoebox apartment you once shared with Luke, but you opted for a nice pair of black wide-leg jeans, a cream-colored sweater and a pair of black Chelsea boots. You got ready in record time before you made your way into Eddie and Alexander’s room, attempting to wake up the curly haired boy.

Eddie was not happy to be up, but there was no way he was letting you go alone to meet a stranger about some random job, even if it was at one of the fanciest coffee shops in the city.

You led the begrudging and very tired man out of the apartment after he got changed, into the crisp morning air to start your walk towards Fifth Avenue.

“You owe me a nice coffee when we get there,” Eddie adds as he hugs himself, trying to create some warmth.

“You’re the one who wanted to come with, remember?” you remind him, shooting him a knowing glare.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, I just wanna make sure you’re safe.” he retorts, shaking his head at you.

Before you can reply, a text buzzes through on your phone.

Steve Harrington: I grabbed a table off to the side in the shop, look for the crayons and coloring books on the table and you’ll find us. See you soon.

Your brow furrows in confusion at the text, surprised to see that he was bringing who you assume is his child along with him to the meeting. You shrug it off, smiling to yourself at the thought of getting to meet the kid today instead of after getting hired.

It takes only another 15 minutes to arrive, getting there a few minutes before 9 a.m. to make a good first impression. To shut the complaining Eddie up, you decide to get your coffee first, then find your future employers.

You order a hot vanilla latte for yourself, and a black coffee for Eddie, who grabs the drink hastily once given it. He bids you goodbye and wishes you good luck before finding his own seat in the coffee shop to occupy himself for the time being. With one last deep breath, you look around at all of the tables, trying to find the one with a coloring child.

Eventually you spot them in a far corner of the room. A little girl and her extremely well-dressed father sit at a table in front of you, both of them engaged in a deep conversation about which color she should choose for the fur of the puppy she was about to scribble on. Your eyes wander from the little brown-haired girl with a baby pink dress and matching shoes and up to her father, who you’re taken aback by immediately.

He looks only a few years older than yourself, and has the nicest head of hair you’ve ever seen on a man. You can’t help but stare at it for a moment, wanting to run your fingers through the chestnut locks. It isn’t until he looks up from the paper and actually makes eye contact with you that you realize how beautiful he actually is. His doe-eyes are like honey, your mind immediately runs to places it shouldn’t when you gaze into them.

“You must be Y/N.” he starts, shooting a smile your way as he stands up from his seat to extend a hand and greet you.

“Y—Yes, I am!” you stammer nervously, cursing yourself for seeming too excited as you throw your hand into his, “you must be Steve, it’s great to finally meet you.”

After you shake his hand, he gestures for you to have a seat, pulling the chair next to him out so you can sit. You quickly sit down and look at the young girl next to you, who has an excited grin and bright eyes when she looks up at you.

“Hello!” you greet her with a smile, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Amelia.” she says with a giggle.

Before you can continue talking to her, she turns her attention back to her coloring page, having decided on coloring the puppy in front of her with a purple crayon instead of the brown that Steve had suggested.

“She obviously has very important business to attend to,” Steve laughs, while reaching for some papers on the table in front of him, “and so do we.”

For the next thirty minutes, the two of you do a lot of back and forth, professional discussion about your life and what your job for the family would entail. You tell him that you’re in online courses at NYU, so you’ll need time for homework and exams, which he understands. You also learn that Steve is a CEO at Penguin Publishing, and that he is in need of a lot of help with taking care of Amelia, who seemed to be the best behaved child you could ask to watch.

The conversation was flowing between the two of you so easily, like you had known each other for years. Every time he cracked a smile at one of your remarks, it made your heart flutter. What the hell? What was wrong with you? You tried to push the fluttery feeling away as he spoke, not wanting it to get in the way of whatever this good thing was that you had going.

In the middle of your intense conversation about your schooling and working around it, Amelia pulls at your sleeve to get your attention. When you turn to her, she looks up at you with the same doe-eyes that her father has and shows you two crayons, one red and one green.

“What color for trees?” she questions, looking at you intently.

“Hm…I think red, it’s much prettier than green and it’s like all the fall leaves outside right now.” you suggest, which makes the little girl light up.

She nods feverishly at your idea, dropping the green crayon and immediately coloring the trees with the scarlet red.

“Well, it seems like we have a pretty good thing going here and that we’re in agreement for expectations and whatnot.” Steve says with a smile after watching the interaction between the two of you, “Although,I think there’s one thing that might make you change your mind about this whole thing that wasn’t specifically mentioned in the job description.” Steve starts, shifting in his chair nervously.

“I’m sure I won’t mind, whatever it is.” you say with a smile, now feeling desperate for this job after building such a quick connection to the two of them.

“Well, I would really, really appreciate if you moved into my penthouse, into the in-laws quarters that are obviously not being used. It would be so—so helpful for you to be there all the time and—that’s why I had rent, food and transportation on the description.” he rambles nervously, as if that had ran off past applicants before.

Who would wanna turn down living in a penthouse, especially if it’s with him of all people?

Fears and doubts flood your mind for a quick moment, but you shake them away, not wanting him to rescind his offer if you think about it for too long.

“A—Alright, when would you need me to start? Like when would I move in?”

“Tomorrow, if possible. I can send a truck and some people over to where you’re currently living to help move whatever you need—“

“Tomorrow?”

—————————————

TAGS (ask to be added!): @frostandflamesfanfic @definitionwanderlust @diffrent-spokes

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things

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